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caroldantops · 4 years ago

Text

please don’t go (i’ll eat you whole)

ship: dark!agatha harkness/fem!reader

summary/request: you’re a stress laden college student with way more anxiety than you can handle. luckily, your friend wanda knows of a therapist that knows just how to take care of you. (modern au)

word count: 5.7k

this is a darkfic and contains the following dark themes, read at your own discretion: dubcon, unbalanced power dynamics (therapist/patient relationship), manipulation, codependency, obsessive behaviors, and possible hints at other themes but those are all the explicit ones.

if you’d like elaboration on any of these warnings feel free to ask!

other warnings: smut (18+ only!), dom!agatha, sub!reader, praise kink, mommy kink, fingering (r receiving), vibrators, dirty talk, possessive agatha, lots of pet names, legal age gap, allusions to wanda/agatha, discussion of anxiety and mental illnesses

faq | masterlist

The sound of your shoes squeaking against the floor as your leg bounces anxiously draws the attention of the three other people in the waiting room. You, however, are completely unaware of the noise and the glares that you’re getting. The thoughts in your head are all jumbles of words happening all at once. Pure alphabet soup.

You really don’t want to be here. Any sort of doctor’s office always sets off your anxiety, but this one in particular is sending you into overdrive. All of the pamphlets talking about how to support your child with depression, the T.V. that’s playing some animation about finding support groups with chillingly corporate animations, and the other patients who all look like they would rather be anywhere else.

Was it too late to bail out of this? Maybe you should just try going to those weird “self-care sessions” that your college advertises rather than actually putting any of the funding into finding more and better counselors. The therapy dogs are pretty cute. Corgis are enough of a cure for your anxiety that keeps you from socializing with anybody outside of your friends that you can count on a single hand, right?

You look at your phone. Three texts, two are from your roommate Darcy, and one from Wanda. Your eyes shoot towards the clock on the wall, then to the exit, as if planning a grand escape (as if anyone in this waiting room would care about what you did). The overly sweet secretary notices you fidgeting and asks if you need anything, but you just shake your head and mumble out something about just checking the time.

Darcy’s messages are just her asking if you needed more coffee pods, to which you reply “yes please.” Wanda, however, is telling you that she hopes that your first session goes alright.

What exactly should you say to that?

“Yep, hope they shoot the serotonin straight into my body!” Or maybe, “Thanks. Unrelated, can you come kill me?”

Both are good options, but you opt to just send a heart as a reply.

Wanda is the one who suggested this particular counselor when you finally admitted that you were in a place where you needed to at least try. You had noticed a big difference in Wanda over the past year after she started seeing Dr. Harkness, so you were willing to at least go to a few sessions and see if it would be the right fit.

You’re so wrapped up in your own brain, mentally trying to decide if there’s a last minute way you could back out of this, that you practically jump out of your seat when you hear a woman’s voice calling your name. Standing in the doorway that leads to the offices, you see Dr. Harkness for the first time.

Wanda apparently failed to mention the fact that the therapist she’s been seeing is incredibly attractive.

“You okay, honey?” Dr. Harkness asks as you remain paralyzed in your seat, your fight or flight instincts apparently choose to freeze at the sight of this woman who makes your mouth go dry.

“Yes! I’m fine, sorry. I zone out a lot,” you try to casually laugh it off as you let her lead you to her office.

“Noted. But next time just take a picture, dear, it’ll last you longer,” Dr. Harkness teases with a wink. You’re a little stunned at how she doesn’t hesitate to joke with you as if she’s known you for years. Or at least more than three seconds. But it’s actually comforting in a way, making the whole process seem less sterile. Your shoulders visibly relax when you finally sink into the comfy couch in Dr. Harkness’s office.

While she pulls your file up on her laptop, you look around and see a large variety of things. There’s items that you assume were given to her with the office, like the filing cabinets and minimalist white bookshelf, but everything else feels like a distinct mixing of eras and random purchases.

The desk that she’s working at would definitely take over a room any smaller than this. It’s huge, and clearly an antique. You’re not even sure how it fit through the door. It definitely does not match the rolling chair from Office Max that Dr. Harkness is sitting in, rolling herself ever so slightly back and forth as she hums and scans through documents. The couch you’re on doesn’t feel like anything special - other than the fact that it really makes you want to nap on it - but the stuffed rabbit that has to be as tall as (if not taller than) you stares at you from the other corner of the couch.

There’s a table next to you that is filled with things that catch your interest. Apart from the record player and antique lamp that looks like a bunch of twisted tree branches, there’s a bunch of fun desk decor, various crystals that you have no idea the meaning behind, and fidget toys that your hands twitch to mess with.

“You’re allowed to touch, dear,” Dr. Harkness’s voice startles you. You look up and see that she’s been watching you, probably for longer than you registered. “Anything in here is free for you to play with, that’s why it’s here!”

You bite your tongue to keep yourself from making the obvious joke of asking if those parameters include her. Probably not the first impression you want to make. You stay silent and grab a little stack of magnets off of the table and start arranging them as Dr. Harkness finally starts asking you questions.

You were the one who did most of the analyzing that day. While she was going over your initial screening, getting an idea of what exactly you were here for and what would be the best way to spend your short hour together, you were studying her carefully. Something about Dr. Harkness - Agatha, you learned her first name was, as she insists you call her by it - lured you in like she has her own gravitational pull.

You ramble on a lot more than you usually would - probably just glad to have someone whose job it is to be non judgemental - talking about your schoolwork and the few friends you had, which professors drove you up the wall and which ones you actually looked forward to seeing. It all just flows out of you, and you don’t even realize fully what you’re saying because of how focused you are on staring at Agatha.

All of your nerves seem to dissipate as soon as you started talking to Agatha. It was no wonder that Wanda sung such high praises of the woman, because what would usually feel like a grueling process of small talk that started digging into more of your personal life sped by, and before you knew it, the hour was up.

“Well, time flies when you’re in good company,” Agatha says as she walks you back towards the lobby. Her hand drifts to your lower back as she leads you out. The gesture seems rather forward, but you figure that maybe she’s just a generally touchy person, so you don’t flinch away. Plus, you kind of like the way the lingering touch leaves goosebumps along your skin. “I hope to hear good things about that paper you’re working on, dear.”

“I am too,” you laugh. “I’ll try my best.”

“Good girl!” Agatha beams. “See you next week!”

Looking back on it, you were doomed from the start.

You really can’t quite place what it is about Agatha that fascinates you so deeply. Perhaps it's your general penchant for getting inappropriately attached to older female figures in your life.

This woman has you enamored. With her dark hair you want to run your hands through, with the lines of her face that you want to trace with your fingertips, with her laugh that kept ringing in your ears through the whole session after you made a snide comment about how you love life was dry in more ways than one.

Freud would probably have some backwards, perverted reasoning for how dependent your self-esteem became on the praise of any female teacher you even remotely liked.

But, fuck Freud. Maybe you just like hot women who just happen to be old enough to be your mother.

This thought process (minus the part about wanting Agatha to kiss you and touch you and make you come undone) all comes spilling out one session as you’re telling Agatha how the paper you had mentioned during your first meeting had come back. It was certainly not your worst grade ever, but it was definitely far from your best. The grade itself would be much more bearable if the comments on it weren’t practically giving you hives.

“A stickler for praise, huh?” Agatha hums, propping her chin up on her knee. She plays with the end of her sleeves as she ponders what you’ve said, a habit that you’ve caught onto over the last month and a half. You always like when she does this, pushing her sleeves up to her elbows. Her hands make your mouth water, and you long to suck on her long digits or feel the veins in her “Sounds like a lot of girls I’ve been in bed with.”

You’re mostly used to Agatha’s flippant innuendos by now, but somehow the more you’ve talked to her, the more flustered they make you. You have gotten braver, daring to fire back with responses that always make Agatha laugh. You’re not sure if you’re actually funny, or she’s just making you feel better.

(You don’t really care, so long as you get to hear Agatha’s laugh.)

Maybe you should’ve questioned whether Agatha’s jokes were a little too much sometimes. The fact that they were enough to make you squirm in your chair sometimes could probably attest to that. But, you always make those types of jokes with your friends. Darcy and your friendship practically revolves around pretend flirting with each other, so this was probably equitable, right?

“Do you have more papers for this class coming up?” Agatha asks.

“One more before our final project.”

“Well, sounds like you have plenty of opportunity to bring up the grade then!”

“That’s true. This one still stings, though. She could’ve at least told me some of the things I did well. Not just all my stupid mistakes,” you admit, twisting the new fidget toy Agatha added to her collection with your fingers. Your attention is fully on the toy as you avoid eye contact, the way you always do when you feel that anxiety tightening in your chest. Agatha gives you a moment of silence before she speaks again.

“Hey, look at me,” she scoots closer to you, putting her hands over your own as the fidgeting gets shakier. You look up and meet her gaze. Her face is but a breath away from you, and you hold your own out of fear.

The intense warmth you feel as you watch her eyes flicker across your face, lingering just this side of too long on your lips, takes over your entire body. Her unwavering stare invites you in and threatens to eat you whole.

And, god, you’re so sure that you would let her.

Not even sexually. (Well, that too). But you feel safe in her presence. There’s no pressure to pretend like you’re a perfect person that does shitty things sometimes. No pressure to act like sometimes you’re not falling apart at the seams.

And even when the seams rip sometimes (which Agatha has certainly seen in a couple of your sessions), she’s been here to help sew you back up, giving you the reassurance that you can’t ever give yourself, that you’re growing to constantly crave in every decision you make.

“One paper will not ruin your life. Hell, multiple papers won’t ruin your life. But also, it’s okay to be upset about it.” Agatha’s thumbs rub soothingly against your hands, and the tenderness of the motion helps you forget how your hands are the only thing between hers and your inner thighs. “Your grades don’t define you, honey. You’ve got so many more things going for you than just a GPA.”

“Sure doesn’t feel like it sometimes,” you mumble. You’re not-so-secretly fishing for a compliment, and Agatha knowingly takes the bait.

“Well, I can certainly think of a few. You’re clever, for one thing. And very sweet, especially when you bring me an iced coffee,” Agatha moves away from you for a second to grab the aforementioned drink and take a sip for effect. It pulls you out of your moping and earns her a laugh. She doesn’t return her hands to your own, but rests one of them on your knee, repeating that same circular motion with her thumb. You’d probably pull away if it wasn’t difficult to rearrange yourself from your criss-cross sitting position and the little room Agatha’s left you to move. But, with the way the touch sends electricity across your skin makes you glad that there isn’t room to pull away. “Not to mention, you’re certainly easy on the eyes, baby.”

“Then maybe I should just sleep with the professor,” you reply, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing. You were definitely not oblivious to the ways that Agatha checked you out. She was pretty obvious about it, but like everything she does, that must be intentional. “That should get me an easy A, right?”

“It sure would work on me. Just make sure you tell me all of the juicy details, sweetheart,” Agatha winks.

“Of course,” you tease back. “I promised to be more open, didn’t I?”

“You did. And you’re doing so well, darling,” she pats your knee affectionately before rolling her chair back to her desk as the alarm signalling the end of your session goes off. You practically glow under the praise.

On your way out, you wonder to yourself if you’ve given Agatha new reinforcement methods when you talked about your need for reassurance. Plus, you can’t stop thinking about Agatha’s touch, either. All of those little moments stick in your brain and create a certain itch that can’t be scratched. Not until you see her again.

Or, it’s temporarily relieved when your hand finds its way between your legs at night, wishing that it was Agatha tracing your folds and whispering against your skin how good you are. But even after you’ve made yourself cum, you feel unsatisfied. A little empty.

The thought of Agatha holding you tight against her chest is the only thing that helps you finally drift off to sleep.

“Sorry, sorry! I know I’m late!” Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath. The waitress that just set down waters for Wanda and Monica raises an eyebrow at your disheveled appearance and quickly goes to get a glass for you as well. You try to thank her, but Wanda just tugs you down into the booth next to her.

“It’s nothing,” Monica waves off your apology. “I’m just glad you could finally grace us with your presence.”

“Yeah, you seem to be even busier than usual,” Wanda comments.

“Well, it’s almost finals season,” you explain, still out of breath from the way you ran from your car. “Plus, my therapy appointments had to be moved around the past couple of weeks ‘cuz of Agatha’s other patients rescheduling a bunch. So I had to make time for that.”

“I thought that was only like, once a week?”

“Twice, now.”

“The semester’s really been that bad? I thought you liked most of your classes,” Monica asks, concern gracing her features.

“Eh, it’s about as stressful as it always is,” you shrug. “But my anxiety has been much less intense when I have therapy, so Agatha suggested maybe increasing the times I see her would make it even more manageable.”

Wanda nods in understanding, but Monica purses her lips, obviously tempted to keep prying. She doesn’t, thankfully. But you can tell that even as the three of you start talking about other things that she’s trying to figure out how to approach you with more questions without making things tense.

Your mind starts wandering as Monica explains some technical engineering project she’s working on that you can’t comprehend, and then you notice your phone light up. The name that appears in the notification makes you smile, and you immediately reply back.

“Ooh, that’s a very happy face. Who’re you texting? New girlfriend?” Wanda asks, poking your side playfully.

“What? No,” you roll your eyes. “It’s just Agatha.”

“Agatha?” Monica squints at you. “As in, your therapist Agatha?”

“Yes?” You can feel the judgement coming and are quick to defend yourself before any accusation is even made. “Tons of people have their therapist’s number. It’s not a big deal. She likes to check in and ask how my day is going. She just wants to know if I can get coffee today.”

“Pretty sure they usually don’t do that,” Monica says, apprehension growing stronger by the second. “Is she texting all her patients for life updates or coffee dates?”

“She’s done that with me,” Wanda shrugs, stabbing a forkful of salad. “Not as much anymore, but still.”

“See?” You gesture to Wanda. “Not weird! And Wanda’s been doing great since she started seeing Agatha. Her methods clearly work.”

“I’m not saying they don’t,” Monica’s eyes flick between you and Wanda. “But I’m just worried about you becoming dependent on Agatha, because it seems to me like you’re leaning on her a lot for support.”

“Dependent? I’m just going to therapy, Monica. Isn’t she supposed to support me?”

“Yes, but--”

“And weren’t you one of the ones who suggested that it would help me manage my stress?” You scoff. Monica doesn’t reply to that, because she knows it’s true. It was out of love, of course. She was easily the most reasonable out of your circle of friends (not that it was tough competition with Wanda and Darcy around). Wanda is silently watching the argument with rapt attention. You kind of wish she’d support you more, but you also feel kind of bad, because you know Monica is just looking out for you. “Guess what? My stress is being managed!”

“Look,” Monica sighs and raises her hands in defeat. “I’m so, so glad that this is working for you. But I also know that it’s important that you feel like you have everything under control even when you’re not sitting in Agatha’s office. And no matter how much you like your therapist, there’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed.”

“No lines are being crossed,” you huff. You stand up abruptly and shuffle through your wallet and throw some cash down on the table. Monica rubs her temples, and Wanda tries to stop you from leaving. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to. I appreciate the concern, but I think I need to leave now.”

Monica is civil as she bids you goodbye, telling you that she’ll see you soon. Wanda tells you that she’s demanding another lunch soon, and you give them both a flippant wave as response.

Just as you’re leaving, you notice that you have several more notifications from Agatha, repeatedly asking you to answer her coffee request. Monica’s words pick at your brain, but the thought of seeing Agatha today eases all of the tension that the argument had created in your body.

You finally respond and tell Agatha that you’ll meet her in an hour.

The argument with Monica was temporarily relieved by getting coffee with Agatha that day. She reassured you that she would never do anything that she didn’t think you’d be okay with (not that you’d had any doubts). But when Monica asked to get lunch again as an apology for the disagreement, the churning in your stomach made you feel terrible every time you thought about it, so you ended up cancelling last minute.

And you did the same with Wanda the next day. You made up an excuse about having too many things to do. It wasn’t a complete lie. But the work wasn’t so difficult or important that you didn’t spend time texting Agatha while you were doing it.

Even Darcy, who uses up the absolute least amount of your social battery got caught up in the whole thing. The idea of even sitting around and watching a trashy movie with her sounds like effort that you’d rather put elsewhere. She’s surprised, since you almost never turn her down, but doesn’t question it at all.

It sucks when you can so easily bail on your friends, but you also feel immense guilt over letting them down. It eats you up from the inside out, and you desperately want to scratch at your skin because it feels like the anxiety is trying to claw its way out of you and and and--

Breathe.

The voice in your head centers you. You flex your fingers, bad feelings still bubbling and threatening to spill over.

You’re okay.

The voice is Agatha’s. It makes you realize that it’s Tuesday. You can see her today. She can take the bad feelings away and replace them with her warmth. The warmth that you crave every day. The warmth that makes you think you finally understand what love should feel like. The warmth that soothes you, swaddles you, swallows you.

And everything will be okay once it does.

Agatha, the professional that she is, immediately knows that you’re worse for wear than you have been in quite a few weeks. She already knows generally what’s going on with you, since you were consistently in contact over the past week, but she sees the exhaustion on your face and wants nothing more than to take it all away from you.

“Oh, dear. You’re looking like something the cat dragged in. C’mere, come tell mommy about it,” Agatha coos when she sees the dark circles under your eyes. The sudden nickname sends a slight shiver down your spine, but your mind is too preoccupied to come up with a teasing response.

You sit in your normal spot on the couch, but instead of sitting at her office chair like she usually does, Agatha comes over and sits next to you. She watches your leg bounce nervously and wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer to her. You’re so nervous having this much contact with her that you can’t even look in her direction.

“Tell me, baby. What’s so heavy on your mind today?”

“I’m just,” you sigh, feeling a tightness deep in your chest, threatening to explode and shatter your ribs into a million tiny pieces. And then you finally look up from your fidgeting hands, making eye contact with Agatha.

You remember. You’re here. This is your safe spot. Agatha is here, and you’re safe with her. One look from her, and the tightness unravels, like a ball of tangled up yarn. She can patiently undo all of your knots and gently even you out again.

Agatha is the only one who can.

“I’m afraid,” you finally blurt out, eyes darting away from her again. Agatha’s grip tightens on your shoulder, not in a threatening way, but to ground you.

“Of what?”

A beat of silence.

You swear you can feel your heartbeat. It feels like it’s thrashing against your ribcage, even though you know that’s anatomically impossible. You take a deep breath. And with your exhale, your insecurities come spilling out.

“Not being good enough. I’m afraid of not being good enough. And disappointing my friends. Enough so that they leave me. They all have better friends anyway. Why stick around with the one who bails out of every plan? The one who can’t even muster enough energy to watch a movie with them for some reason? But then I feel bad about it all, which is stupid, because I’m the one who bails. I don’t even know why I do it. They’ve been so good to me. They’re the reason I get to see you, and this has been one of the best things that’s happened to me,” you admit. “But I still keep pushing them away.”

Agatha hums, thinking over what you’ve said. Her hand rubs your shoulder gently, and you want nothing more than to fully lean into her. But a voice in your head (which sounds a little too much like Monica) tells you not to.

“Has this been a problem for a while?”

“Kinda,” you shrug. “When I’m really overwhelmed with school I tend to shut down more. But it feels like it’s gotten worse lately. Which is really weird, because I feel like when I’m here, all my anxiety gets pushed away. Then it just comes back when I start trying to hang out with the others.”

“Maybe we should focus more on the things that make you feel good, rather than what doesn’t,” Agatha suggests. You don’t look up at her again, but you nod. “You say you feel better when you’re here, right? We can have longer sessions, if you’d like.”

“Maybe. It actually helped a lot when we talked outside of our appointments,” you admit. “But I don’t want to be constantly bothering--”

“Sweetheart, you’re never a bother to me,” Agatha interrupts before you dare finish your sentence. “That’s why I’m here. I’d love to talk to you more outside of the office. Is there anything else that you can think of that helps?”

“I...I’m not sure,” you whisper. “I’ve never been really good at the whole ‘self-care’ thing. I’d honestly prefer if there was just a way for someone else to do all that for me, y’know?”

If you were looking at her, you would’ve been able to see Agatha’s eyes light up at what you said. Instead, you feel her hand touch your face, and she tilts your head so that you’re facing her again. You try to blink away the few tears that have formed against your will without her noticing, but of course she doesn’t miss it. Her thumbs wipe them away as they fall, and you tremble under her touch.

“I think that I might have an idea that will work for you,” Agatha says. You furrow your eyebrows at her, silently asking for her to elaborate. “A way I can take care of you, when you can’t do it yourself. A distraction from all those noisy thoughts inside of your head.”

“Oh,” you wrack your brain trying to figure out what she’s getting at. It sounds promising, though, being distracted from your anxiety long enough to clear your head. “Okay.”

“Wonderful. Now, get on your knees.”

Wait.

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” Her hand trails down from cradling your face to resting on your neck. You can feel her fingers twitching against your throat, like she’s trying to resist the urge to squeeze.

“I don’t know,” you gulp. Fingers twitch against your throat again. Suddenly, those fleeting fantasies that you’ve failed to force out of your mind are much closer to reality than you ever imagined they would be. “I mean, I do trust you! I just don’t think this is something we’re allowed to do.”

“I think I know the rules of this a bit better than you do, honey,” Agatha looks at the framed degrees on her wall pointedly. “Besides, this method worked wonders with Wanda.”

“Really?” you pull away from her. You recall the way that Wanda mentioned how Agatha would text her and meet up with her the same way that she does with you.

Was this Agatha’s endgame the whole time?

“Yep. You can ask her yourself, I’m sure she’d tell you how much she loved it,” Agatha winks.

There are about a million thoughts running through your head right now. You know that it’s wrong. Hell, Agatha could lose her career for this, maybe even worse. But it’s also something that you’ve wanted since that first session. Maybe if it was just once, no harm would be done? But then, if someone like Monica found out, even one time could put you and Agatha in hot water.

Every conflicting thought in your head is too loud, and you don’t even realize that your breathing has picked up. It’s all too loud, too much to think about. You can’t make this decision.

As if she can read your mind, Agatha moves closer to you again, stroking your face and kissing your cheek softly. Your eyes flutter close at the tender contact, and you calm down enough to steady your breathing back to normal.

The way your world centers again helps you finally realize that you don’t want to make this decision. You want - need - Agatha to choose for you.

You look up at her pleadingly, fighting for the words to ask her to take control. Luckily, she understands, whispering praise as she guides you strip and kneel in front of the couch. Her hands glide teasingly over your body as she helps take your shirt and jeans off, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

She won’t let you shy away from her either, leaving kisses and bites along your skin when you try to cover yourself as your clothes are tossed to the floor piece by piece. Once your underwear has come off, you finally kneel in the spot she’s told you to, and watch as she goes to her desk to get something.

“You look so perfect on your knees for me, baby. I could keep you like this for hours,” Agatha says when she comes back into your vision. Your core aches for attention, only growing needier by the second. You whine at her proposition. She just laughs, sitting down on the couch again and patting your cheek. “Don’t worry, honey. I won’t do that to you today. Now, come sit in mommy’s lap.”

You scramble to obey her, straddling her lap and waiting eagerly for your next instructions. Her fingers run through your folds, collecting the wetness that’s gathered there and teasing around your clit. You try not to grind against her hand, biting your lip to hold back a moan when she dips two fingertips into your eager cunt.

“Ah ah, no,” Agatha scolds you. You frown, scrunching your face in confusion. She can’t resist kissing the tip of your nose before explaining, “Don’t hold back from me. I want to hear you.”

“But what if someone catches us?”

“That’s for me to worry about,” Agatha assures you. Her fingers push all the way into you, and you drop your head against her shoulder and groan into her neck. “All you have to worry about is being a good girl for me.”

You nod and let yourself moan against Agatha’s skin as she starts pumping into you. Her fingers are so long and feel so good stretching your pussy. She starts curling them inside of you, and you can feel your thighs shaking when she picks up the pace. The dark purple sweater that she’s wearing feels soft in your fists as you hold onto her for dear life, like you’re afraid of being so overcome by pleasure that you evaporate.

“God, look at you,” Agatha practically growls. Suddenly, your cunt is empty, and you can’t help whimpering. You watch as she brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks your juices off of them, cunt clenching when you hear her moan for the first time. “Shit, baby. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to resist you ever again after tasting that pussy.”

“You don’t have to, mommy.” The title falls from your lips easily. Agatha’s hand that was steading your hips tightens, leaving little crescent shaped marks where her short nails dig into your skin. “I’m yours.”

“Say it again,” Agatha orders, fingers diving back into your cunt. This time, she has three fingers buried inside of you, and you feel so full and so good that you’re almost tempted to ask for another finger. Before you can even think about it, you feel vibrations against your clit and practically scream from how good it feels. Agatha presses the vibrator harder against you as she fucks you with her fingers, repeating darkly, “Say it again, slut. Tell me who you belong to.”

“You! I belong to you, Agatha.”

“What about this pussy, hm?”

“You own my pussy, mommy,” you moan as she ups the intensity of the vibrator. You know that you must be dripping now. You can hear how wet you are as Agatha thrusts into you, and you must be soaking Agatha’s pants, but she doesn’t seem to care. “You own all of me. I-I…”

The words are lost in your throat as Agatha captures your lips, swallowing the moans that spill from your mouth. She barely pulls back, lips still grazing your own, as she asks, “What is it, baby? What do you need?”

“Need to cum, mommy, please. I need it so bad,” you whine, completely lost in the haze of submission. The only thing that you can think about is Agatha and her fingers that are sending pleasure through your entire body.

“Yes, baby. Come for me,” Agatha mumbles against your lips, kissing you again as she curls her fingers inside of you rapidly, pressing against the spot against your walls that you can never quite reach yourself.

The orgasm that takes over your body erupts so suddenly that you have to cling to Agatha to stay upright. She yanks the vibrator away, but her fingers stay inside of you, pumping slowly still as your body shakes with your climax. Agatha groans at the way your walls clench her fingers, thinking of all the ways she can stretch you out later.

As you come down from your high, your head feels so fuzzy that you only vaguely register Agatha removing her fingers. Your thighs are sticky, and there are beads of sweat running down your body, but you don’t care. Agatha doesn’t seem to either, pulling you so that you’re pressed almost completely against her while she cradles your head and strokes your hair. She coos praises in your ear, and it makes your entire being feel like it's floating among the clouds.

“Thank you,” you finally mumble into her neck, voice hoarse from exhaustion. Agatha just kisses your temple and pulls you impossibly closer.

“Of course, darling. You’re mine now, and I’m going to take such good care of you.”

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness imagine #marvel darkfics #darkfics #c: agatha #silver writes #fic #therapist!agatha

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ushidoux · 4 years ago

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Good Teacher - Sugawara x Reader

Summary: You meet Sugawara on an online dating app expecting something tame, but get more than you expected. (~3.1k words)

Warnings: fem pronouns, fem!reader, some features are described ***, dom/sub dynamics, collaring, daddy kink, breathplay, dacryphilia, spanking, edging, toy use, restraint use, sub drop

A/N: Again, this was a commission so some features are described!! Otherwise, please enjoy my first longer BDSM fic.

---

Being alone in your bedroom at 9pm on a Friday night may have felt like a loss on any other day, but today, with your phone buzzing non-stop and every neuron in the sexy parts of your brain firing, you could not think of anything else you would rather do.

Well, actually you could think of a few, and most of them involved slipping out of your pajamas and slipping under your new flame.

Sugawara Koushi.

A name like that sounded sweet. Maybe even bland. Safe.

When you’d swiped right on his profile on the tamer of your social media apps, you’d expected someone mild-mannered and easy to speak to. He was an elementary school teacher with soft features, white hair and a cute mole under his left eye. He couldn��t possibly be as forward as the other guys you’d dealt with over the years. A tame, responsible choice.

You’d started texting back and forth quickly, with polite, formal introductions which progressed to cute messages and long phone calls, and you’d even managed a very chaste first date where he’d picked you up at 8pm on the dot and taken you to a fine restaurant on the water.

You normally would have expected to be dicked down that night, and had paired sexy lingerie under your silky mauve dress for exactly that, but you weren’t too surprised when he left you at your doorstep with a peck on the forehead.

The only unsettling thing about the kiss was the way his eyes had lingered on your lips, just as his fingers trailed the curve of your jaw as he tucked your hair behind your ear. It was too practiced, too… dominant.

You suspected he was holding something back.

And he was, because once you’d ventured to call in the middle of the night, a little bit tipsy and yearning for a little bit more than a smile and a gentle touch from him, you’d broken some sort of dam.

He’d called you a needy, desperate, pretty little slut, desperate for Daddy’s cock but needing to prove herself that she was willing to ride with Daddy’s very, very strict set of rules first, and you’d practically cum at the sudden turn of his voice.

Now anything was fair game.

I have… particular taste. Are you sure you can keep up, princess?

The warmth between your legs and the image of full balls and a weighty, rigid cock told you, you would absolutely be ready for anything he had in store for you.

Yes, daddy. I’m up for anything you want.

You, of course, couldn’t see the wide smile spreading across his face on the other end, as he palmed his cock slowly while reading your texts and admiring your nudes, and texted back:

We’ll need a shit ton of rope.

---

Sugawara’s hands are much larger than you’d anticipate, and rougher, and you wonder how much of it is due to high school athletics or from the fact that he’s quick to slap or spank you at any chance he gets. Your skin is sometimes red, sometimes bruised, and always marked, and it’s exactly the way you like it.

The first time you have sex, he starts you off as though you are the most shy of virgins even though you claim that you’re not exactly inexperienced.

“I wouldn’t want to break you, pretty girl,” he teases, as his hands worship your body, tracking down your waist to the center of your legs, and patting your cunt softly. Today, he’s promised to focus on your pleasure only because he wants to “break you in.” You wonder how many he’s “broken in,” then you realize you don’t really care. You’re his one and only princess right now, and you intend to be for quite a while.

The pleasure of being a good dom is that he can choose to serve - he can choose to be doting and he can choose to be harsh with punishment. Since it’s your first day since you’ve entered this contract with him, he’s decided to focus on the catering part of his personality, and familiarize you with his desires.

The rose-gold Turian collar on your neck compliments your skin well, he takes note, as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth and leans you against him while you are seated on the edge of the bed and he’s kneeling just so before you, fingers deep in your cunt.

“You’re gonna keep that pretty little thing around your neck, aren’t you, pretty baby?”

His fingers move so fast that it’s hard for you to speak, and the arm that’s wrapped around your waist and keeping you flush against him is tightening the longer he continues. He’s a lot stronger than he looks, you know from every heavy spank he’s given you.

“I-I will, daddy, every day and every night,” you pant out, your tongue lolling as his fingers curve upwards and his lips leave your nipple with a soft pop and make their way to your quivering mouth.

“Good,” he whispers as he bites your lower lip. “You’re so obedient… I like that in a little one,” he affirms.

---

He’s kind when he teaches, patient even.

He’s also generous; he gifts you with your first corset, a dark, lacy and tight thing that almost takes your breath away initially, especially when he tightens it onto you himself. Even if it’s constraining, you feel empowered from the very moment you look in the mirror. Your breasts sit high, and you spin once in a gesture of delight; he kisses down your neck as you admire yourself.

“This is only to get you used to a little bit of restriction,” he reassures, as he pulls you into his lap. “But I can’t deny that you look breathtaking.”

---

Since you’ve been so bold as to take his breath away, it isn’t too long until he decides he wants to see what you look like when you’re truly struggling for air. After all, the little shiny thing around your neck catches his eye way too often for his comfort, and his pants suddenly feel too tight for a casual grocery store run.

Your safeword is red, like the blood that courses through your veins as his fingers tighten around your throat.

He thumbs your pink, puffy lips, and it would be loving if he wasn’t calling you a stupid little cocktease.

“Pretty little bambi, prancing around like you’re free to be with anyone other than me.”

The breath that tickles your face is a taunt, because you’re slowly getting lightheaded, barely able to focus on the long index finger he’s commanding you to suck.

The pressure he puts on your neck is varying; for moments you can draw a single staccato breath, which encourages him to press his lips to yours and absorb you in a kiss before he reapplies pressure; his naked body presses against yours, rolling painstakingly slow. He hasn’t even entered you yet.

Breathplay, he calls it.

You gasp as his cock slips into your wet entrance just as fast as his hand leaves your throat, and he too draws a deep breath as he fills you to the hilt.

He lets out a soft laugh as he caresses the hair that is sticking to your face, and readjusts himself yet again - of course, he’s also better endowed than you’d expect him to be - before he picks up speed and chokes you again.

---

“I… Kou-”

“Daddy,” he stresses, unphased as he continues to press a small clitoral stimulator to your tender, overworked bud.

“D-Daddy~” you cry out in a soft, drawn out whine, and you shift a little bit because the ties that keep your ankles attached to the legs of the chair, your pussy exposed and vulnerable with your crotch wide open, are starting to dig into your skin. But you can’t move all that much, there’s additional rope around your waist that keeps you against the back of the chair and you think the soft satin that keeps your wrists behind you is probably overkill, even if you have to admit you like the color.

“Yes, sweetheart~” he whispers in a voice accented with assertive sweetness, his eyes still lowered and focused on the heave of your chest as he watches you drip before him.

“I-”

You scream.

He’d angled the toy upwards, and somehow within the small bundle of nerves he’s targeted an even more precise cluster of endings - there’s a flash of white you see before you cum practically violently, lurching forward so rapidly that he has to keep the chair steady so that you won’t fall over on the pretty little face he adores.

It’s possibly the fourth time he’s had to ground you in the past hour, and it’s an act of mercy because he had been edging you repeatedly, forcing your pussy to clench desperately around nothing but air.

The way you gush and spray so lewdly onto the chair, onto the floor, onto the hand he plays on your sopping wet pussy reminds him he chose very, very well.

---

It’s nearly silent and it’s dark now, far too dark for you to see.

Your Koushi has prepared you for this next step lovingly, sometimes not so lovingly over the past couple of weeks to build up to this.

The blindfold that obscures your vision is soft and slightly sweet smelling, as though spritzed with a floral scent about a day ago prior to this. Again your hands are bound, but he’s used lined handcuffs instead of ties, and your wrists are before you, not behind you.

But you’re lying on your belly, a spreader forcing your thighs apart. He must really love the way your pussy looks staring him in the face.

“You seem to be a glutton for punishment, princess,” he says, accenting his words with a hard slap on your inner thigh. You gasp, but his hands linger tighten, and are then followed by what can only be the press of his tongue against the stinging portion.

“Daddy, I’ll behave, I’m so sorry,” you moan as his hand grips a generous portion of your asscheek.

But you won’t behave, because you’ve learned that Suga likes just a touch of bratty behavior and that gets him quite physical with you. He knows this just as much as you.

He slaps your ass fervently, the slight jiggle drawing a pleased sigh from his lips.

“You’re a silly little slut, though…” he starts, rubbing a hand along the length of your thigh, “how can I trust any of your promises?”

His finger travels to your open center, and when he sees you tense up, he stops.

“You need a firm hand to guide you always…”

His right hand curves again around your cunt and his middle and ring finger finds its way into your slippery hole, while his index taps your clit and his little finger (he’s dexterous like this), taps ever so lightly around your asshole.

You shudder.

“Arch your back, you little cumslut. Make it easy for daddy.”

As you inch backwards slowly using your elbows and knees to rise up, his right hand continues to move with you, but then his other hand lands heavily on your other asscheek.

It breaks your concentration and you almost fall because it takes quite a lot more energy than you would expect to move this way with your hands bound and your legs spread, but you persevere.

For him.

Before you can whine once you’ve gotten into position, he withdraws his hand from your cunt.

“No!” You find yourself shrieking before you realize. You can’t have him edge you again, he’s absolutely cruel, you can’t…

“Oh, I thought I called the shots here, princess,” Sugawara reminds you, voice honeyed and cruel. You can feel his fingers weave into your hair and the warm tip of what must be his cock prod at your entrance.

“Sir, please~”

“Beg.”

He spreads you open with a hand massaging your ass, again tapping teasingly all around your vagina, but he won’t push in to give you the pleasure of having his cock inside you.

Your heart is pounding with desire.

“Please!”

“Please what?”

“Please fill me up, daddy!”

That statement of desire earns you an inch, an inch that makes you swallow saliva hard and your muscles tense with need and want.

“M-more, more please!”

“You’re so demanding. I would say your eyes are bigger than your pretty little pussy, but you can’t see, can you?”

He laughs, but he pushes in further another inch, than another, moving painstakingly slow, slow enough that you’re biting your lower lip until blood is drawn. The stretch is achingly delicious but it leaves you starved for more.

You’re begging and whining, and soon you’re trying your best to sink onto him further but he’s got you restrained for a reason.

“Greedy little bitch,” he murmurs, but he kisses your neck lovingly as he fills you to the hilt.

The unmistakable noise of flesh hitting flesh and minimal friction fills the room but you care less about sound, only about the slap of his balls against your cunt as he thrusts into you from behind.

More. Deeper. Faster. Harder.

He’s a master at drawing desire out of you, you wonder if you even needed these toys and ties and other accoutrements. You’re already so utterly wrapped for him.

---

There’s a movie playing on your screen that you had both been pretending to watch, cuddled together on the couch, your legs resting across his lap. You had barely gotten through the opening credits before he pulled you onto him fully and had you straddle him.

“You want a snack, pretty baby?” He whispers, as though it weren’t just the two of you staring in each other’s eyes.

Your eyelashes bat and you nod.

He doesn’t break eye contact while he reaches for a strawberry, fresh from the farmer’s market you’d strolled through this morning, from a bowl set on the table.

This one is drizzled in chocolate, and he runs it along the length of your collarbone, eye contact still heavy and unflinching before he dips down to catch it in his mouth.

It hangs out halfway from his teeth and he cues you to take it from him mouth to mouth. You split half of it, letting the sweet tartness permeate your senses.

His arm hooks around your waist and pulls you in close as he presses his lips against yours. You weren’t aware of the glob of strawberry-flavored saliva he’d collected until he draws away, tilts your head back and tells you to open up wide so he can spit directly into your mouth.

---

“Swallow.”

Suga’s relentlessly pounding an erect, frustrated and thick cock into your mouth, past your teeth and down your poor throat, and he’s close to his release now, you can tell by the way he’s now pressed your face so far against him that his carefully cropped pubes prick your face.

He’s warning you beforehand, and you’re thankful for the warning because when he cums with a soft, almost angelic moan, his penis jerks inside your mouth ever so slightly, and there’s a gush of hot, slippery liquid that slides down your throat.

You breathe through your nose. He tastes sweet, maybe it’s because of the strawberries from just earlier today, but nevertheless it’s a pleasant liquid you gulp down around his cock.

He loves the way your throat feels when it clamps around him, especially when you initially gag once accepting his cock.

You’re perfect.

“Come up, darling,” he bids you, pulling you up from your position on your knees.

“Are you gonna fill me up, daddy?” You mewl softly as he lifts up and carries you before laying you on your back.

“Yes, pretty baby, but let me taste your juicy little cunt first,” he says before he dives in between your legs.

---

“You’re so good for me, you know that, don’t you?”

He kisses your neck softly as he holds you close to him while you lay in bed together. It’s close to 1am and he’s focused on aftercare, caressing your arms and waist and the curve of your hip gently. You’re facing away from him, not because you’re upset, but because you’re exhausted.

He’s worried you’re having a sub-drop; after all, he’s spent the last two hours slapping your face and calling you disgusting. He wonders if you forgot to use your safe word.

You’re new to this and he’s put you through a lot in the past few weeks.

“Sweetness,” he whispers, directly into your ear. “Look at me?”

You turn, cheeks still flushed from particularly hard slaps. His heart aches a bit for you, because those sweet lips are pulled downwards into a frown and he’s not sure if those are fresh tears that wet your eyelashes.

He kisses your eyelids then rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Are you doing okay, my princess?”

You nod and reach for his face with your fingertips. Your dom softens under your touch because you are so precious to him. His fingers close around yours and he kisses your forehead.

“The most important thing is your comfort,” he asserts. He taps the collar around your neck that suggests in some way that you are his and he is yours. “You can take this off at any time.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into his chest. It’s been fun and it’s also been freeing to have him take care of you. There’s a soft haze that wafts around your brain lately as you surrender to him. You are in love with him, deeply, in such a short amount of time.

“I would never,” you say, finally.

His heart skips a beat.

“Unless you want to buy me a nicer one, of course.”

He chuckles.

“You’re a feisty little one, aren’t you?” He remarks. He’s glad to look down at you and see you smiling again, eyes bright and brown. He reaches for your ass cheek, then raises your leg so that it lies across his hip.

Your eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Well, that’s why you picked me to teach, isn’t it?” You raise an eyebrow, and the cheeky grin on your face is enough to make him get absolutely hard again.

Of course, only if you’re up to the task.

Suga bites gently on your lip again, his hand on your thigh.

“I didn’t expect you to learn so quickly.”

“Maybe you really do have the gift of teaching,” you reply, as you stick your tongue into his mouth.

#sugawara x reader #suga x reader #sugawara koushi x reader #sugawara smut #haikyuu smut #fic: good teacher #not sfw #commission work #mae.writing #hqintheclub

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twodimecastle · 3 years ago

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fifty bucks & six months.

spencer reid x gender neutral reader new relationship, secret keeping nonsense, 4.5k words, ao3 a/n; turns out i love writing texting fic but tumblr destroys the formatting rip

zero months.

You smile conspiratorially, extending a pinkie towards Spencer and he gives you a skeptical look.

“You know the odds of being found out immediately are-” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Astronomical, I know. I know. But don’t you think it’ll be fun to see how long we can push it?” you wheedle, not caring that your voice sounds more like begging than is strictly dignified because seeing the way Spencer’s nose crinkles in amusement at your heavy handed persuasion is too adorable to pass up. You scoot closer on the couch, tapping the end of his nose with your pinkie finger, letting him catch your hand between his as you continue “I think we’ve got a good shot at hiding it for a little while. It would be like a game.”

Spencer draws your captive hand to his lips, brushing them across your knuckles and watching fondly as you forge ahead in your campaign to persuade him, enjoying the show and the attention too much to tell you he’s already on board. Your eyes are shining with the prospect of the caper, and you’ve made no move to take your hand back from him, and Spencer’s pretty sure he’d be more than happy to sit with you in this moment forever. “I mean-” you go on, gesturing animatedly with your free hand, “you’re like-a really good liar when you want to be. And everyone else always forgets how good you are at it.”

He snorts at that and the sound makes you light up, eyes tracking the arch of his brows, the warmth in his soft brown eyes, memorising the way he looks like this; utterly unbothered, completely at ease. It might be your favourite version of him, but that race has always been a tight one with no clear winner in sight. You have lots of favourite versions of Spencer. Twisting your hand in his, you tangle your fingers together, savouring the way you feel his thumb glide delicately along your skin and the unhidden joy in his face at the simple show of affection.

Time to play your trump card.

“$50 says we can hide it from the whole group for at least six months. If everyone figures it out before then, you win. But if not everyone has worked it out by then, I win.”

The mischievous shine in your eyes is irresistible, and Spencer smiles, disentangling one of his hands from yours to extend his own pinky finger.

“You’re on.”

The words barely make it out of his mouth before you’re colliding with him, pressing your lips to his.

two months.

“So, how long has this whole thing been going on?” Derek’s question catches Spencer off guard, and, based on the way he can see you freeze in his peripheral vision, takes you by surprise as well. Sliding into the driver's seat of the SUV, Derek continues “I hope you didn’t think you were gonna be able to keep me in the dark for long, pretty boy. You should know better than that.”

Following mechanically after him, Spencer takes the passenger seat, trying to frame his next statement as carefully as possible as he hears your door close and the car start. “We were-going to tell you guys-” he begins uncomfortably, glancing back to you for support, but you look just as on edge as he feels. “We were just gonna-keep it to ourselves for a while-before telling Hotch and everything-” he tries again, the mounting tension levering his shoulders higher and higher with every passing moment, but then Derek just laughs, shaking his head.

“Hey, I’m happy for you, kid. For both of you.” He spares a look at you in the back seat through the rear view mirror, and you can feel the tension in your jaw relax, the furrows in your brow straightening out at the note of approval in Derek’s voice. “I’m glad you two finally figured it out,” he says, fondly, and you laugh.

“I bet Spence we could keep it from you guys at least six months,” you explain, reaching forwards through the centre console to link your pinky with Spencer’s, and the touch of your hand releases the last of the tension he had been harbouring as he covers your hand with the other one of his own. He knows Derek clocks the motion, filing it away in his mind somewhere, but he doesn’t care about the scrutiny so much right now. Not when your hand is so warm and comfortable in his.

Derek reaches for the dial on the radio and flicks through the channel, thinking about something, and as you watch, a slow mischievous smirk spreads across his face a moment later before he glances first at Spencer and then at you.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says to you, and Spencer can feel a familiar grin tugging at his own lips as he watches a plan take shape in his friend’s eyes. “I’m happy to sit on this information for a while for a cut of the winnings from whichever one of you comes out on top.” He snorts good naturedly as he continues “I have my own bet to win with Prentiss, so if you two help me win that one, I’ll cut you in too.”

“A quid pro quo of sorts,” Spencer says slowly, and he feels your fingers tighten around his, as you snort softly, and he knows instinctually you’re grinning the same way you always do when you’re winning a game. “I think we can do that.”

Derek grins, turning the music up as he nods, eyes on the road. “Then you two love birds have got yourselves a deal.”

two months and two weeks.

PG: youre not as slick as you think you are ;)

YN: ???

PG: ;))))))))) you should invest in some concealer for your work bag sweetness or tell the good doctor to pay more attention to whats visible in your work clothes

YN: oh my fucking god wait how do you even know thats how that happened

PG: im all knowing and all seeing im like the omnipotent goddess of the fbi

YN: derek blabbed

PG: he sang like a canary but also im an omnipotent goddess im also totally clued in on the whole bet situation with em so for the low low price of every single juicy detail about how this adorableness went down you can buy my silence :)

YN: im getting derek decaf coffee on all coffee runs from now on >:( traitors dont get caffeine

PG: darling sweet angel i need deets all of them like immediately

YN: >:( fine ok so. after that case down in georgia a few months ago? the weird one? with the creepy mother son thing?

PG: omg yuck pls dont remind me im here for the CUTENESS not the MURDER

YN: sorryyyyyyy anyway so spence was like being super weird about it all on the plane and whatever but he was doing that super annoying thing where he ignores it and says hes fine so everyone leaves him alone

PG: YEAH why does everyone here do that ALL THE TIME its SO annoyingggg

YN: ikr its insufferable and like super not subtle ANYWAY. spence was being weird and whatever and i just. refused to let him sulk on his own or whatever like i could tell there was something bothering him and so after work i insisted that we were gonna get like shitty diner food or whatever and watch a movie and he knows better than to say no to me

PG: smart boy

YN: so we got fries and milkshakes and then went back to his place to watch a movie and he was still like weird and silent and like brooding yknow? but whatever just figured hed talk about it when he was ready so i put on a movie and offered to make popcorn and then he was just staring at me and he looked so SAD and TIRED and i thought id done something wrong like the poor guy looked like he was gonna cry and i was panicking over fucking popcorn and then he says ‘why are you always so nice to me?’

PG: oh my god hes like if a sad victorian orphan was actually a triplicate phd holder

YN: i was SO thrown off i was like spencer. spencer were best friends. ive been forcing you to hang out with me for years now why do you THINK im being nice to you its bc i care about you asshole and then. like after another million years after letting me sweat it out over whether hes about to cry for like fucking years the asshole grabs my hand and says. i shit you not. ‘you know im in love with you, right?’ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PG: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YN: anyway hes my boyfriend now :’) dont tell anyone tho gotta win the bet

four months.

Lingering by the elevator, you glance around at the uncharacteristically silent office building, waiting for Spencer to leave the bullpen. The sound of his footfalls drawing nearer makes you smile and you mentally applaud yourself for suggesting the two of you remained behind after disembarking from the plane, taking advantage of the manufactured privacy to take the same car home, back to his apartment.

When he sees you waiting for him, he can’t help the soft fond smile that tugs at his face, as he reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers into yours with a gentle squeeze, the quiet of the building allowing him to indulge in the show of affection. You return the squeeze, leaning your head on his shoulder with a yawn and as he presses a fond kiss to your temple he’s rewarded by a sleepy hum of approval from you that sends a rush of quiet joy shooting through him.

“At least we won’t be sleeping in hotel beds again tonight,” you say, voice weary, and Spencer nods as he shuffles you into the elevator. The doors slide shut and the elevator starts to move and in the moment of absolute privacy, you steal a kiss, tilting your chin up to catch his lips with yours, revelling in the soft huff of surprise he lets out, even as he smiles against your mouth. Even after months, the simple act of kissing Spencer still feels new and thrilling somehow, like you can’t quite believe it’s something you’re allowed to do.

His nose brushes yours and he breathes “unless something big comes up, we get a sleep in tomorrow too,” and the way you beam at him sends his heart racing in his chest, unable to look away from the fondness shining in your eyes.

As the two of you exit the elevator and make your way through the Bureau car park, you tuck yourself against his side, wedging yourself under his arm with a happy sigh, eager to get yourself horizontal and asleep as fast as possible. Spencer brushes his lips against your temple again as the two of you close in on his car, almost free and clear of the office when a voice behind the two of you brings you up short.

“Reid?”

Spencer is reacting before his mind catches up, turning on his heel towards the sound of Hotch’s voice echoing through the parking lot, conscious of the incriminating way you’re still tucked against his side, even as his brain is rifling frantically through any possible excuses for the current circumstances.

“Hotch-” you step away from Spencer, cheeks flaming, not wanting to chance a look at him. “I-we-thought everyone else had gone home,” you trail off lamely, trying your hardest not to balk under Hotch’s ominously impassive scrutiny. A second passes, then another, and the short silence feels like months, or years even as the three of you stand locked in a stalemate.

“I take it the two of you would prefer to keep this under wraps?” He asks, finally, and it registers with Spencer, somewhat belatedly, that Hotch’s tone isn’t admonishing. It isn’t enough to dissipate the tension coiling in Spencer’s muscles just yet, but he spares a glance at you as he nods, and a moment later, Hotch gives the two of you a curt nod of his own. “I’ll tell you what,” he says, a shade of irony colouring his voice. “If you two fill out the paperwork for in-team relationships for me, I’ll keep it to myself. I understand privacy is hard to come by in our office.”

The words take a while to fully sink in, and you’re conscious that you’re standing there blinking and gaping at your boss like a bemused fish for a good few seconds before you’ve composed yourself enough to say “absolutely, sir. Of course. Thank you.”

Hotch nods again, heading towards his own car, and as he passes the two of you, a brief smile flashes across his face.

“Congratulations, you two. Get some sleep.”

four months and three weeks.

Spencer isn’t sure how late it is, but he knows you’re not asleep yet, the faint glow of your phone screen casting faint distorted shadows across his room as your free hand rests lightly on his chest. In the dark blue twilight of his room, the space feels undefined and dream like somehow, the line between his mind and his surroundings blurry or indistinct somehow, and as you huff out a near silent laugh at something on the screen in your hand, a thought rises to the surface of his thoughts like flotsam on an unwanted tide.

The more clinical part of his mind notes the autonomic response in his body, the way his heart lurches unpleasantly in his chest, heart rate rising with an influx of cortisol through his nervous system, automatically rifling through ways to control the anxiety response. Age old instinct surges forwards, starting to push his spiralling anxiety down out of sight so as not to bother you with it, but then your hand shifts infinitesimally on his chest, fingers curling in the soft fabric of his pyjama shirt, and for once his body is miles ahead of his brilliant mind, your name is leaving his lips before he’s really aware of it happening.

Your gaze flashes up from your phone at the sound of his voice, soft and hesitant, and you let the screen go dark as you set it down. You can feel Spencer’s heart hammering against his ribs under your palm, and your brows knit together in concern as you shift closer to his side, tracing gentle circles over his shirt with your fingertips, the repetitive motion intended to soothe, though you’re not sure if it’s for his benefit or yours.

“Yeah, baby?” You ask softly, working hard to keep the rising worry from your voice. After three years of friendship and almost six months of dating, you know him well enough to sense when his propensity for overthinking and catastrophizing is slipping out of his control. You can feel his chest rise as he inhales sharply, whatever he’s about to say cut off by second guessing, doing nothing to pacify your concern. “Spence? Is everything okay?” You ask again.

“This-bet-hiding our relationship-it’s-” he trails off, throat tight as he rolls onto his side, facing away from you, and smushing his face into the pillow, already wishing he hadn’t said anything. You’re the kindest person he’s ever met, but offering up this kind of raw insecurity feels like pulling teeth. Even if it’s you. Especially if it’s you. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to find out if you care about him enough to stay when his racing mind gets the better of him. The pillow muffles his voice as he says “never mind.”

You feel your own heart rate tic up in response to that, matching the wild beat of Spencer’s that you could feel under your palm only a second ago. “Baby, talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

He shakes his head, face still hidden in the pillow. “It’s stupid.”

He can feel the rush of your breath on his back as you sigh, and your voice is almost achingly patient as you say softly “it’s not stupid if it matters to you.” There’s a long pause, and you press yourself against his back, settling close and letting your hand slide over his side to rest on his chest, the heat of his skin sinking into yours even through his thin shirt. In spite of his height, he feels so small as you wrap yourself around him, drawing closer, trying to reassure him without yet knowing what he needs to be reassured of. “Spence?”

“Are you ashamed of-being with me? Is that why you want to hide it?” The words are almost whispered, the sound almost lost against his pillow and your heart sinks, plummeting faster and further than if you’d dropped it off the side of a skyscraper. You should’ve known he might worry about that, should have realised it might have felt that way. Remorse rises hot and bitter in your throat and you swallow it down, trying to steady your voice.

“Spencer. Sweetheart. No. Never. I could never be ashamed. I love you. I’m so sorry.” Your arms wrap more tightly around him and you bury your face against the crook of his neck, the tension you can feel in every inch of his body making you feel more cruel and short-sighted than you already do. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise it might feel like that. I could never be ashamed of being with you, Spence. You’re my favourite person.” He takes the kind of shaky, shallow breath that comes with trying not to cry and your heart breaks a little more as one of his hands slowly moves to cover yours where it rests against his chest, just over his heart.

As his hand rests over yours, his thumb strokes lightly along your knuckles, and he knows you know him well enough to notice the way his hand trembles, just a little, because then your hand is shifting against his, turning to clumsily tangle your fingers with his, holding tighter to him as he tries to collect himself, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as his eyes squeeze shut. He can hear the contrition in your voice as you say softly “I’ve never really liked having people know everything about what’s going on in my life. And I love our friends but-something like this, that’s so-special? So new? I wanted to be able to keep it to just us for a while.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice comes out a little shaky, scarcely more than a whisper, and it’s more than you can take as you pull back and gently force him to roll over to face you. He’s not crying, but his eyes are glassy and you recognise the fight to keep the tears unshed in the tight set of his jaw and the hard line of his lips. Leaning on your elbow, you lift your free hand to gently smooth out the furrows of his brow, letting your fingers linger along the planes of his face.

“Why are you sorry,” you ask gently. “You don’t need to be sorry, baby. Not for talking to me about things that bother you. We can tell everyone else tomorrow, if you want? We can call off the bet. Derek will live. If he’s got a problem with it I’ll turn all his shirts into crop tops.”

He can tell the joke is a last bid attempt to make him smile, to ease his fear, and it works. In spite of the anxious weight in his chest that feels like it’s pressing him into the mattress, Spencer laughs weakly, meeting your eyes, and he watches as a relieved smile breaks across your face, releasing your lower lip from where you’d trapped it worriedly between your teeth. The unmitigated affection that floods into your eyes renders him momentarily breathless as he takes in the moment. You’re still here, still trying to take care of him. Just as kind and steadfast as ever.

“No,” he says eventually, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down on top of him like a living weighted blanket, letting your warmth chase the bulk of the tension from his body and luxuriating in the way you curl into him, one hand sliding into his hair. “We shouldn’t call off the bet. We still have to take Emily’s money, remember?”

Your sleepy laugh is the last thing he hears before his eyes close and the feel of your body wound around his lulls him to sleep.

five months.

SR: Can I talk to you about something?

DM: you dying or something? that’s a really fuckin ominous text to recieve out of the blue

SR: I’m not dying, why would that be what you assumed? I just have a question.

DM: just a figure of speech but what’s up?

SR: It’s about your bet with Emily. What’re the terms for it?

DM: wym?

SR: What exactly did you two make the bet about? What needs to happen in order for you to win the bet?

DM: does this count as collusion?

SR: Technically yes, but calling it collusion implies a certain degree of illegality.

DM: whatever anyway the terms i made with em were that you’d make some kind of move before your birthday but she reckoned you were gonna need some kind of near death experience to do anything about your crush why?

SR: I’m just making sure I have all the information.

DM: what’s going on pretty boy? you planning something?

SR: Maybe.

DM: not a helpful answer reid is everything good?

SR: Everything’s fine. We’re just figuring some stuff out. Nothing to worry about.

DM: is there something you’re not telling me?

SR: Don’t worry about it.

five months, three weeks and six days.

In the chaos that was the scramble from the briefing room to the jet, you haven’t yet had the chance to speak to Spencer about the outcome of his most recent thesis defence panel. By the time you’ve got a moment to breathe, the jet is underway, coasting across the country towards Montana, the whole team settled in for the six hour flight. You corner him in the tiny kitchen area of the jet as he’s making a mug of mediocre coffee, fingers tapping out an absent minded rhythm on the countertop as the coffee machine whirs, clearly not paying attention to anything outside of his head.

“Hey, boy genius.” He jumps, whirling around, eyes wide with surprise, and you smile fondly. “So?” You demand, and Spencer raises an eyebrow in confusion. You snort, rolling your eyes as you elaborate. “Your defence panel. Did it go okay?”

You’re shifting your weight and fidgeting restlessly with the belt loops on your pants and as he studies you for a moment, it occurs to Spencer that you’re nervous for him over this outcome. The thought brings an almost giddy smile to his face.

“You know this isn’t my first thesis defence panel, right?” He says mildly, deliberately burying the lede, enjoying the way you scowl in irritation too much to answer your question right away, too enamoured with this display of concern on his behalf.

“Don’t be difficult, Doctor Reid. It’s still a big deal.” He just shrugs noncommittally, and you huff, swatting his arm lightly. “So did it go well?” You ask again, eyes narrowing as you try to dissect his microexpressions, trying to discern the answer he seems determined to keep from you for yourself. A few seconds later, he relents.

“I can now add degree number six to my wall.” He confirms. Getting degrees doesn’t hold the same rush of pride for him now, the accomplishment feeling somewhat less exceptional as he acquires more of them, but the way your face lights up with pride for him reminds him how special the things he’s capable of can be. You’ve always made him feel like more than the sum of his parts somehow, like something infinitely more precious than he always assumed he is.

“I fucking knew it. That’s amazing, Spence,” you say, chest warm and full with pride and love, and his almost shy smile in return is enough to make a decision for you in a split second. Your hand dips into your back pocket, drawing something out, and you carefully hide it from view in your palm as Spencer tracks the motion curiously with his eyes.

Your eyes are shining with affection and something that looks like mischief and the way you’re smiling at him is more than enough to divert his attention as you step closer, just barely noticing as you slip something into his hand. You’re dangerously, distractingly close now, and he’s conscious, if somewhat distantly, that neither of you is concealed from the rest of the team, scant meters away in the seating area of the jet. But you’re smiling and close enough for him to feel your breath on his face and suddenly your lips are on his, and even after nearly seven months of being able to touch you like this, it’s enough to make him forget everything else as he melts into the contact, savouring the warmth of your skin and the faint smell of your shampoo.

You pull back a second later, the kiss over almost as soon as it started, but it’s enough to attract attention, and you can hear a belated ‘oh SHIT’ from Emily in the main cabin of the jet. In your peripheral vision, you can see money changing hands, your friends scrambling to react, but you don’t look at them, choosing to enjoy the bemused, affectionate look on Spencer’s face as his brain catches up to the events unfolding around the two of you.

“I was tired of keeping it a secret,” you say fondly, loud enough only for him to hear. “You win.”

Blinking in confusion, he finally tears his gaze away from yours, fingers uncurling to reveal the fifty dollar bill you had pressed into his palm right before you kissed him. The penny drops and he snorts with laughter, shaking his head in half hearted indignation as his other arm loops around you, pulling you in, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, hiding your face from the rest of the team as he kisses your temple, revelling in the way you wind yourself around him in response.

“I was gonna do this in like two days. I wanted you to win,” he murmurs against your hairline, and he can feel your faint laughter.

“Too bad, baby. I’m used to getting my way,” you say, pulling back to steal another quick kiss before peeling yourself out of his arms with a wink, turning to face the onslaught of ‘care to fucking explain that’ and ‘I fucking told you so’ from the rest of your friends, tugging him with you by your joined hands.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid/reader #reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #dr spencer reid #my writing #spencer reid fluff

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omegalomania · 3 years ago

Note

hello 8 days ago you drew some very cool mania fan art and you said the narrative isn’t relevant but have you considered…..it is relevant to me ? (please share)

dklfldkjflkd ALL RIGHT WELL if you're asking thennnnn

oh my god this got so fucking long. im putting it under a cut because it contains a) a fuckload of text and b) some concept drawings and stuff that i threw in there cause why not.

(for anyone unaware, the ask is referring to this art i posted without much context a little while ago, though it also relates to this one.)

so basically back when mania was like, the new hotness, there was only one big like popular bandom au based around it and frankly i fucking hated it. i dont want to get too mean but i really did think it kind of sucked and it felt like a bunch of missed opportunities and it fizzled out cause the creators sucked anyway but even on a conceptual level i was just so over it. so a couple weeks ago i get heated about this in the groupchat and go "what if i just invented a different mania au, but better." and no one told me to do it but i just went for it anyway because this is what happens when you leave me alone in a room i just start Making Shit

so behold, an au that caters to no one except me, birthed from spite. literally all the file names for these are labeled "mania spite au" and so on. this came from a desire to meld themes from the album into a semi-cohesive narrative

so whats the narrative? GLAD YOU ASKED

for the central "antagonist" i decided to use the mania entertainment group concept, which is something fob toyed with in marketing the album but never really did anything with. so, fine. here's this massive entertainment-based company and they're fucking huge. they're fucking massive. think disney, basically.

employees at this fuckoff massive company include 3 ordinary dudes: patrick, a sound engineer; joe, an electrical engineer; and pete, a dude with a position in admin.

for various reasons all three of them are just kind of drifting in this state of not really wanting to be there but not having a lot of choice. patrick is neutral about the work he does but isn't really in love with it, mostly just keeps his head down and minds his own. joe hates the work, hates the ethos, hates the ideology of the company works for, but seeing as MEG is so big there's basically no alternatives so he has to grit his teeth and do it. pete basically inherited this big shot position in administration but feels fundamentally directionless and didn't actually engage in the work out of a genuine passion for it buuuut it's not like he can just walk away from a really good position especially without a fallback plan.

that's the backdrop. inciting incident?

an interdimensional demigod gets stuck in MEG's basement.

kinda anyway.

theres a rupture in the fabric of spacetime. and out spills this guy, the demigod of instability. since he's, you know, fundamentally unstable, he basically broke into this reality by mistake and gets himself stuck. and because MEG is a big shitty company and their only morality is profit incentive they look at this dude and go "hey, free power source” because hes yknow, an interdimensional minor deity so he’s kind of got a lot of power at his disposal at baseline.

so yes theres our setup. three guys working at this shit company, and one glitched up demigod who's stuck being exploited directly by said company. and he doesnt get a name right away i guess cause hes a freakin god Why Would He but yeah that guys andy.

also fun fact those glowy glyphs hes got instead of tattoos are the same fictional language we see the little girl in the young and menace video speaking.

SO anyway andy is stuck in the basement of a fuckoff massive company having his power leached/exploited and he's desperate to escape. so one night he takes advantage of the fact that hes literally the avatar for the very concept of instability and blows the building power, in the process zapping the three dudes closest to his physical location. like so.

dudes all black out, pass out, and when they wake up they're subtly different though they don't know it yet. joe, patrick, and pete have all become god-infected and since andy is a deity of instability, they’ve all been infected with subsets of that power. each of these powers relate to their mentalities at the point of infection as well as certain lines and themes that exist on the album.

joe is infected with temporal instability. glitching forward and backward in time, temporal looping, shit like that. this is mostly restricted to his own personal timeline; he can affect his own future, not anyone else’s, cause he isnt exactly a god here just a god-infected mortal.

patrick is infected with kinetic instability. basically this means he gets control over the way things move; speeding or slowing momentum, switching directions ,etc.

pete is infected with material instability. essentially, he can alter and phase states of matter. he can’t fundamentally alter the molecules in an object, but he can alter the way those molecules are arranged.

side effects of god infection include but are not limited to: hearing the voices of other god-infectees in your brain! hearing that god try to communicate with you in Your God Damn Dreams! accumulating more and more otherworldly traits the more you use your weird new god infection powers! and MORE

the long and short of it is that andy uses this newly established mental link to say “im stuck in your shitty company’s basement please help” and eventually they do that. they break this guy out and in the process end up on the wrong side of the mania entertainment group, the law, the entire city, the world...basically they’re fucked and literally all they have is each other.

i also wanted to draw predominantly from the album themes, at least as i interpreted them. i figure it’d be pretty tasteless to do a straight up narrative About a mental breakdown. instead i look at the elements present in the album as stuff that can be paralleled in a narrative. no, the album does not deal literally with being some kind of extradimensional entity, but it does deal with the idea of feeling heavily isolated, misunderstood, and like you have no friends. the album does not deal with going on the run from a super-powerful corporate conglomerate that wants you and your friends in their custody, but it does deal with the idea that society expects you to adhere to certain strictures, and deviation from those will be punished. mania as an album discusses what it is to feel dissonant compared to those around you - how you can feel innately monstrous, or incorrect, or like your flaws make you fundamentally impossible to love. that’s part of the reason i like the idea of physical transformation being displayed on each of the guys as they use their otherworldly god infection powers more and more; as they become a little more decoupled from how reality expects them to be, they start to look less “perfect” in the eyes of how the world expects them to behave. but it’s those flaws that give them strength, bind them together, and allow them to relate to one another. not fitting in, which makes them so miserable at first, becomes crucial to how they eventually become drawn to one another.

if this whole thing sounds like an excuse for a cosmic found family trope youre right thats what this is because who the fuck do you think youre talking to.

in order to make that big long illustration i posted earlier, i basically drew a bunch of busts as concepting, got carried away, and then cropped them down. here are the full images if anyone is curious.

interdimensional demigod of instability andy. the glowing sigils all over him shift and swirl and never really sit in one place which means i don’t have to worry about consistency when i draw them ho ho

joe gets this inky pinky distortion/corruption deal the more he uses his temporal instability powers. it never consumes him completely and it doesn’t hurt or affect how he moves around but it can look pretty alarming, especially when wee little bits start flaking off him.

patrick’s design is perhaps obviously based on those llama things that fob got sued over lol cause a) i think patrick getting horns is great and b) again i wanted to draw from the album’s marketing. using his kinetic instability powers starts with sprouting horns and then comes the teeth, the fur, etc. idk how far i want this kind of corruption to go but it could be gnarly if he becomes a big furry werebeast at some point like that’d be fun.

pete’s design doesn’t go as hard as i originally wanted it to but i liked how it turned out too much to alter it. he gets four stubby little horns and volcanic veins like lightning bolts jagging up all over his skin. the veins are the giveaway that he’s using his material instability powers, but the more he uses them he eventually gets himself some horns too.

all four of the guys get rad glowing eyes cause im a sucker for that shit

ALL RIGHT I THINK THATS IT. again i literally just invented this thing during my lunch hour at work out of spite and its just something i think is fun to dick around with. i dont have any serious thoughts about it or whatever but im flattered literally anyone is curious about it so THANK YOU FOR ASKING

#dilfpetewentz #askin hours #*mine #*art #mania entertainment group #*lore #i forgot i made a lore tag for big dumps of me going off like this #ONCE AGAIN. THANK YOU FOR ASKING #if youre in a gc w me you will regularly be inflicted with me just going off on random tangents of exploratory worldbuilding #they serve no purpose except to fulfill my desires as i cater to my target audience of : myself

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cevansfics · 4 years ago

Text

Date Night

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: Date night with Chris.

Word count: 1.9k+

Warnings: none (i think) just fluff

A/N: if anyone wants to be added to my tag list, let me know :)

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

You haven't seen each other properly in over a week or so, so when Chris told you to keep your Friday night free because he was going to pick you up at 6 and take you out for a date night, you were over the moon. Things had been busy for the both of you, even more so for Chris. He'd just got done wrapping up the last Avengers film. With Infinity War and Endgame being filmed back to back, he seemed to be away for a longer. Of course, the most ideal situation would be that he wouldn't have to travel so far for work. That you'd be able to wake up every morning, next to him, wrapped up in his arms so warm like he was your very own personal human radiator. That being said, one of the many things you loved about him was how much he loved his job. And rightly so, he was good at it. Obviously, it helped to know you could call, text and Skype with each other when you had the time. So you managed to make the long-distance thing work.

Friday had quickly come around, and you were all giddy. Anyone would have thought it was your first date with him. It wasn't though, in fact, you two had been together nearly a year and a half. You were just really excited to see him properly. To be about to touch him, hug him and do all the things you wanted to that you couldn't do through a computer screen. All-day seemed to drag. You had the day off from work and had a few things to do at home. Once they were done, you just seem to shuffle around your apartment, constantly checking the time and counting down the minutes until you were going to start getting ready. That's when your phone rang, it was Chris, quickly you answered it.

"Hey, baby," You said once the phone was pressed against your ear.

"Hey," there was a little pause before he continued, and you could have sworn you heard him sigh briefly. "I have some bad news, baby."

"Oh?" Asking curiously.

"The meeting I'm in is gonna last longer than it was supposed to. I don't think we are gonna be done in time for me to get changed and pick you up at 6."

"O-okay," you try to reply confidently, hiding the disappointment in your voice. You knew you had failed, so you quickly carry on talking. "Okay, we will just have to reschedule for another time."

"No, I'm not phoning to cancel, babe, just to make a change of plans."

"Oh?"

"Well, if I am honest, I'm not sure I'm gonna be up for going out, and I just want to spend some quality time with you. So I was thinking maybe instead of going out, I could cook you dinner at mine instead?"

"You? You're going to cook?"

"Hey! I can cook!" he genuinely sounds shocked.

"Oh baby, you and I both know you can only cook 3 different things," you tease.

"Yes, okay, I'll give you that, but I happen to know one of those things is your favourite."

You chuckle, knowing damn well he is right.

"So what do you say would you be up for that instead?"

"Of course, baby. Just promise you won't give me food poisoning this time?"

"Oh, come on. You have no proof that was my fault."

"If you say so," at this point, you had both started laughing.

Once Chris had calmed down, he continued, "I'm not entirely sure what time I'm gonna be finished. But if you want, you can make your way over to mine, let your self in whenever you are ready, and I'll pick up anything we will need on my way home."

"Okay," you replied.

"Well, I better get back and get this over and done with. I'll see you in a bit. I love you."

"I love you too."

With that, you ended the phone call and started gathering some things together you would need to take to his. You decided to head over shortly after getting everything together. It's not like you had a lot else planned. The drive from yours to Chris' was only about 30 minutes, on a good day. As you made your way o. Any your car, you noticed how dark the sky was, any second now, it looked like the heavens were going to open. Only 5 minutes into your drive, and it did exactly that. At first, it was raining only a little, it wasn't too bad. But it seemed the closer you got to Chris' place, the harder to got. 'Maybe it's a good thing we are staying in, after all,' you thought to yourself.

Once you pulled into the drive in front of his house, you sat in your car for a moment. Hoping the rain would die off even just a little bit so you could make and run for the front door. Several minutes seemed to pass, and nothing seemed to change. You were going to have to make a run for it. You grab your bag from the passenger seat and pull it into your lap, getting your keys sorted and ready so once you got to the door, you would just have to push the key in the hole, turn and enter. Opening the door quickly, you leap out and shut the door behind you as the rain starts hammering down on you. You start running. You manage to take what could only be considered a step and a half before you feel resistance at your feet. You don't get a chance to understand what's happening as you fall flat on your face. What's worst of all, you land in a muddy puddle that soaks you through to the bone.

Sitting up as you glance around, not really seeing much as it's raining so hard. You go to stand only to fall again. It's then that you realise the strap of your handbag had somehow got wrapped and tangled at your feet. Letting out a groan of frustration, you smack your hand in the puddle you are still sitting in, only for it to soak you even more. At this point, all you can do is roll your eyes as you reach down and untangle your feet. Standing up straight. This time, walking to the front door, not caring about the rain. You're already soaked and covered in mud anyway. As you enter, you carefully take off your shoes and place them to the side of the door, trying your best not to drip muddy water all over the floor. You head straight to Chris' bedroom and into his en-suite. You see your reflection out the corner of your eye and take a good look. 'Jesus', you think to your self. 'I actually look like a drowned rat'. Taking a deep breath, knowing Chris would be home soon, you decide to have a quick shower. Not only to get clean but to hopefully make your self feel better about what happened.

You reach into the shower to turn it on, letting it run for a bit to warm the water up. Quickly you striped yourself of your clothes and throw them into the corner of the bathroom, knowing you'll sort them out later. Stepping into the shower as you let the hot water wash over you, closing your eyes as you let your head descend under the falling water. You let out a sigh, the hot water instantly warming up, also washing away the mud. You make quick work of cleansing your body and hair. Once you are clean, you step out of the shower, the cold air hitting you, making your entire body cover in goosebumps. Grabbing the towel off the rack, you wrap it tightly around you and get to work drying yourself, also trying to warm your self back up. When you are dry, you head into Chris' bedroom. You have a couple of comfy clothes at his from the many times you have stayed over. But you decide against putting on your own clothes. Opening Chris' draws, you grab a pair of his boxers and slip them on straight away. Next, you move to the next containing his t-shirts, grabbing the first one you see and slipping it on.

Turning around to leave the room, you hear the front door being closed, and shortly after, Chris calls out, "Honey, I'm home." You listen to him chuckle afterwards. You don't know why but every time he says that phrase, he always makes himself chuckle. Upon arriving into the living room, you don't see him, but you hear the rustling of bags and cupboards being open and closed in the kitchen, so you make your way through. He hears you.

"There you are. Thought you might have got washed away in the rai-…" he stops talking once he has turned around to see you and his mouth hangs open. Worrying you still have mud on you somewhere, you glance down at your self, back up at him and say, "What's wrong?"

"Y-your," he stutters, then clears his throat. "You're wearing my clothes."

"Oh." Running your hands over your chest down your stomach as the smooth his shirt over your body. "Yeah. I'm sorry with the ran and ever-…" you are cut off as he lunges for you — his handclasp on your cheeks, pulling you into his body as his lips are pressed against yours. Leaning into the kiss as it heats up, you run your hands up his body and grip hold of the shirt he is wearing. He pulls away ever so slightly, his lips still close enough that you can feel them as he talks.

"You should never apologise for wearing my clothes. You know how much I like it." Before you get the chance to say anything, he attaches his lips to yours and pushes you as though for you to walk backwards. Then you feel it. The counter at your lower back, before you know it, Chris leans down, grabs your hips and hoists you up onto the counter, all the while still kissing you. His hand reach for the hem of the shirt and slip under it. He gently runs his hands up your bareback while making himself comfortable between your legs. He pulls you closer to him, deeper into the kiss, and you let out a slight moan. You feel him smile, and you know he heard you. He's so cocky, knowing the effect he has on you.

"Wrap your legs around my waist," he whispers. You oblige. In doing so, he removes his hands from under the shirt, tucks them under your bum the best he can and lifts you from the counter. You yelp, surprised as he heads to leave the kitchen.

"What about dinner?" You ask.

He just looks at you with a smirk and replies, "we will get to that. First, we need to work up an appetite." With that, he carries you off to his bedroom, and you are so happy he decided he wanted to spend date night at home instead of going out.

Tag List

@a-little-counter-esperanto

@patzammit

@chris-butt

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fluff #chris evans x you #my writing

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maddiwrites · 3 years ago

Text

The Hybrid (I)

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: The Pogues rekindle their friendship with their old childhood best friend and JJ’s first crush, Y/N. Old feelings resurface for JJ and Y/N, possibly leading to a summer neither one of them could ever forget. Due to past trauma, Y/N is reluctant to let anyone into her heart, but JJ never backs down from a challenge, even if he knows it will come back to haunt him in the end.

Note: Thank you for being patient with me as I slowly write this series. I had this idea a long time ago and I’m not finding motivation to write it but the inspiration comes and go. I smile with every comment that is left on my fics and I’m so grateful for this community. Thank you for letting me pursue my creative writing without judgement. Love you guys! (Also, yes. If you didn’t see my last note, I based YN’s family off of the Gilmore Girls characters. That’s who I picture as them.)

Word Count: 8k

Masterlist Prologue

You wake up to someone falling on your bed next to you with a dramatic sigh. Knowing exactly who it is, you choose to ignore her and try getting back to the dreamless sleep you were peacefully having before you woke up.

That is, until she sighs again.

You flip onto your back and stare up at your ceiling fan that’s quickly spinning above you. “What, Rory?”

“How did it go with Andre and that boy?”

You look at her with one brow raised. “You woke me up to hear about Andre’s love life? That hardly sounds like you. You don’t care about high school drama or hookups.”

“You’re right,” Rory says. “But I thought I would ease you into what I actually need to tell you.”

You turn on right side and look at your sister confused. “What?”

She sighs. “The cafe’s basement flooded last night. Mom needs us there to help her clean up and take inventory on what’s salvageable.”

You turn back on you backside and close your eyes, exhaling a deep sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Unfortunately not,” Rory says and pats you twice on your covered thigh as she sits up. “Come on. I made you pre-cafe coffee. It’s sitting in the kitchen.”

You throw your sheets off of you and trudge to the bathroom to brush your teeth and clean your face. It’s about 8 a.m. At least you were able to get about six hours of sleep.

Last night, it was hard to let your brain rest to fall asleep. You kept tossing and turning, thinking about the blonde Pogue who walked you home. You missed how easy it was to talk to someone who you felt truly knew you. Your banter rolled off your tongue easily and you never had to worry about offending him because you knew him like the back of your hand. You knew what he could take and what he couldn't.

Talking to him brought back childhood memories you had hidden deep in your mind. How JJ would constantly poke you until you ripped into a smile on days that were grey. How you used to steal John B’s bandanas until he was chasing you around his house to get them back. How you would draw a mustache and a unibrow on Pope’s face when he fell asleep by the water.

Those days felt like they were decades ago. So far away, you didn’t know if you’d be able to reach for them again. If it was even possible to get back.

You thought about texting him. Thanks for walking me back. We should all get together soon! You had written out. But then you deleted the whole message, telling yourself it was because you didn’t know if he even had the same number. But deep down, you were just afraid of the rejection.

Its been about three years since the four of you had been together in one place. You don’t know what they’ve been through or if they’ve changed. They for sure as hell don’t know what you’ve been through. You don’t know if they're dynamic has changed. Clearly you and JJ can still joke with each other but what about John B and Pope? You heard about John B’s father disappearing at sea, most people believing he’s dead, but John B holding onto hope that’s he’s alive. You always thought about calling him to reach out and offer your condolences. But for the same reason you didn’t text JJ, you never called. It didn’t feel like your place. They had Kie for that now. A little part of you felt jealous of her, like she had replaced you and any memory of you. She seemed nice, but she wasn’t you.

“Ready?” Rory pops her head in to your room as you slip on a cropped plain white zip up jacket over your cropped black tank.

“As I’ll ever be,” You say and snag the car keys out of her hands. “Don’t even think about it. I’m driving.”

Rory rolls her eyes. “I want to get there safely.”

“And I want to get there quickly.”

“Fine. But we’re taking my car. It actually has doors.”

For your sixteenth birthday, your grandparents gifted both you and Rory your own individual cars and even let you pick them out. Rory chose a black 2020 Honda Civic for it’s safety features and reputation for longevity as if she was planning on handing it down to her future kids. And you picked out a white 2020 Jeep Wrangler with a hard top that pops off along with the doors for a very open and thrilling ride. Everyone but you called it a death trap, but you found it to be the perfect summer car.

You park Rory’s boring Honda Civic in the back of the cafe in a lot used specifically for employees. The cafe is already booming with teens and families, waiting for their morning coffees and fresh pastries. Kids your age are running around behind the counter with sweat dripping down their brow bone to get everyone’s orders out in a timely manner.

In the back of the store, your mom walks up the steps from the basement with two large trash bags and immediately notices the two of you. “Oh good. You’re here. Rory, help the girls behind the counter. The dishwasher’s broken and poor Hailey is hand washing everything. Y/N, come with me downstairs.”

“Why does Rory get the fun job?” You grumble and follow your mom back downstairs after she tosses the two trash bags.

“Because she’s actually nice to the customers.”

“Treat others how you would like to be treated. Isn’t that what everyone always says?” You smirk. You never agreed with the phrase ‘the customer is always right.’ It’s complete bullshit and being the employee shouldn’t mean letting yourself getting verbally abused by a ‘Karen’ on the other side of the counter.

The basement is used for the cafe’s storage, lined with wooden shelves Steve put together that hold to go cups, back up espresso machines, boxes of coffee and food and ingredients, etc. Now all the boxes are dark and sopping, creating puddles on the concrete floor.

“Oh my god. Mom. How did this happen?”

“Jenky water pipe busted in the middle of the night,” Steve walks down the stairs and passes your mom a knowing look. It didn’t surprise you that he was here. He’s the jack of all trades. Owns his own automotive shop, builds a lot of his own furniture, actually cooks a decent meal, and has the same outlook on customer service as you do. He was probably your mom’s first call. “Talked to the plumber. They can’t get here until at least noon.”

“Noon? We’ll be underwater by noon. I might as well turn all my employees into a swim team,” Your mom says.

Steve shakes his head. “I was able to hold the leak until he gets here. You should be fine.”

Steve was the first person that actually helped your mother out when's she moved to the Cut. Six months pregnant, she pushed her car into his automotive shop after it broke down on the side of the road. Their banter was similar to the one you and JJ have. He helped save your mom money by building yours and Rory’s cribs, changing table, and dressers. And ever since, the two of them had been connected by the hip, although they both refuse to admit it. You think the pair are just trying to deny the love they clearly share for each other. And you think the main reason for that is because of the incident four years ago with your mom’s ex boyfriend. No thanks to you.

“Look at you constantly building your resume,” You smirk at him.

Steve scoffs. “It’s more than what you’re doing.”

You roll your eyes. Steve is the closest thing you have to a father. He practically helped raise you with your mom. He’s the one you turn to whenever a fight with your mom goes too far, which isn't too often but it happens. He usually lets you stay at his house for the night to let you cool off. But he’ll never sugar coat his advice when it comes time for him to give it. Even if you don’t ask for it. He knows growing up with Rory has been challenging. She was clearly your mom’s favorite, or at least that’s what you thought. She has a 4.0 GPA with a realistic dream to get into Brown University and study journalism. She played by every rule, never got into trouble, and spent most of her free nights getting ahead of her school work or staying late at the cafe with an open book from the library across the street. She was an absolute angel to everyone else, making you look like her evil twin.

You glare at him before turning to your mom with crossed arms. “What do you want me to do, Mom?”

“Actually honey. Can you go to Heywards and grab more coffee filters and napkins. The water soaked right through the plastic wrapping on our last box.”

You nod, leaving your mom and Steve to clean up the basement themselves. Before heading out, you sneak behind the counter and make yourself a quick coffee to go.

“Where you going?” Rory asks as she reaches behind you to grab a banana for her customer at the register.

“Heywards to grab a couple things for Mom.”

“Oh. Make sure to grab toilet paper while you’re out. I think we’re almost out of it.”

“Got it.”

Heywards is only a short drive from your mom’s cafe. It’s the closest convenient store that isn’t crazy pricey. It’s where your mom gets all her supplies whenever she runs out of things before shipment gets there.

You use to always come here when you were younger with the boys, each of you, even Pope, stealing a small bag of chips or a candy bar here and there. Little did any of you know, Mr. Heyward caught your thieving hands every time but never said anything.

The bell above the door chimes when you walk into the store. You know this place as well as you know the cafe, finding the toilet paper and coffee filter immediately.

When Mr. Heyward looks up from the counter, his smile grows. He can pick you out of a crowd anywhere, but he hasn’t seen you in a long time. Last time he saw you, you had braces and overgrown bushy brows. Now you had bushed hair and shaved legs.

“Hi. Mr. Heyward,” You grin shyly at him. You don’t know how he’s going to react to see you, unsure of what Pope might have told him about you.

“Little Miss Y/L/N? Is that you?” Heyward smiles widely, pulling your own lips into a wider smile. “I haven’t seen you for a long time.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy with school and my mom’s cafe...” Both of those things were a lie. You just avoid the Cut to avoid the Pogues.

“How’s the fam?”

“They’re good,” You say as Heyward hands you your bags. “Mom says hello by the way. I’m actually taking these to her store now.”

“Well, don’t be a stranger. We miss your smiling face around her. Anette, too.” Heyward says, mentioning his wife.

“Tell her I said hi.”

“Of course, darling.”

Heyward and Anette always had a special place in their heart for you and Rory. They’re not one for gossip, but they knew a little bit about what your mom’s been through and have heard plenty of stories about your grandparents. They always thought, despite your mom’s background, that you and your sister were raised impressively. Anette always hoped that one day Pope and Rory would get together. Everyone always wanted their child to be with Rory.

As your about to leave the store, the bell chimes again with another customer. Only it’s not another customer. It’s Pope and John B. They don’t see you at first, and you wonder if maybe you can sneak out without them seeing you. But something about that felt wrong. Especially because Heyward would more than likely mention to them that you were here.

Pope sees you first and stops in his tracks. “Y/N?”

“Hey, guys. Long time no see,” You smile at both of them. You bite down on your lip awkwardly when you meet John B’s stare. You don’t know if you should mention anything about his dad’s disappearance. But what would you say? Sorry? What good would that do?

“How’ve you been?” Pope gives you a small side hug, then John B.

You shrug. “You know, living the dream.”

“How’s life as a Hybrid?” John B smirks.

You roll your eyes playfully and groan. “Oh god. Never call me that again.”

You may be considered a Hybrid by everyone else, but you would never put yourself into that category. You grew up a Pogue, the same way everyone else did around you. The only thing tying you to the Kooks are your grandparents.

“Why?” John B smirks. “I wish I was a Hybrid.”

You smirk back. “Maybe you will be one day. I hear you have a Kook of your own for arm candy.”

You saw a faint hint of blush on John B’s cheek at the mention of his girlfriend but you don’t mention it. “Sarah, yeah. She’s not like the other Kooks.”

“I would hope not. Her brother’s a dick.”

“Yeah,” They laugh.

“We miss you, you know.” John B says. Pope looks at you, trying to read your expression. John B’s not wrong. They do all miss you, especially Pope. He felt like you were the only one who really understood him. Of course his other friends are great, but you actually took the time to try and understand his passions. Like forensic science.

“I miss you guys too. It’s been a while.”

“Well, hey. We’re actually all getting together tonight at my place. Nothing big. Just a bonfire and a couple beers. You should stop by,” John B says.

“Yeah,” Pope says, immediately getting hopeful that you’ll show up.

Your smile falters. The invite makes your heart swell and your lungs contract. It’s an invite you’ve been wanting for three years. And now that you have it, you don’t know what to say. It’d be different if it was just the four of you like old times. But now there’s Kie and Sarah and although you have nothing against them, you’re afraid they won’t accept you. The thought of your boys picking them over you terrifies you.

“Okay. Yeah, sure. I’ll try to swing by later.”

Pope smiles wide and looks at his friend to see his reaction. John B grins and nods, almost impressed that you had agreed. But he saw the twitch in your lips when the question was asked.

“Great. I guess we’ll see you later then.”

You nod. “Okay. Bye guys.”

You suck in a deep breath when the fresh air outside of Heyward’s store brushes over you. Your heart thumps wildly with both excitement and nerves when you’re finally able to collect your thoughts. You don’t know what you’ll do tonight, but the possibilities can change your entire summer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You spent the rest of the day mopping up the cafe’s basement and rearranging the shelves. You smelled of sweat and coffee grounds by the time you were done and dreamt of the shower you would be taking when you got home.

Rory drove you home after the two of you closed up the cafe for the day. Neither of you said much. Rory was exhausted from running around behind the counter and you were too busy thinking about whether you’d go back to the place you used to call your second home.

You took a longer shower than usual, still pondering what your night would be like. Your head was telling you to stay home but your heart pulled you in the direction of the Cut. You yearned to hear about what the future held for Pope, and listen to John B retell stories of when you were kids, and be able to stare into JJ’s bright blue eyes without him noticing.

You changed into a pair of jean shorts and a plain red cropped tank. Rory walks into your room as your brushing out your hair and looks at you as if you lost your mind.

“Are you out of your mind? You can’t wear that,” She says.

You brows scrunch together in confusion. “What are you talking about? I wear shit like this all the time.”

“Not to the Country Club, you don’t.” That’s when it hits you. Today’s been so hectic, you forgot what day it was. “It’s Sunday.”

Sunday dinner at the Country Club is now a weekly commitment forced upon you by your grandparents. Each week, your mom, sister, and you are forced to spend one dinner with your grandma and grandpa. This is basically your mom’s payment back for sending you and Rory to Kook Academy. Only they actually pay for the dinner. It’s usually the longest two hours of your entire week. It’s hard to listen to your grandfather rant about Real Estate and your grandma slyly critique your mother in almost every aspect of her life.

“Shit. I completely forgot,” You say.

“Well, you better change. We’re leaving in about five minutes,” Rory says then plucks a gold necklace from your dresser. “Oh and can I wear this tonight?”

You sigh. “Sure.”

You change into a baby blue wrap around dress and pin your wet hair into a half up half down due. It’s gonna have to work for the limited time you have to get ready. After applying a thin layer of makeup to look the least bit presentable, you meet your mom and sister by the front door.

“Finally,” Your mom says when she sees you.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize it was Sunday.”

“It’s okay, honey. I just don’t think I can handle another late remark from Mom today.” She looks you up and down and grins. “You look great.”

Despite the many fiery fights you and your mom can have, she is also your best friend. It’s kind of like a love hate relationship. Steve says it’s because you’re exactly like your mom - almost like a sixteen year old version of her.

You really hope that isn’t true. You’re not ready to have a kid in two years.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Your grandparents are already sitting at a round table in the corner of the country club by the two tall windows that reach up to the ceiling with a view looking out into the golf course. The best seat in the house for the richest a holes on the island.

“Lorelai,” Your grandmother grins, but you can instantly tell it’s sarcastic. “Did you have to walk here?”

You speak up before your mom could. “Sorry Grandma. It’s my fault we’re late.”

Your grandparents are hard on your mom but easier on you and Rory, especially Rory.

“Well, you’re here now,” Your grandpa says. He’s usually the mediator between your mom and grandma. Although he’s usually sucks at it. “Sit. Sit.”

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, JJ shuffles through his many coworkers with his apron in one hand and a piece of fried calamari from Miss Carol’s appetizer in the other.

“JJ -” She scolds and slaps his hand away from going in for a second piece.

“Good evening Miss Carol,” JJ smirks and makes his way to the area between the kitchen and dining room where most of the servers and bust boys hang out. Some of the boys slap him on the back or shove him by the shoulder, chuckling to themselves. “What’s going on boys? Busy crowd?”

“What are you doing here? You never work Sundays,” His friend, Mitch, says.

Luke Maybank was behind on several bills - worse than it’s ever been. They already shut off their electricity and JJ wanted to make sure the water wouldn’t be next.

But JJ shrugs nonchalantly. “Little extra dough can't hurt.”

“Well, you picked a good day,” Raymond walks up to the blonde, rolling his sleeves. “You got Kook Royalty and their Hybrid offsprings in your section.”

“What?” JJ looks through the small square Plexiglas on the swinging door. He knows exactly where to look and immediately sees you sitting with King and Queen Kook, looking absolutely miserable, pushing around your food with your fork.

“Damn, Maybank. Almost broke your neck - you turned so fast.”

“Shut up, Easterling. I was just seeing how crowded we were,” JJ lied. He really just wanted to see if you were here. And now that he sees you are, he’s a little nervous to do his own damn job.

Raymond Easterling chuckles. “Yeah, I know what you were looking at. But don’t get your hopes up. There’s a reason Kooks call that girl the Heart Sucker. Not even the high and powerful JJ Maybank could get a piece of that.”

The guys around JJ and Raymond chuckle and nod in agreement, hearing the stories of how you’d reject every single guy that’s ever asked you out. Sometimes you’d go on a few dates, trying to push yourself out of your comfort zone, but then things would quickly become too much, and you’d get overwhelmed.

JJ didn’t like the way Raymond talked about you or how the others laughed at your expense. His hands clenched into fists, tempted to throw a punch in Ray’s cocky face. The guy’s just being a jerk because he’s one of the guys that got rejected by you, he thought.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” JJ shakes his head and ties his apron around his waist to distract his hands.

“No?” Raymond challenges him. “You think I’m wrong? You think you could pull the infamous Hybrid over there?”

JJ glances back through the window. You’re looking at your grandma with a clearly forced grin. You’re twirling your hair between your fingers, a habit you picked up when you were little to do when you’re bored. JJ would find you doing that in school all the time.

You’re gorgeous, he thought. It’s no wonder that almost every guy on this island has tried to make a pass on you, including JJ himself, but his remarks always come off as playful, afraid of actually telling you how he feels about you. His fantasies about you went further than just getting you between the sheets. He could picture getting married, having children, and growing old together. Years ago, the two of you would talk about your future. Neither one of you cared about money or fancy jobs. All you wanted was to be free - of this island, of each other’s families, of responsibilities placed on you from birth. You hold the same values as JJ, and he’s never met another person like you.

But JJ has a hard exterior. No one other than his best friends know his true heart, and he wasn’t going to let someone like Raymond Easterling find out about his soft spot for you. He would never hear the end of it.

JJ looks at you one last time. You’re talking to Rory, your face in his direction. This time you’re smiling, probably discussing something other than your grandparent’s expectations of you. He’d kill to see that smile every single day.

What’s the worst that could happen? You reject him? Yeah, that might kill JJ inside, but maybe you’d still be his friend, or continue to be acquaintances like you are now. As long as he gets to see you, he’d be okay. There was always the future. But who knows? Maybe you’d say yes? He’ll never know unless he tries. Right?

JJ fakes the same cocky grin that Raymond wears. “I haven’t failed yet.”

The guys around him whistle and shake their heads with smiles.

“All right, Maybank. Let’s make a bet. I’ll give you one hundred dollars to get Y/N Y/L/N in the sack by the fourth of July.”

JJ scoffs. “You like giving away free money?” He ignored his racing heart at the thought of being that intimate with you.

Raymond nods. “Okay. Let’s put your money where your mouth is. Get her to say ‘I love you’ by the end of the season and I’ll raise you an extra hundred and cover all your dishwasher shifts in September.”

JJ raises his brows with surprise. No one offers to take the dishwashing shift. Sometimes the boys are pulled back there when the kitchen is short staffed and it’s easily one of the worst jobs at the Club.

This bet was almost too good of an opportunity to pass up. “Deal.” JJ says.

The boys shake hands on it and the other guys whisper to each other about how intrigued they are to see this play out.

JJ wipes his sweaty palms against his apron and pushes the door open to approach your table, hoping he can hear you over his thudding heart.

“Good evening folks. May I take those empty plates out of your way?”

You look up at the voice you know so well and a smile raises on your lips. JJ meets your eyes and he winks at you, splattering your heart in flutters.

“Please.” Your grandmother pushes her plate away from her, stuffed with filet and red wine.

“JJ,” Your mom grins up at him. Growing up, your mom always had a soft spot for the blonde Pogue. She’s heard the stories about his father, mostly from Steve, who actually grew up with Luke Maybank, his cousin. As a child, he was sent to live with Luke Maybank and his single father. Lets just say, he’s not surprised by the way Luke turned out. “Look at you. You’re all grown up now. Last time I saw you, Y/N was still pushing your head in the sand for stealing her popsicle.”

“Yeah. I quickly learned no one should mess with Y/N and her food,” JJ says.

“Never stopped you though,” You smirk at him.

“Lorelai. Who is this?” Your grandma asks, disregarding the boy himself.

“Mom,” Lorelai gives her mom a warning look. “This is JJ Maybank. He went to school with Y/N and Rory.” Lorelai knew to play it safe with her wording. She didn’t know where you and JJ stood. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him and she knew better than to ask.

“Nice to meet you,” JJ says politely. “I’d shake your hand but mine are kinda full.” He motions to the plates in his hand.

“That’s quite all right.” Your grandma’s smile is so forced, it makes you uncomfortable.

“I won’t hold you up. Has your server been around with the dessert menu?” JJ looks at you. “We have chocolate cake tonight.”

Heat rushes up your neck. Not because of the cake itself but because JJ remembered your favorite dessert. Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles. It was safe to save you were a choco-holic. The boys use to make it for you every year for your birthday. It usually came out burnt, none of them ever remembering how to properly make it. But it was all you needed to feel like a very special girl.

“Your favorite,” Rory elbows you.

Your grandma cringes. “Sounds like diabetes on a plate.”

“Mom,” Lorelai scolds.

“What?” She asks, not understanding the concept of a filter.

Now heat rushes to your cheeks for an entire different reason. “He did. We’re not doing dessert tonight. Thank you, though.”

JJ nods but feels disappointed by the way your face flinched at your grandmother’s comment.

“My pleasure,” He says like he was taught to do and excuses himself to drop the plates off in the back before he can say anything else that would probably get him fired.

Your mom looks at your with raised brows. “He’s cute, honey.”

“Lorelai, please. He’s the busboy,” Your grandma says.

“He’s a good kid, Mom.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” You stand up. “I have to use the restroom.”

Rory gives you a knowing grin as you walk away from the table. When you walk into the hallway between the dining area and the front lobby, you immediately feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Sometimes just the presence of your grandparents and their pompous judgements can be suffocating. You do your best to bite your tongue around them, excusing yourself when you feel yourself getting heated.

JJ catches a glimpse of your light blue dress out of the corner of his eye when he rounds the corner to collect the plates off a different table. He looks over his shoulder at Raymond, who’s staring at the blonde watching you, and winks.

“Hey, Y/N,” JJ says, walking up to you.

You look up from your phone and immediately smile. “Hey. I was actually hoping I’d catch you out here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You nervously tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry about my grandmother. She can be...”

JJ shakes his head. “Hey. It’s okay. I work for Kooks almost every single day. I’m use to it.”

You sigh. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Don’t apologize for something you can’t control,” JJ says. “Besides, that’s probably the nicest she’s ever been to me.”

You hide your face in your hands. “Stop. You’re making it worse.”

JJ laughs and takes your wrists in his hands, slowly pulling them away from your face. Your eyes shoot up to his, immediately feeling a tingling feeling run through your skin, straight to your heart.

“It’s okay. I promise,” He says softly. His voice is so sincere that you have no other option but to believe him. It almost makes your feel guiltier, wondering how much bullshit he’s been through with ungrateful Kooks that it’s so easy for him to forgive and forget.

“Okay,” Your voice is a whisper, taken off guard by how close he is to you and how he still hasn't let go of your hands.

In that same moment, JJ realizes he’s still holding you and gently removes his hands. He coughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck, where sweat begins to bubble. Why is he so nervous?

“So um...” You say, suddenly feeling nervous too. “You going to John B’s tonight?”

JJ’s eyes shoot up in surprise. How did you know that? “Yeah. I’m heading over there after work.”

“I saw him and Pope at Heywards earlier today and they invited me over. I wasn’t sure if I should come or not.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Because it’s different now, you wanted to say. But you didn’t because you feel like the elephant in the room would only grow. And you didn’t want to admit you were nervous to meet Kie and Sarah outside of school.

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You should definitely come. The boys miss you.”

You pretend like a little piece of your heart didn’t just break when JJ didn’t say ‘we.’

“What time do you get off of work?”

“Around 9ish.”

You nod. “I can pick you up if you’d like and we could go together?”

Your heart races after you suggest it. What if he says no? Why were you feeling this way? This is the same kid you use to make fun of for pouring milk into his bowl before his cereal.

“Yeah. That’d be perfect.”

“Great!” Your phone pings with a text from Rory, telling you that your grandparents are wondering where you are. “Shit. I have to get back. I’ll see you at nine?”

“See you then,” JJ nods and turns back to the kitchen. When his eyes meet Raymond’s, he’s reminded of what he agreed to. Almost surprised how quickly he forgot about it. You were able to take his mind off of anything without even trying. He clears his throat to get rid of the giddy grin he was wearing after talking to you, wanting to look tough and casual in front of his coworker. “Easy.” He says to him. But that felt anything but easy. He could vomit with nerves.

“There’s still plenty of time for you to screw up, Maybank.”

JJ huffs. He’s not wrong.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You drive up to the front of the country club and park in front of the main entrance. It’s 8:57. You’re early and will look eager. So you wait until 9:06 to text him that you’re here.

You changed into a pair of dark washed denim shorts, a yellow cropped tube top, a grey flannel, and navy converse. You changed your outfit about four times before deciding on your first one, not wanting to look too casual or too dressed up.

For the last three years, you wondered when the four of you would get back together as a group. You wondered if it would ever happen. And now that two Kooks are involved, you feel more nervous than excited.

You jump when the passenger seat door opens, lost in the depth of your own head. JJ smiles, not seeing your reaction.”Cool ride,” he says and looks around the interior.

“Thanks,” you say, pulling out into the road.

“I got you something,” JJ says.

You glance at him with furrowed brows. What could he have possibly gotten you since you saw him last? A book mark from the Country Club’s gift shop?

JJ reaches into his backpack and pulls out a plate with clear wrap around it. Your mouth drops when you see the chocolate cake on a plate in his hands, the smell immediately hitting your nose with pure delight.

“You saved me a piece?” You jump in your seat excitedly.

“Had to hide it good too or else Miss Carol would have had my ass handed to me,” JJ jokes and even pulls out two forks. He undoes the wrapping and cuts off a piece. He waits until you hit a stop sign and says, “Open up.”

You look at him and immediately open your mouth. He gently places the fork between your lips and you take the piece of cake off with your teeth. Like a baby.

Your eyes close with pure pleasure. “Oh my god. That’s amazing.”

“Miss Carol does know how to bake a mean cake,” JJ says and takes a bite of his own.

“Another one,” You say, glancing at the cake again. Like you said, choco-holic. “Please.” You say when JJ teases you by holding the fork away from you.

JJ laughs. “I like hearing you beg.”

You slap him in the arm with the back of your hand. “In your dreams, Maybank.”

“You got that right, Y/L/N.”

The two of you finish the cake with only a few bites each. Small but rich in chocolate that leaves you craving more. You were gonna have to meet this Miss Carol woman.

After he puts the plate back in his bag, JJ reaches for the aux cord, but you quickly slap his hand away. “Hey. What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re seriously gonna make me listen to this the entire way to John B’s?”

You scoff. “I’ll have you know Blink-182 is one of my favorite bands.”

“It’s also soccer moms’ favorite band,” JJ laughs at you.

You turn up the volume, blasting ‘All the Small Things’ and point to your ear. “Sorry. Can’t hear you!”

JJ rolls his eyes but laughs along with you, even bopping his head to the beat. You drive with the windows down, dancing and singing along to a bunch of throwback songs with JJ as if the two of you have been doing this forever.

You pull up to John B’s and park behind his dad’s old van, better known as The Twinkie. When you turn down the music, JJ looks at you with a shake in his head. “Next time, I’m driving.”

“What was wrong with my driving?”

“We’re in the Outer Banks, Sparky, not NASCAR.”

You scoff and follow behind JJ who’s leading the way up John B’s driveway. As you get closer, you smell the smoky scent of a bonfire nearby and eventually hear John B’s laugh mixed in with a female’s. Your smile falters as nerves gather in the pit of your stomach.

“What’s wrong?” JJ asks.

“Nothing,” You say, but JJ easily catches your lie and gives you a knowing look. “What if they don’t like me?”

“Who? Pope and John B? I’m pretty sure they like you more than me even after three years -”

“Not them, you idiot,” You shove him playfully by the shoulder as you two let yourselves inside. “Sarah and Kie.”

“Don’t you go to school with them?”

“Yeah, but we don’t talk,” You say quietly, not wanting them to hear you.

“Hm.”

“What?” JJ shrugs. “Nothing. I just didn’t think you cared about what other people thought.”

“I don’t,” You say quickly. “But they're your best friends. It’s different.”

“You don’t need their approval. You technically were here first.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been replaced,” You try to say it as a joke and even throw a smirk in there.

But JJ stops in his track and looks at you seriously. “No one can replace you. Not even if they tried.”

You open your mouth to respond, but you’re at a loss for words. It’s not a common occurrence that JJ gets all serious on you. Warmth covers you like a blanket and the longer he holds your stare, the weaker your knees become.

“JJ! Is that you?” John B calls out from the backyard.

“Yeah,” JJ yells back. He opens the fridge in John B’s kitchen. “Want a beer?” He offers to you.

You shake your head. “No thanks.”

For the first time, you take in John B’s home. It looks the same as it did three years ago, only a lot messier. The pull out couch looks like its been used recently with blankets and sheets tossed about on it. Empty beer cans and cigarette butts are thrown messily on the coffee tables and the air smells faintly of old marijuana.

JJ leads you out to the back where four people are gathered around a fire. Three out of the four immediately smile when the two of you approach them, but Kie’s eyes narrow and her head tilts with confusion.

Shit, you think.

“You came!” Pope laughs and hops up from his beach chair and embraces you in a hug.

You laugh, not expecting the embrace, but welcoming it all the same. John B’s next, giving you a quick hug and shaking his head.

“I gotta say, I didn’t think you were going to come,” John B says.

“You can thank me for that later,” JJ says jokingly.

“Actually when I heard JJ was coming, I almost changed my mind and stayed home,” You joke and smirk JJ’s way.

“Just like old times,” Pope says, looking between you and the blonde. The banter felt like the yall never separated in the first place.

“Hey, you know Sarah and Kie, right?” John B points to the girls. Sarah stands up to say hi, and eventually Kie follows her, not wanting to look rude, but stays off to the side, keeping her distance.

“Yeah,” You wave awkwardly.

“Hey!” Sarah says sweetly. “I didn’t realize you guys use to all hang out.”

“Y/N grew up down the street,” JJ explains and sips at his beer.

“You want a drink or something?” Pope asks you, not knowing JJ already did.

“No thank you,” You say again.

“You don’t drink?” Kie asks. It was the first thing she’s said to you.

“Not usually,” You say and hold her stare. You try to get a read on her, but she’s had to get a tell on. You can’t tell if she just doesn’t like you or just doesn’t know you. Either way, it makes you uneasy.

“Here, I’ll go grab you a chair,” Pope says and walks to the side of the house to grab another beat up beach chair.

As the night goes on, you feel the tension in your shoulders loosen and your body feel lighter. Most of the night was spent retelling childhood stories the four of you shared. Sarah would laugh at most of them, occasionally rolling her eyes at her boyfriend from the stupid shit he would do, although it sounds like he’s no different to you now.

You talked about the time you and JJ stole a golf cart for a joy ride on Figure Eight, or when you and John B pranked Pope by putting a dead fish in his locker, or how you and John B learned how to play guitar from youtube tutorials.

Midnight came around quickly and exhaustion was slowly taking over your body. It’s been a long day between the cafe flooding, dinner with your grandparents, and now this.

JJ was the first to notice you slowly fading.

“You okay?” He asks you quietly as everyone else is caught up in conversation.

“Yeah,” You say, lazily grinning at him.

“We can leave if you want,” He says.

“You’re not staying?” You ask. It sounded like everyone was planning to spend the night here. And as much as you wanted to, you just didn’t feel comfortable enough yet.

JJ shrugs. “My dad’s out of town tonight. It’ll be nice to have the house to myself.” Before you can say anything, he stands and brushes his hands against his pants. “All right, losers. We’re out of here.”

“Aw, you’re leaving?” Sarah pouts.

“Yeah, I’m beat and Y/N’s my ride home,” JJ says.

You were glad he didn’t call you out for being tired. You didn’t want to look lame in front of everybody, especially Kie.

“Thanks for having me,” You say to everyone. It might have been John B’s house, but it was everyone’s night you intruded on.

John B stands up to hug you. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You nod. “I won’t. I promise.”

Pope hugs you next. “Text me when you get back safe.”

“I will.”

“Bye!” Sarah waves and Kie exhales a ring of smoke from her blunt.

You wave at them before following JJ back to your car.

“Nuh-uh-uh,” JJ says. You didn’t realize you both walked to the driver’s side.

“What? No.”

JJ nods and holds his hands out for your keys. “I’m not dying tonight.”

“You’ve been drinking and smoking all night,” You say. You didn’t think JJ was drunk or even that high, but you were not going to let a teenager with an ounce of alcohol in his system get behind the wheel. “Next time. For now, hold on to the cupholder.”

JJ sighs dramatically and goes to the other side of the car and hops in the passenger seat.

This time you keep the music quiet, listening to the hum of the radio instead of your phone.

“Take a left,” JJ says.

“JJ, I know where you live. And it’s not left.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

You snicker. “Not in the slightest.”

JJ rolls his eyes. “Just take the left.”

You hold your hands up in surrender and take the left turn. He directs you for a couple more miles until he has you park in front of a 24 hour diner.

“What are we doing here?” You ask.

“I’m in the mood for a milkshake.”

“We just had cake!” You say.

“Come on, Sparky. Show me what that mouth can do,” JJ smirks.

You go to hit him again but he takes off running to the front entrance and pulls the door open. You chase after him, almost running into his back at the front host stand where JJ safely smirks at you in triumph.

“Two please,” He says to the hostess.

The old cranky woman leads you to a booth off to the side next to a window without a word.

A couple minutes later, a waitress walks by and asks if you’re ready to order.

“Yes. One chocolate milkshake and one black and white milkshake,” JJ orders for both of you, already knowing what flavor you’d want.

“And fries, please.” You say. The waitress nods, takes your menus, and walks off. JJ raises his brow at the extra order. “What?” You shrug. “Just showing you what my mouth can do.”

JJ scoffs. “What a tease.”

You playfully kick his shin under the table.

“Did you have fun tonight?” JJ asks.

“Yeah,” You answer. “Felt like old times. The girls are nice too.”

You were about to only mention Sarah, but you didn’t want to cause any issues with Kie. Not yet at least. Maybe she just needed time to warm up to you.

“See? I told you they wouldn’t bite.”

A couple minutes later, the waitress comes back with your milkshakes and fries.

“How’s John B doing? You know, with the whole Big John thing?” You ask delicately, unsure of how JJ would react to you pestering about John B’s business. “I didn’t want to ask and bring the mood down,” You explain yourself although you don’t need to.

JJ shrugs. “He’s in denial I think. Won’t sign a death certificate until he sees a body. He could be worse, though.”

“Yeah,” You say softly. You don’t know what you would do if you were in that situation. In a way you felt lucky that you never knew your dad at all. It would be harder to lose him, knowing who he was.

You take a fry and dip it into your milkshake before taking a bite. This makes JJ freeze and look at you like you have two heads.

“What?” You say with your mouth full.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” You say and give him a look to do it.

JJ reluctantly picks up the fry and dunks it into his milkshake. He looks at the fry questioningly before popping it into his mouth. Somehow the sweetness of the milkshake and the saltiness of the french fry complement each other beautifully and his widen in pleasant surprise.

“Oh wow,” JJ says.

“Told you,” You smirk.

You spend the next hour catching up, trying to fit the last three years into an hour. JJ does most of the talking because you want to know more about what John B, Pope, and JJ have been up to. Your life was so boring and depressing, you didn’t want to bore JJ with the details.

You drive JJ home and talk for a few minutes more when you park. He seems to be procrastinating getting out of the car, but you don’t mind. You could talk to him all night, suddenly not feeling tired anymore.

“All right. I’ll let you get home before the sun rises,” He says and opens the door. He pauses when his feet hit the ground and he looks back at you. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I have to work at the shop, why?”

“Well, there’s a storm coming in. John B and I might go out to surf the surge before it hits. You still surf?”

You scoff. “Do I still surf?”

JJ holds his hands up in surrender. “Just checking. You think you can handle the surge?”

“Let’s not forget who the better surfer is, JJ.”

“I didn’t. It’s still me.”

“You wish.”

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Now you have a point to prove. You have to show JJ that you’re still the better surfer.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” You agree.

“Great, it’s a date.” He winks and shuts the door before you can tell him otherwise.

You giggle to yourself as JJ walks up the front yard and stay there until he you see he gets in safely.

You pull out of the driveway, wishing he had asked you out on a real date. One that didn’t involve John B.

Tag list: @super-funky-bisexual @sunsetswithjj @moniamaybank @throwawayfish @poguestyle17 @5am-cigarette @jjpouggues @fly-away-from-here @buckys2thicc

#JJ Imagine #jj fic #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj obx #jj fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #outer banks imagine #outer banks imagines #outer banks fic #jj maybank one shot

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allthingsarmin · 3 years ago

Note

Hello, can i please request an armin x reader but it’s a modern au where armin is a nerd and the reader is popular, feel free to ignore if you don’t like the idea :)

Thank you for your request, anon! I really hope you like it, and I can always rewrite it if it’s not the way you imagined. Also, sorry it is a little long - I think I got carried away with this prompt haha.

The beginning might be a little angsty, but the ending is cute ^_^

GN!Reader

Warnings: one cuss word, mentions of self-doubt, kissing

Word Count: 2,346

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Things change - sometimes for the better - like how Armin finally cut his bob-length hair and now has a handsome undercut that suits his jawline and like how you are finally growing taller since it seemed like forever that Armin was the taller one.

Things change - sometimes for the worse - like how you and Armin used to be so close in grade school, but now in college, your relationship is made up of awkward smiles in the hallways, small waves when passing each other in the library, and unfinished conversations on SnapChat.

Things fade - relationships come to an end, people move on, and that’s just life. Look at you now, from a quiet person to a popular student known for your humorous remarks, angelic facial features, a delightful sense of style, and your beautifully color-coded notes. You capture hearts with your smile, and you never fail to make anyone laugh with your stupidly funny puns and nonsense. To put it simply, Armin is a bit different - well, you could say nerdy. Quiet, polite, and has as much passion for the world as he does intelligence. Always heavily invested in school and studying as you could almost always find his nose in between the pages of a book or study guide. Poor Armin - not known for his sweet personality or his above average intelligence. Definitely not known for his sense of style but always comes to class dressed in a rather dashing blazer and keeps a couple Kleenex tissues in his left pocket. Armin barely has any friends, - if any - but he always makes sure to hold the door open for strangers, smile at teachers when entering the classroom, and send you a “Happy Birthday!” text every year.

Some things don’t fade - like Armin’s feelings for you even after you two grew apart and he was forced to watch you from the sidelines. How could he not be so deeply in love with you? When you two were close, you coddled up with each other and read books about the ocean, learning about sharks and so naively believing in the theory of Atlantis. You stayed over at each other’s houses and studied together as well as comforted each other if one of you didn’t do as well as you expected on a test. You used to braid his long blond locks as he told you stories about his grandfather. During the summers, you would use chalk to draw a picture of you two on the blistering sidewalks outside his house, and he would give you handmade bookmarks as a present. Even though you two have grown apart, he is still in love with you, watching you laugh from far away. The way your eyes squint out of happiness and the sound of your hearty laughter makes his body heat up and his cheeks rosy. The way you sometimes send him “Good luck!” texts for when there’s a big test in a class you both are taking makes him smile with teary eyes since it seems that you have in fact not forgotten about him and his intense anxiety when it comes to test-taking. The way you ran up to Armin and gripped his arm when you unexpectedly saw him in the campus coffee shop that one time sent a euphoric tingle throughout his body that made him forget how to breathe properly. How could he not love you when you were always there for him, when you remembered every personal detail he told you during late-night childhood sleepovers, when you tried your best to make him love himself? Armin wants so badly to tell you how important you are to him, how he wants to protect you from everything bad in the world, how he wants to wrap his arms around you and listen to your heartbeat… you are just so hard to reach. He is a nerd, a loser, and you are so popular, surrounded by endless amounts of friends… he’s sure your contacts are completely full and DMs flooding with people who are interested in you and are a lot better than him. What was the point in even trying?

Luckily for Armin, you feel the same way. To be honest with yourself, your stupid jokes, loud laughter, and wide smiles were really just a cover-up for how deeply sad you are. No matter how many friends you have or instant messages you receive from strangers online, you feel incredibly alone because none of them are him. Popularity doesn't matter to you anymore - you just miss your best friend so terribly. You missed walking on the beach together, splashing each other with the salty waves, making study-flashcards together, and being able to touch his beautiful blond hair whenever you wanted. Armin’s birthday is coming up, and you want to make your move and do something big for him that would let him know how special he is to you. This time, it wouldn’t involve loads of friends or a loud party with that overly social and fake personality of yours.

You text Armin: “Hey Armin! We haven’t talked in awhile, but your birthday is this Saturday, and I would like to meet up with you. Are you free to go to the beach on Saturday? I want to give you a present, and I just want to catch up with you. I miss my friend!”

Armin read the text with relief. Even if he couldn’t have you the way he wanted, he still wanted more than anything to reconnect with his old friend. “It’s good to hear from you, y/n! I have no plans for Saturday, so of course we can meet up… around 7pm if that’s okay. I want to watch the sunset! And I miss you too…”

Saturday:

It is November, which means it’s cold. At the beach in November? Even colder, so you make sure to dress warmly.

It is 6:59pm, and you trudge through the moist sand, the harsh wind bearing itself against your face making the tip of your nose turn a bright pink as you grip your hoodie close to your body. In the distance, you see Armin sitting on the sand, shoes off and wearing a dark green sweatshirt with a black beanie. Sitting next to him was his backpack - of course he was the type to bring his school work with him while you always brought your violently vibrating phone with you everywhere.

You release a tired breath as you sit next to him in the sand, setting the bag of presents down beside you and keeping your cold hands in your hoodie pocket. A big smile is on your face as you ask him: “Aren’t you cold, Armin? Why don’t you have your shoes on?!” Armin laughs as he turns his face toward you. At this point, you can see how red his cheeks really are, and this is really the first time you’ve noticed how handsome he actually is. The softness of his blond eyelashes beautifully contrast with the sharpness of his jawline. His smile is soft, and his deep blue eyes pierce into yours. “Hahaha, I don’t know. I just haven’t been to the beach in a long time…” he trails off. “It’s ‘cuz you’re so popular now that you don’t have time to hang out with me,” he states in a playfully butt-hurt tone though you can sense that he is indeed a little upset about it. The waves hitting the shore fill the awkward silence between you two. “I know,” you softly say, “but I think about you all the time. I miss you, and I hope we can be close friends again,” you confess. Armin feels his heart flutter when you say that you miss him. He wants to tell you he loves you and wants to reassure you that he’d always be there for you, but instead he pats you on the back. “It’s okay! I was just joking,” he awkwardly laughs. “Of course we are friends, and I hope we can be even closer too.”

He glances to your side. “What’s in the bag?” he inquires. “Oh!” you exclaim, seemingly as if you forgot about it. You rush to give him the bag and shove it into his arms. “It’s just some stuff I got you for your birthday.”

He rummages through it, going through the endless amount of tissue paper on the top. He pulls out a light blue sweater first.

“It’s almost winter, so I figured I’d give you something warm. I think this color…” you pause and hesitantly reach up to adjust his beautiful blond bangs, “... would look good on you.”

You both make eye contact for a second and quickly look away from each other. “Haha, it’s beautiful, y/n. Thank you!” You are just about to say ‘no problem’ before he is quickly taking off his green sweatshirt and replacing it with the light blue one, his very toned abs peeking through the plain white t-shirt he had on underneath the sweatshirt. You feel your cheeks grow warm and instantly look away. Armin notices and chuckles to himself. He would honestly never mind if you wanted to look at them or even touch them.

“Now, onto the second one,” you say, trying to change the subject. Armin pulls out two matching, homemade bracelets that feature a seashell on both of them. He looks at them silently and intently.

“I made matching bracelets!” you say proudly. “They’re like friendship bracelets, so we both have to wear them all the time! You aren’t allowed to take it off!” you joke.

“They’re so pretty, y/n,” he whispers as he stares at the shells, a sparkle in his eyes. He immediately puts it on and gently takes your wrist to put yours on.

“There,” he says contently, carefully placing your wrist in your lap.

You two sit silently next to each other, shoulders brushing against one another and watching the waves as the sun casts a dull orange and purple glow across the sky. The sounds of waves crashing against the shore and the squawking birds in the sky cancel out the noises of Armin softly crying.

Once you notice, you quickly snap your head around. “Armin, are you okay?” you ask, extremely worried.

“Thank you for the presents, y/n,” he sniffles. “You have always done stuff like this for me,” Armin continues as he gets flashbacks of you two running across the beach and gawking at beautiful seashells, telling jokes to each other in grade school when it was supposed to be reading time, and making funny drawings of each other. “I’ve never told you thank you - for being there for me and comforting me all those times, and just letting me be myself. It’s been such a long time since we’ve done anything together. I miss making you laugh, and I miss going to the library with you and asking you about your day.”

At this point, you feel like crying too because you feel the exact same. You spent so much of your life wanting to fit in, and you finally became popular but at what cost? You nearly forgot about the most important person to you, the one person that actually cares about you.

“I love you,” Armin suddenly blurts out, a tear running down his face. “I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine,” he says so quietly that it’s borderline pathetic. You swear your heart stopped when he said that. You feel a burning sensation all along your body as you forget about the cold air hitting your face, and you feel your breathing stop. The uncertainty you felt that kept you awake every night about whether Armin thought of you the same, all the self-doubt, all the guilt about leaving your friend behind, had been erased in an instant.

The silence between you two is unbearably awkward, and with confidence you seemingly pull out of nowhere, you throw yourself onto Armin’s lips, your arms enclosing his broad shoulders, and both of you falling sideways into the wet sand. Armin, at first shocked, passionately kisses back and links onto your soft lips. The tips of your noses are cold, but you both eventually succumb to each other's warmth. You both pull away to catch some breath. Armin gently wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him as you bury your head in the crook of his neck. Even after all this time, he still smells the same - vanilla and cedarwood. “I love you too,” you softly say. Noticing that you both are practically wallowing in the sand by now, you apologize. “Also, sorry I ruined your new sweatshirt. There’s sand all over it,” you laugh.

“Oh, it’s okay,” he reassures, shyly placing a kiss on your forehead. “Want to watch the sunset with me?” You nod your head enthusiastically, a smile you couldn’t help leave your lips.

“Oh, fuck,” you quitely exclaim.

“What’s wrong?” Armin asks in a concerned tone.

“I forgot I have an essay due at 11:59 tonight.”

Armin busts out laughing - a sound you wouldn’t mind hearing for the rest of your life even though he’s laughing at your poor planning.

“When the sun finally sets, we can go back to my dorm, and I can help you with it if that’s alright with you,” he politely offers.

“Sure!” you happily reply.

You both sit up and face the horizon. The sun was almost gone, and the sky was a heavenly pink color while the sea began to look indigo. Your hands were linked with Armin’s, and for the first time in a long time, you felt warm despite the air getting cooler.

Getting ready to go to Armin’s dorm, he grabs his backpack and his dark green sweatshirt. You get up and check your phone, not at all caring that you have nearly fifty missed text messages and missed calls asking why you didn’t come to the weekly campus party.

You finally have all that you need.

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

I really hoped you liked it! Requests are open ~ I have another request that will be posted soon.

#armin arlert #armin x reader #aot x reader

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jujutsu-headcanons · 4 years ago

Text

Team Tokyo First Years Headcanons

(Ft. Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, Gojo & Sukuna)

Gojo created a group chat with all three students to coordinate things. However, he never knows if Megumi reads the texts because he never says anything (he does), and all Yuji does is send memes, so basically that's its only function now.

Yuji and Nobara created a game: try to take a picture of Gojo with his blindfold off. He takes it off frequently, it's just impossible to catch an image of it. Surprisingly, Megumi of all people has gotten the closest. If you squint, you can see the baby blues.

This escalated into "who can take the ugliest picture of someone without them looking", after capturing an image of Yuji standing next to Gojo's desk with almost four chins. Nobara discovered she has many bad angles and Gojo discovered he's photogenic from ALL angles.

Yuji likes to use Nobara's ugly pictures as reaction images and memes. At first, Nobara beat him up whenever he did, but now as long as they don't leave the first-year chat she doesn't care. She'll even supply them if she's feeling silly.

Gojo started a prank war on accident and it shows no sign of stopping. It started because he enjoys Nobara's over the top reactions. When she found the LIVE snake in her bed (oh boy, everyone's soooo lucky she's good with reptiles), she immediately suspected this was Yuji's doing. She pranked him, he got her back, Megumi walked into a prank on accident, he got them back twice over, and now it just won't stop. Gojo was fully prepared to deal with the consequences, but he isn't complaining.

The First Year prank war is pretty well known around the school, and everyone's learned to stay away from anything that looks suspicious.

Gojo uses this to his advantage too; sometimes he'll pull pranks on the first and even second years just to watch them blame each other. He's even gone as far as pranking Principal Yaga hoping that he would blame the kids, but Yaga knows for a fact it's Gojo. He hasn't done anything about it though. This stresses Gojo.

Most of the time, when they eat out, each student pays for their meal. When Gojo's there he pays for all four of them, and if Yuji tries to use the "I don't have any money" excuse when Nobara decides to stop for a coffee, she'll buy him one too. She holds it against him, though.

If his kids are all craving a certain type of food (i.e. Chinese) Gojo will head out and pick it up and they'll all eat as a family.

Nobara proposed once a month they have a "spa" day. Surprisingly, the other two students agreed. She's allowed to give them manicures and pedicures (so long as she doesn't get carried away), trim and treat their hair, exfoliate their faces, and they help her re-dye her hair. Megumi is a good client, while Yuji gets bitched at a lot for squirming while getting his nails clipped and jerking when he gets his eyebrows plucked.

Yuji also proposed they have a movie night every Friday night. If they're busy, they'll move it to Saturday, or have it earlier in the day during the week. Sometimes the second years will join. Gojo is banned because he's basically seen every movie and always spoils the end. Everyone got mad at Yuji's request to use subtitles but gave up arguing with how loud Yuji chews.

They also have game nights, but they lost the pieces to most board games after Nobara threw them out the window, Megumi is the only one who knows how to play chess and Shogi, and Yuji fears the safety of his controllers after Megumi got dangerously close to beating Nobara in Smash.

Yuji's room is the main hangout joint because of the electronics he owns. Literally, there's a whole ass common/living room for them to use. However, they go to Nobara's room for a spa day, as long as the boys are gone by sundown.

Gojo knows damn good and well his kids don't like each other in that way and would never have sex with each other, but he still feels the need to give them the talk ™. He's literally given each child a free box of condoms just in case.

Gojo bought each student customized "if lost, please return to Jujutsu Tech" shirts. Yuji doesn't mind wearing his because it's just another hoodie to him, and Nobara doesn't mind hers because it's a crop top and it's cute. Megumi burned his in front of Gojo.

Nobara takes the boys shopping a lot. Megumi is surprisingly good at picking out clothes that fit Nobara's physique and taste, and Yuji is there to hype her up when she walks out of the dressing room. He also isn't scared to tell her a dress doesn't look good on her, and she respects that.

Sometimes even Sukuna will pop out and give commentary. He gives really mixed signals, sometimes he tells her how she's not much to look at, sometimes he talks about the things he wants to do to that ass because of how good they look in those jeans. This results in Yuji getting slapped, Nobara yelling something like "Shut it, Fang Face!" And people staring at him funny because of it.

She also buys outfits for the boys and occasionally Gojo, because she's tired of hoodies and black. She was just as shocked as the rest when Megumi walked out in his outfit. He only wore it to shut her up, though, and hasn't worn it since.

No matter what they're doing, Yuji is ALWAYS the DJ. He has playlists for almost every occasion (spa day, sparring practice, car rides, game nights, even the times they just chill in the same room on their phones) and the only person that really complains is Sukuna, but only because he hates the Backstreet Boys.

Yuji bursts out in song a lot. No matter what he's doing, he'll just start singing. If they know it, Nobara and Gojo will join in too. Always ends in a giggle fit.

Sometimes Gojo's hand slips and boom! He has 18 dozen cookies instead of 4. He's been known to wrap the cookies up in nice tins and packages and leave them outside the kid's doors.

Gojo has also been known to cook meals for the kids and drop them off. This helps because Megumi is basically the only one who can actually cook. Yuji thinks instant ramen is okay for every meal, and Nobara burns food in a way it's still edible but you don't really want it.

The kids play wrestle, a lot. Yuji was scared to at first because the only one who really wants to fight is Nobara, but he learned quickly she can both take and deliver a punch just fine. She also isn't one of those girls that gets upset if there's an accidental grope, which is cool.

This is how the others discovered Megumi is ticklish. Yuji probably still has the scar and Nobara doesn't dare try to tickle him again.

Yuji fell asleep once and woke up to Sukuna's mouth on his cheek having a full-blown conversation with Nobara while she was reading a magazine. He swears they were gossiping about boys, but as soon as Yuji was awake enough to pay attention, Sukuna noticed and started bullying him. To this day Nobara still thinks she was talking to Yuji the whole time because she never noticed he fell asleep.

Yuji can fall asleep almost anywhere. Nobara draws on his face a lot. He's spent countless nights on Megumi's floor just because he's too lazy to move literally one room over.

Nobara has a habit of walking into the boys' rooms without knocking. Megumi is usually laying in bed on his phone or sitting at his desk, however, she's walked into Yuji doing some weird shit. Not gross shit, just... Concerning shit.

Once she walked in on him crying and didn't know what to do. She just kinda walked in and sat down with him until he stopped, occasionally rubbing his back. They didn't say a word until Yuji made a joke and Nobara continued with why she even came into his room, to begin with.

The three students are surprisingly supportive of each other like that, it's just kinda awkward and passive-aggressive at times. Sometimes they even confide in Gojo, and he takes it seriously, surprisingly.

Gojo has a Tik Tok account. He participates in every challenge, every dance, every trend, and apparently has a huge following. Yuji gets featured in the videos sometimes when he isn't recording, and he's mostly doing the stupid shit Gojo does, like doing backflips on building ledges.

While Tik Tok is Gojo's forte Yuji has done video game commentary on twitch and yt live. Megumi is quite popular on subreddits about urban legends and related folklore, and Nobara helps maintain blogs about current events, but... It's mostly celebrity gossip and new music.

Every Saturday is chore day and no one's allowed to do leisurely activities or leave until they're done. Rooms and hallways have to be vacuumed, swept, mopped, whatever. Gojo checks that the rooms aren't dirty. He doesn't mind clutter, he just hates wrappers and shit being left around. He especially pays attention to the cleanliness of the bathrooms for some reason. Megumi is good about cleaning his room throughout the week, Nobara usually just has clutter on her nightstand and dresser, and Yuji waits until the last minute to clean.

The first years used to do their laundry separately, but Nobara threw a temper tantrum when she witnessed Yuji just throw all of his clothes in the washer at once and simply turn it on. Now normally, she wouldn't help anyone get out of work, but she also likes things being done the right her way, so she does his laundry for him. Megumi got involved somehow and now they throw all of their clothes in the same basket and divide them by darks, colors, whites, and delicates. She refuses to let any of their overly- soiled clothes touch hers, so those usually get their own wash too. Each student folds and puts away their own clothes.

Most arguments end with rock paper scissors. Pinkie promises are also sacred.

Gojo keeps a sticker board in the classroom. Whenever the kids do something good, they get a star. Whenever they do something bad, one gets taken away. When they get to five stickers they get a prize from the treasure box.

No one has gotten to five stars yet. This is good because there is no treasure box. Gojo is bullshitting everyone.

Yuji likes to steal Megumi's stickers because he thinks Megumi will not notice. He does every time.

Gojo has a stool in the corner of the classroom complete with a horribly cliche dunce cap he calls "the Naughty Corner" for when the kids "act up". Nobara ends up there because she's always on her phone, Megumi mouths off a lot and has days where he doesn't feel like doing work, and poor Yuji ends up in the naughty corner because Sukuna can't behave.

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luckgods · 4 years ago

Text

Why all the white guys in whump?

I got Inspired by a post asking that question, and here we are. Warning: long post ahead.

I think it’s due to a combination of factors, as things frequently are.

The preference for / prevalence of white male characters in fandom is well-known and has been examined pretty thoroughly by people already.

What’s worth noting for discussing this tendency in whump in particular is that the ‘whump fandom’ itself is not a ‘fandom’ in the traditional sense of being made of fans of one single source narrative (or source setting, like a particular comics fandom, or the Star Wars extended universe) with pre-existing characters. Although subsets of traditional fandoms certainly exist within the larger whump fandom, a lot of whump is based on original, ‘fan’-created characters.

So, given the tendency of ‘traditional’ fandoms to create stories disproportionately centered on white male characters due to the source material itself being centered on white male characters (and giving more narrative weight to them, characterizing them better, etc), if we say hypothetically that the whump fandom is split say 50/50 between ‘traditional’ fandom works and original whump works, you’d expect to see a higher number of works focused on white men than the demographics of the ‘traditional’ fandom’s source work would predict, but not as extreme of a divergence between the source material & the fanworks as the one you’d see if whump fandom were 100% based on popular media.

However, that doesn’t quite seem to be the case. Whump stories and art remain focused on overwhelmingly male and frequently white characters, which means that the tendency of the fandom to create stories disproportionately centered on white male characters cannot be ONLY explained by the source material itself being centered on white male characters (and giving more narrative weight to them, characterizing them better, etc).

And, having established the fact that whump writers & artists presumably have MORE control over the design of their characters than writers & artists in ‘traditional’ fandoms, we have to wonder why the proportions remain biased towards men, & white men in particular.

—

The race thing is pretty simple in my opinion. Mostly, it’s just another extension of the fanbase’s tendency to reflect the (predominantly US-American, on tumblr) culture it exists in, which means that, in a white-centric culture, people make artworks featuring white people.

There’s also the issue of artists being hesitant to write works that dwell heavily on violence towards people of color due to the (US-American) history of people of color being violently mistreated. I’ve actually seen a couple of posts arguing that white people SHOULDN’T write whump of nonwhite characters (particularly Black characters) because of the history of actual violence against Black bodies being used as entertainment, which means that fictional violence against Black people, written by white people, for a (presumed) white audience, still feels exploitative and demeaning.

I'm not going to get into all my thoughts on this discussion here but suffice to say that there's probably an impact on the demographics of whump works from authors of color who simply... don't want to see violence against people of color, even non-explicitly-racialized violence, and then another impact from white authors who choose not to write non-white characters either due to the reasons stated above, or simply due to their personal discomfort with how to go about writing non-white characters in a genre that is heavily focused on interpersonal violence.

Interestingly enough, there’s also a decent proportion of Japanese manga & anime being used as source material for whump, and manga-styled original works being created. The particular relationship between US-American and Japanese pop culture could take up a whole essay just by itself so I’ll just say, there’s a long history of US-Japanese cultural exchange which means that this tendency is also not all that surprising.

—

GENDER though. If someone had the time and the energy they could make a fucking CAREER out of examining gender in whump, gender dynamics in whump, and why there seems to be a fandom-wide preference for male whumpees that cannot be fully explained by the emphasis on male characters in the source text.

I have several different theories about factors which impact gender preference in whump, and anyone who has other theories (or disagrees with mine) is free to jump in and add on.

THEORY 1: AUTHOR GENDER AND PERSONAL EXPERIENCE.  Fandom in general is predominantly female, although these days it might be more accurate to say that fandom is predominantly composed of cis women and trans people of all genders. However, pretty much everyone who isn't a cis man has had to contend with the specter of gendered violence in their real personal life. Thus, if we posit whump (and fandom more generally) as a sort of escapist setup, it's not hard to see why whump authors & artists might willfully eschew writing female whumpees (especially in the case of inflicted whump), because (as in the discussion of people of color in whump above), even violence towards women that is explicitly non-gender-based may still hit too close to home for people whose lives have been saturated with the awareness of gender-based violence.

THEORY 2: SICK OF SEXY SUFFERING.  Something of an addendum to theory 1, it's worth noting that depictions of female suffering in popular media are extremely gendered (in that they specifically reflect real-life gender-based violence, and that said real-life violence is almost exclusively referenced in relation to female characters) and frequently sexualized as well. There's only so many times you can see female characters having their clothes Strategically Ripped while they're held captive, being sexually menaced (overtly or implicitly) to demonstrate How Evil the villain is, or just getting outright sexually assaulted for the Drama of it all before it gets exhausting, especially when the narratives typically either brush any consequences under the rug, or dwell on them in a way that feels more voyeuristic and gratuitous than realistic and meaningful. All this may result in authors who, given the chance to write their own depictions of suffering, may decide simply to remove the possibility of gendered violence by removing the female gender.

THEORY 3: AUTHOR ATTRACTION.  I'll admit that this one is more a matter of conjecture, as I haven't seen any good demographic breakdowns of attraction in general fandom or whump fandom. That said, my own experience talking to fellow whump fans does indicate that attraction to the characters (whether whumpers, or whumpees) is part of the draw of whump for some people. This one partially ties into theory 1 as well, in that people who are attracted to multiple genders may not derive the same enjoyment out of seeing a female character in a whumpy situation as they might seeing a male character in that situation, simply because of the experience of gendered violence in their lives.

THEORY 4: ACCEPTABLE TARGETS.  The female history of fandom means that there's been a lot more discussion of the impacts of depicting pain & suffering (especially female suffering) for personal amusement. Thus, in some ways, you could say that there is a mild taboo on putting female characters through suffering if you can't "justify" it as meaningful to the narrative, not just titillating, which whump fandom rarely tries or requires anyone to do. This fan-cultural 'rule' may impact whump writers' and artists' decisions in choosing the gender of their characters.

THEORY 5: AN ALTERNATIVE TO MAINSTREAM MASCULINITY.  Whump fandom may like whumping men because by and large, mainstream/pop culture doesn't let men be vulnerable, doesn't let them cry, doesn't let them have long-term health issues due to constantly getting beat up even when they really SHOULD, doesn't let them have mental health issues period. Female characters, as discussed in theory 2, get to ("get to") go through suffering and be affected by it (however poorly written those effects are), but typically, male characters' suffering is treated as a temporary problem, minimized, and sublimated into anger if at all possible. (For an example, see: every scene in a movie where something terrible happens and the male lead character screams instead of crying). So, as nature abhors a vacuum, whump fandom "over-produces" whump of men so as to fill in that gap in content.

THEORY 6: AMPLIFIED BIAS.  While it's true that whump fandom doesn't have a source text, it's also true that whump fans frequently find their way into the fandom via other 'traditional' fandoms, and continue participating in 'traditional' fandoms as part of their whump fandom activity. Bias begets bias; fandom as a whole has a massive problem with focusing on white male characters, and fans who are used to the bias towards certain types of characters in derivative works absolutely reproduce that bias in their own original whump works.

—

I honestly think that there is greater bias in the whump fandom than anyone would like to admit. Maybe I'm wrong, but it seems as though whump fans avoid introspection and discussion of the issue by bringing up the points I talked about in my previous theories, particularly discomfort with depictions of female suffering for amusement.

However, I think that, as artists, we owe it to ourselves and one another to engage in at least a small amount of self-interrogation over our preferences, and see what unconscious or unacknowledged biases we possess. It's a little absurd to argue that depictions of women as whumpees are universally too distressing to even discuss when a male character in the exact same position would be fine and even gratifying to the person making that argument; while obviously, people have a right to their own boundaries, those boundaries should not be used to shut down discussion of any topics, even sensitive ones.

Furthermore, engaging in personal reflection allows artists to make more deliberate (and meaningful) art. For people whose goal is simply to have fun, that may not seem all that appealing, but having greater understanding of one's own preferences can be very helpful towards deciding what works to create, what to focus on when creating, and what works to seek out.

—

GENDER ADDENDUM: NONBINARY CHARACTERS, NONBINARY AUTHORS.  Of course, this whole discussion so far has been exclusively based on a male-female binary, which is reductive. (I will note, though, that many binary people do effectively sort all nonbinary people they know of into 'female-aligned' and 'male-aligned' categories and then proceed to treat the nonbinary people and characters they have categorized a 'female-aligned' the same way as they treat people & characters who are actually female, and ditto for 'male-aligned'. That tendency is very frustrating for me, as a nonbinary person whose gender has NOTHING to do with any part of the binary, and reveals that even 'progressive' fandom culture has quite a ways to go in its understanding of gender.)

Anyways, nonbinary characters in whump are still VERY rare and typically written by nonbinary authors. (I have no clue whether nonbinary whump fans have, as a demographic group, different gender preferences than binary fans, but I'd be interested in seeing that data.)

As noted above with female characters, it's similarly difficult to have a discussion about representation and treatment of nonbinary characters in whump fandom, and frankly in fandom in general. Frequently, people regard attempts to open discussions on difficult topics as a call for conflict. This defensive stance once again reveals the distaste for requests of meaningful self-examination that is so frequent in fandom spaces, and online more generally.

—

TL;DR: Whump is not immune to the same gender & racial biases that are prevalent in fandom and (US-American) culture. If you enjoy whump: ask yourself why you dislike the things you dislike— the answer may surprise you. If you create whump: ask yourself whose stories you tell, and what stories you refuse to tell— then ask yourself why.

#eposting #whumpinions #whump #whumpblr #whump community #essay #i wrote this so yall all have to read it lol #but seriously the next person who implies that a nonbinary person is just 'woman-lite' or 'man-lite' is going to Die By My Fucking Sword #mine

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