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americasass81 · 5 months ago

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Shattered Hearts

Warnings 18+ for the following:- Relationship Breakup, Implied Stalking, Brief Mention of Character Death, Smut {m/f), Minor Edging, Use of Pet Names. Seriously do not read if any of this upsets you, the warnings are there for a reason. Feedback is welcomed and any mistakes are my own.

By proceeding you are acknowledging that you are over 18 and are consenting to the content below the cut.

Synopsis: Can a broken heart and a chance encounter really lead to everlasting love? Take a shot and find out.

Author’s Note 1:- Written for @targaryenvampireslayer Blind Date Writing Challenge. Got there eventually, right? 🤣 Still thank you for hosting this Suz and presenting me with an opportunity to finally add Clint to my masterlist. The prompts received are as pictured below (also typed in bold throughout):-

Author’s Note 2:- Flashback scenes in italics.

Author’s Note 3:- As usual all images have been found through google search.

Pairings:- Clint Barton x Female Reader

Total Word Count:- 4,502

Surrounded by half-drunk bodies, smoke and loud music, finishing off your drink and setting aside the empty glass, you let the last dart fly, not really caring what score it produced as long as it hit the board. Hell at this stage of the night all you really wanted to hear was the darts thump into the dartboard as hard as possible while the image of your ex's face filled your vision. Your ex. Oh how you wished you could puncture his face as you made your way towards the board, retrieved the darts and began the whole process all over again in the hopes that it would somehow release every bottled up feeling threatening to tear you apart from the inside out. But alas it wasn't meant to be. Five more rounds, too many more glasses of alcohol to count and you didn't feel any better . . . and honestly how could you?

Sweet, polite and more that willing to help out other people in any way you could, your kind nature and uncanny ability to pick out the worst possible partners in life was exactly the combination of attributes that had landed you here now drowning your sorrows and fending off every man and woman that seemed to think one night with them would magically cure you of the current mood that traveled with you like an old friend. After all, thanks to your latest failing it now appeared crystal clear that you and a lasting, long term relationship were about as compatible as chalk and cheese. Yet there was a part of you that still yearned for one.

Resting your head momentarily now against the dartboard as your hand reached up automatically to pull out the darts once more, you heard Felix's voice again and returned to the beach where he had not only told you things were over between the two of you, but that it had never really been that serious to begin with. As if it ever could be. Apparently now that he was walking away, all the nice things you had ever done for him had been a thorn in his side and to really rub salt in your wounds, he had actually proven himself to be the very worst of all your ex partners by admitting that he had in fact been seeing someone else the whole time that both of you were together and was now ready to commit to a life with her.

And all of this after you had spent the day preparing an anniversary picnic and buying him tickets to watch his favorite team play their final match of the season. God you really knew how to pick them.

Jerking back to the present now as about the seventh person this night appeared beside you, placed their hand upon your ass and asked if they could turn your frown upside down, another strained, polite "no thank you" and the now familiar path back to the white marker on the floor had you ready once more to take your hurt and anger out on the dartboard when events took you in a new and totally surprising direction.

With characteristics indicative of yet another guy, coming up to stand behind you and placing one hand on your left shoulder as his other one skimmed lightly down your right to cup the hand holding the darts, your were about to push this new chancer away, tell him you weren't interested and actually leave the bar this time when his gently uttered instructions on how to hold the dart and move your arm distracted you enough for his next words to somehow reset your entire mood and grant him a temporary opening.

"I know, Baby. I'm right here, breathe."

Relaxing back against his strong chest now despite your better judgment and allowing him to guide your body through the movements, the dart leaving your hand and lodging itself perfectly in the bull's eye, followed by two more after that, had you questioning this new turn of events and the stranger responsible for pulling it all off. Only he wasn't a stranger at all. Not really.

Releasing yourself from his embrace just long enough to return to the dartboard and pull the darts free from the center circle like always, turning around to see who you would now have to fend off, your movements and words failed you however when your eyes locked on the vision before you. For this really was someone the whole world recognised.

Short haired, flannel wearing, blue eyed and totally buff in all the places that turned you on, him walking forward to meet you now had the whole bar silently watching what happened next given that Hawkeye had left wherever it was he resided these days to spend some time amongst the normal, everyday rabble . . . and you in particular it seemed.

Placing his hands on your shoulders again and winking at you discreetly to hold your attention, he then bent forwards and rested his lips gently against yours before pulling back and speaking just loud enough for all those present to get an understanding of the image he wanted to convey. "Sorry I'm late baby, work ran a little longer than planned but I'm here now. Are you ready for me to take you home?"

Slotting yourself into this scene now and nodding your head enough for him to notice since you didn't think your voice would actually work in this situation, Clint next walked you back towards your bar stool, held up your jacket for you to slip into and then placing his hand around your waist, led you from the bar and out onto the street where the lack of people and cool night-time air broke his spell and somehow sobered you up just enough to have you turning away from him swiftly and spewing the contents of your night's activities onto the sidewalk. But at least you now felt so much better and clear headed. That is until you straightened back up to find Clint still standing where you'd left him with a concerned look on his face. It seemed you now had to finish off your night by dealing with this hero.

Wiping off your mouth now with a stray piece of tissue and dumping it then into the nearest rubbish bin, you now took in some much welcome breaths before returning to stand in front of the avenger and bracing yourself for what lay ahead. Introducing yourself and thanking him for his assistance, you next pulled out your phone to ring for a cab only to be struck mute and incredulous once again when his hand reached out to yours, snatched the phone from it and spoke once more. "Baby forgive me, but my conscience cannot allow me to have you take a cab home alone in this condition. May I?" he asked before giving you the once over and pointing you in the direction of what you could only assume happened to be his truck.

Looking now between it, him and your confiscated phone as well as the alcohol you had just deposited onto the sidewalk, you contemplated turning down his offer but figured when a slight thrumming made itself known between your ears that you didn't have much of a choice. After all being an avenger he probably was your safest option home especially if this new annoyance turned out to be the mother of all hangovers you suspected it to be. So reluctantly, you accepted his gracious offer.

Wasting no time then when you nodded your agreement once more, Clint now took you gently by the arm and walked you to his truck before opening the passenger's door and helping you inside. Then buckling you in, he next walked over to the driver's side, situated himself behind the wheel and turned to face you before asking for your address so that he could fulfill his promise to see you home safely. Which it seemed is exactly what he did. Opening your eyes at last when the truck stopped moving beneath you and the release of the safety belt signaled the journey had ended, you admitted silently to being a little surprised at the ease at which you had let your guard down and allowed yourself to actually doze off in his presence. Then again he was an avenger so you figured your safety was all but guaranteed.

Sitting there a few seconds longer now as the sight of home and the cooling night air brought you back to thoughts of your warm waiting bed, you thanked Clint once more for rescuing you as he helped you from his truck and walked you the short distance to your door. However he still wasn't ready to leave your side. Watching your hand tremble slightly as the key and lock refused to connect, Clint then graciously mirrored his actions from the bar and guided your hand and key to the lock, turned it easily and led both of you inside. Turning on the light then and walking you carefully through your place, you would have, under normal circumstances, wondered how he knew his way around your home, but in this moment as he sat you on the chair inside the bedroom door and began removing your shoes all that mattered was the bed calling out to you and the sleep it so readily offered.

Remaining on the chair now while Clint gently continued by next removing all your clothes, you knew the alcohol was winning out however when he then placed you under the covers and your hand reached out to grasp his firmly before your tired and ragged words broke the silence all around you, "stay please. It's been a shitty twenty-four hours and I just wish I had someone to hold me." Shooting his eyes down to where your hands connected, they lingered there momentarily before then landing on your face to gauge just how serious you were. Too tired now it seemed to fully function, yet still not out of it enough to let go of his hand, Clint must have seen something in your features for as morning's light hit you once again his body laying atop the other side of the bed confirmed that last night's plea had won out.

Not that it mattered at this particular moment.

Easing out of bed carefully now so as not to wake it's other occupant, you smiled softly at the sight of the orange juice and painkillers, took them gratefully and then hurried off to the en suite to take care of what had woken you up before dealing with the sight that greeted you again on your arrival back into the bedroom. For it brought with it a panic that almost turned your body rigid as images of the night before sprang to life before your very eyes. For your memories revealed that sleep hadn't quite claimed you straight away as you had hoped.

Tucked up snugly under the covers after Clint agreed to your request, him resting atop those same covers to keep you company, like he remained when you woke up, had mixed with the alcohol still thrumming throughout your system to blow your defenses apart and lay bare all the pain the darts had failed to exorcise. Retelling it all in infinite detail the story of what had landed you at that bar, as well as all the useless and unworthy lovers that had paved the way, Clint reaching out his calloused fingers to wipe away your tears were nothing compared to the words that broke through your current misery and somehow brought you comfort.

"Baby don't waste another tear on those losers. If they can't appreciate the treasure before them, there are those of us only too willing to step in and treat you right. Rest now," he ordered gently then before placing his lips tenderly against yours as sleep finally claimed both of you.

Which brought you right back to how you had just woken up and all the questions your current predicament now flooded your mind with.

For starters, how were you going to talk yourself and your guest away from the information dump your inebriated state had divulged against your will the previous night? Added to that, how were you going to wake up the avenger before you and get him out of your house and your life? More importantly however, did you even want him out of your life?

Stopping up short on this question now as the preposterous notion that last night was anything other than a kind gesture on his part told you to let him go, your mind began to wander again however as your eyes landed on his still sleeping form and your legs now took control and walked you over to his side of the bed. Dropping to your knees then and really focusing on him now, your world suddenly spun wildly on its axis with the only thought that crystallized clear in your mind . . . you didn't want him to leave.

Taking in a silent breath after this revelation before reaching gently up to place your hand against his cheek, this close to him now you finally saw the difference between the legend and the man. For this was not Hawkeye. Oh sure, it looked like him and god knows what you had so far felt of his physique certainly confirmed his years of S.H.I.E.L.D. training, but laying before you now as sleep still held his vulnerable form, you suddenly realized was not the strapping avenger known for battling alien forces, leaping backwards off seriously tall buildings or surviving his wife and kids disappearing before his very eyes.

For he hadn't survived at all. Watching on your knees still, the lines now evident on his still handsome face and the painful memories that moved his body slightly through sleep told you he had simply buried the pain and did what was expected of him while leaving behind this shell that seemed, like you, to be longing for some sort of real physical and emotional connection. And perhaps that's what drew him to you at the bar and kept him with you last night. But where did that leave both of you now?

Rising from the floor on this thought now and turning to walk away to get dressed so as not to deal with this new lingering question, Clint opening his eyes and firmly grasping your hand, as yours had his the previous night, before pulling you down onto himself and the bed as his lips caressed yours, forced you to suddenly accept that this really was something you very much wanted. Last night sure it would have been the alcohol talking, but now as dawn's light peaked through the curtains and Clint whispered words of endearment you weren't really listening to, your body seemed to take you where your heart was willing to go. Even if it was only for this one precious time.

Pulling back first for air now and looking at this man who still lay fully clothed atop the covers, your hand came up to rest against his cheek again before speaking, "I'm not sure if guys ever get asked this but, are you sure this is what you want? I completely understand if you just wanna leave," you finished hesitantly though you could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. Allowing his actions to convey all the sentiment his currently occupied mouth seemed incapable of expressing, Clint continued to kiss and caress every inch of you instead until both of your lungs screamed out for air once more and the clothing imbalance between you finally became a bigger issue.

Reaching out to remove his shirt then while also pulling off his t-shirt to reveal his extraordinary physical form underneath, you were just about to carry on the same process with his jeans when a smirk from him had him leaping off the bed while a pout now spoiled your once graceful features. For it seemed this avenger still possessed a playful streak. Bending down to remove his socks as your eyes remained glued to every miniscule action, he next lifted his head ever so slightly to look at you through his lashes as his hands then began a slow sensual trail back up his legs which you now longed to squeeze and caress.

Scooting up the bed now and resting against the headboard, your fingers mirrored the same trip downwards however when his belt became undone and his hips began to wiggle themselves free of the constraining fabric that held his equipment. Never breaking eye contact then as his hands removed the jeans and boxers, Clint now straightening back up to find your hand resting against your core still held that mischievous smirk on his face when you finally realized he had strategically positioned his hands over his privates to keep you further in suspense. Not that this situation would last long however as it seemed both of you lacked the necessary patience to prolong this delightful form of torture.

Biting your lower lip now as your fingers began to stoke the embers growing within your pussy, the softest of moans leaving your lips had Clint cursing just under his breath as his hands now took on a mind of their own and began to pump life into his phallus as both of you encouraged each other towards release while remaining completely cut off from one another. Burying your fingers then within your pussy while your thumb played softly against your clit, your ragged breaths joining with Clint's as his hand moved faster along his member finally tipped both of you over the edge and as the avenger collapsed on the bed below your feet, both of you surrendered to your first orgasms before your laughter broke through the euphoria of what you had just done.

For it seemed upon discussion neither of you had ever done anything so uninhibited before. But at the same time it didn't seem to bother either of you. Instead picking his t-shirt back up off the floor and wiping his cum off his hand, Clint then crawled up the bed and nestled himself between your legs before reaching out to take your hand previously buried deep within your flower. Moving it towards his lips then as your head shook wildly with what he was about to do, you seriously wanted to reach out and hit him however as his laughter broke through the silence once more when his t-shirt now covered your fingers and proceeded to clean each of them off as well.

Discarding the soiled material then before kissing the back of your hand, Clint next moved farther up the bed until your chests met and nothing but a whisper was all that was needed now for you to hear his answer to your long ago statement about setting him free. "Of course I want this baby and I'm not going anywhere. Now let me show you the joys of someone totally devoted to nobody but you," he continued as his thumb now wiped away a tear again while your gently uttered yes had him burying his lips against yours before he moved both of your bodies down the bed so as to make you more comfortable before he finally laid claim to everything that made you you.

And that's exactly what he did up until the point where a single lucid moment had you wondering what you had done and what on earth you had allowed to happen. For there was no going back from this it seemed. Filling yourself with alcohol and releasing all your anger for your ex and those that had gone before had irreparably weakened your defenses and now that Clint had gotten through he had you right where he wanted you . . . ready and willing it seemed to let him in and fall in a way you swore you never would. But surely there had to be some hope left to you. Some moment that would enable you to close your heart once more and protect yourself from the pain that would now inevitably come when you were once again tossed aside for someone taller, prettier or simply more alluring than you.

Finding such a moment somehow between Clint's all encompassing attention and devotion to assess your options, you had to admit defeat however when the reality of his prowess finally hit you. You were well and truly lost. Oh sure, you wanted to fight back. To scream and rage and push him off you. But not for the reasons one might suspect considering how this encounter had actually started or all the secrets you were still not privy to. After all, you did consent to this. No, as the head of his cock rested now just inside your entrance, what hurts so much in this moment was the intimacy of his actions. The softest of kisses pressed too tenderly against your fevered skin. The feel of his fingers skimming lightly over every patch of flesh they touch as if mapping out a trail to each body part they came in contact with. The just there weight of his body against yours. Strong yet light at the same time as his elbows kept his weight from crushing you completely.

And stealing a moment now to gaze into his eyes as your foreheads rested against each other, you know he feels it too. The connection that somehow goes so much deeper than that of flesh and blood and bone and penetrates the soul until each of you will recognize the other no matter what lies beyond this life . . . and the realization is beyond frightening. At least until Clint distracts you with his movements and your body begins to register a whole new set of feelings and sensations instead.

Dragging his member in and out of you slowly while his balls rested against your ass and his pubic bone set you clit on fire as if he was determined to carve out a spot for his shaft inside your pussy, you tried to control your breathing as he continued to gaze deep into your eyes while his lips caressed yours on every second or third thrust, but it seemed you would have to try something else to get him to give you what you really desired most. "Clint, please," you begged through tears and desperation as his hands now stretched towards yours and both of your fingers twined together in an embrace as old as any in existence. Both of you now couldn't get any closer . . . or so you thought.

"I know, Baby. I'm right here, breathe," Clint now repeated in answer to your plea as his hips no longer moved against you, though his cock somehow twitched within you making you feel more connected to another human being than you had ever felt before. Which was shockingly overwhelming. But still it was nothing compared to what the archer got up to next. Gazing up into his blue eyes that sparked fantastically with unshed tears, his lips devouring yours in tender kisses proved an interesting contrast to the filthy words that now left his mouth as you broke apart again to take in some much needed air. "Come on now baby, squeeze my shaft. Let me feel those silky walls clamp down and suck the life from me in a way that joins us body and soul forevermore."

Following through on his request as if you suddenly had no will of your own, one final thrust from him as your walls obeyed his very command found you and Clint moaning into each other's mouths as his release triggered your own and one orgasm blended with another over and over again until the former avenger collapsed atop you totally spent.

Returning to the world again some time later then to find yourself now stretched out atop his powerful frame, Clint's shaft still buried deep within you would not have been enough to hold you but it seemed he suspected as much as his arms also wrapped around you and held you close as his sleeping chest gently rose and fell beneath your own.

Reaching out gingerly once more to caress his face and relish this moment a little longer, your hopes of not waking him shattered just as easily however as the illusion that this could last forever when the man who made you feel like the center of existence opened his eyes and smiled at you as if the very sun itself rose and fell within your eyes. "Hey there baby, ready for another round?" he asked sleepily as his cock stirring once more within you brought your own longings back into sharp focus . . . as well as all your insecurities.

"I'm good, Clint. Besides it's not like this was ever going to be some permanent thing. You have people you need to save and I have a life I should probably get back to," you reminded him as you now tried to worm your way out of his arms and off his cock. But he wasn't having any of it. Pulling you closer now, though you still couldn't see how such a thing was even remotely possible, his lips capturing yours once more as his hips began to thrust back into you told you much more than his words ever could . . . he was not prepared to let you go.

Using his considerable skills and assets now to work you towards another orgasm, holding you on the edge just long enough however to have you whining above him brought him more satisfaction than he ever thought possible, but apparently he wanted more. "Agree to be mine baby. Promise yourself to me and from here on out love, contentment and some of the best sex in the world is all either of us will ever know," he uttered by your ear as a nibbling and sucking sensation along your neck told you that his claiming of you was ramping up another notch.

Laughing at his presumptuousness while pulling back and looking at him now through blissed out euphoria as he lifted your hips off his erection to the point where only the head of his shaft connected both of you again, you tried to fight the feelings he had awoken within you but failed miserably when your resolve was finally shattered by the softest murmured yes to ever leave your lips. Rejoicing in his victory then as his own gleeful squeals joined your own, Clint next set about spending the rest of the morning finding new ways to erase all the hurt you had ever felt while simultaneously reminding himself that he too was not yet beyond love's redeeming light.

#suzsblinddatewritingchallenge #clint barton x reader #hawkeye x reader #clint barton

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roseartsandfics · 7 months ago

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Sephiroth (CC) -- Rose

Here is another Sephiroth artwork from Crisis Core with a rose 🌹 Tbh, I actually LOVED how this turned how. I just love drawing my favorite FF character (or villain lol), especially the FFVII trilogy <3. I’ve been wanting to draw more Sephiroth lately, so here he is I did probably last week (?).

SPOILER ALERT for those who hadn't played Crisis Core and/or Crisis Core Reunion, and the original and the remakes of FFVII of what I am about to say! So be aware of spoils!

I managed to do chapter 8 of CC-R, finally managed to see the Nibelheim Incident, which was an essential, and most shocking event I have EVER seen in my life ever since getting into FF. I hadn't even known that the people that created FFVII to have the most crucial event that probably is popular and shocking at the same time. I hadn't even gotten into that event in the OG and the remakes of FFVII just yet, nor seen the full thing of Last Order, but I did manage to get through it in Crisis Core Reunion. I was NERVOUS of playing that chapter 0_0. My heart was beating fast and my stomach was turning just thinking about it and how I will get through it! (I started to love Tifa's voice, btw :3). Sephiroth’s fall from hero to a threat was INDEED heartbreaking. I feel like he is the victim of Hojo’s experiments and the origins are just heartbreaking. Unfortunately he fell into insanity. I also felt if that wasn't for Hojo, and all the experiments he had done, and what he had done to Sephiroth, and probably the company did this to him as well, none of Sephiroth’s insanity would've happened. And yeah, Cloud killing Sephiroth at the reactor by stabbing him and throwing him into the Mako pit (or lifestream) was hard for me to watch after the battle. It'll be hard and NERVOUS for me to watch that scene from the OG as well along with the backstory from Cloud's POV in the OG and Rebirth. Oh, and that Sephiroth battle… was probably one of those battles that got my blood boiling but loving at the same time for some odd reason. I wasn't even READY for the Sephiroth battle at all, and I hated it, but loved it at the same time. Things I love was his stances and and intros before the battle, but what I hate is trying not to die from every powers he's using. The second phased I don't really like. So yeah, Sephiroth's fall from grace sucked, but will be forever my favorite FF villain ❤️

Alright, that's enough with the long description of my time playing chapter 8 and discussion before I get myself carried away lol. I had the shirtless Sephiroth art with a rose done on this book, but I didn't like how it turned out. So I decided to redraw that piece on my iPad and will display it as soon as it's done :). I'll be playing more Crisis Core soon!

WIP pics:

Sephiroth and Crisis Core - Final Fantasy VII - Reunion ©Tetsuya Nomura, Hajime Tabata, Yoshihiro Hirota, Mariko Sato, SQUARE ENIX and Tose

Artwork ©RosePrincessArts

No copyright infringement is intended

Used: Soho Studio pencils and markers, fine artists pens, gel pen, illustration markers, non toxic alcohol markers and calligraphy pen

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jennawynn · 1 year ago

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Giving Fallout 76 another shot. There are several things I didn't like about it, but after playing NV and 4 yet again, I realized I missed actually exploring and not knowing where things are... so here I am. I've started playing a few times and never got past Morgantown. I hated how delayed everything was- that you had to wait to loot a container bc it wouldn't pop quickly, that you weren't sure if you killed the monster for an extra half second before the *ch-ching!*. I don't like how it's either super easy or instant death with little in between. I didn't like how nothing felt permanent in the world- clearing out an area to loot, it would respawn within the day and the loot would all come back too.

But I decided on some RP ideas and they're helping me get invested more. Of course when I have more than one, it means hopping around and changing at level 7 instead of just.... keeping on.

Quick note- all three have floating markers turned off and I also deselect all quests so my compass is JUST a compass with POIs... which I wish I could also turn off. The 'go here do this handholding' is also on the list of things that reduce enjoyment. I feel like I don't experience the world when I'm just going from one marker to another and I don't know how to NOT do that if I can see them.

So here's my 3 characters!

Future was first. She's one of the egghead chosen. A scientist. She wants to document all the changes to the world since the bombs. For her, I even use a piece of paper propped up in front of the screen to cover the compass and only use the map for navigation. She's slow and steady, stealth, automatic pistols, exploration, survival, investigation. She takes notes on the animals and plants and people she sees. (Have you ever really looked at the chickens?) Future is the most difficult of the three to play.

Jordan was next. Rather than being one of the chosen elite who were handpicked to recolonize America, she was one of the people referenced in the terminals but never really seen or noticed. A war vet who lost an eye to shrapnel, she's got scars all over one side of her face that means her PER is pretty low. She relies on VATS to do a lot of her shooting. She's used to people not really seeing her- all except the Overseer who was kind and got her this job in the first place. Jordan's first loyalty then is to the Overseer, and she's going to find and help her however she can. She's kind of set in her ways from pre-bombs though.

She hoards pre-war money, collects plushies (personal experience as a vet lol), only scavenges and crafts when she wants to build something. She doesn't craft except to maintain and modify arms and armor. She uses auto rifles and auto pistols, and after her eye surgery and stories of other vets with PTSD, she's very afraid of addiction, so she doesn't use chems or alcohol. She picks them up and 'disposes' of them in the bots around the Wasteland. She's also worried about the radioactive animals and plants, so she only eats prewar food. She gathers dogtags and displays them when she finds fallen soldiers. Jordan has the most self-imposed rules for play.

Finally, there's Penny, the CAP-italist. Everything's for sale, I'd even sell my sister. Shotguns like a true caravaneer. Craft and sell anything and everything, keep for myself only what I need to keep going. She's very into living in the now- long dead people and old mysteries hold no sway... what matters is the people living now and whether they have any caps to give. She participates in challenges and events and will do work if there's a cap bonus. Failure to innovate is death (or worse, loss of profit). And I would do anything for caps... I'd run right into hell and back. Is the overseer offering caps?

#fallout 76 #share your rp ideas!#fo76 #collecting plushies anecdote incoming #when i was in the navy #we got new leadership at one point #who said that we were allowed to have one stuffed animal on our racks #as long as the rest of it was regulation #I think we were also allowed one personal blanket folded at the foot of the bed #instead of having to shove it all in our lockers each morning #(i was one who slept in a sleeping bag on top of my rack bc i found making my bed to be incredibly difficult-#i'm not tall and have short arms and my bed was the top of 3-#i just shoved the whole sleeping bag into my locker each morning and my bed was still made)#anyway #within a week or two #there was a stuffed animal on almost every single rack #I had a frog prince that my then-fiancee gave me

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kythed · 4 years ago

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what love tastes like

terushima yuuji x reader

synopsis: in which you learn that falling in love tastes like monster

“Taste,” he says. He holds the cold rim of a freshly opened can to your lips, and first it’s metallic, salty, but then it’s sweet.

You take a sip.

“So you’re telling me you’ve never tried Monster before?” he asks, taking a drink himself. The two of you are sitting on a park bench across the street from a gas station. He licks his lips-- the silver ball embedded in his tongue winks at you, a shallow token of youthful rebellion that somehow seems more significant on him.

“Never. I’m more of a Dr. Pepper girl.” You reach for the can again, letting the saccharine liquid sloshing inside coat your tongue. It’s really too much for me, you think. But of course, you won’t tell him that.

“Not anymore,” he says, and he slips a firm hand around the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and daring you to look away with a wicked grin-- it’s attractive, to say the least. “Now you’re my girl.”

You’ve barely parted your lips to respond before his mouth is on yours, tongue halfway down your throat, and you’re whimpering into the kiss as he snakes a hand down your back and presses your body to his. The whole ordeal tastes like Monster and feels far more energizing than the packaging promises.

Within your first day of meeting him, Terushima Yuuji has already claimed you as his own.

And you’re okay with it.

He’s about as healthy for you as the Monster is-- which is to say, not at all.

In your next couple months of dating him, this becomes apparent. He takes you to the edge of the woods at twilight and lights your first cigarette, laughing as you take a draw and end up coughing. Plucking it from your fingers, he holds the cig high as smoke curls into the hazy sky and eventually melds with the faintly orange cumuli. “Guess it’ll take a little practice before you can smoke with the big dogs, huh?”

You flush and snatch it back, determined to prove your aptitude for defiance. By the end of the night, you can blow smoke rings-- he applauds, and for some odd reason your heart swells at his lazy grin.

(The next kiss tastes like tobacco and novelty.)

He shows you each of his tattoos, some of which peek out from underneath his clothes, some of which aren’t exactly visible to the onlooker’s eye. There’s a tendril of ivy climbing down his forearm, a flock of wild cranes taking flight from his left shoulder. A dark silhouette is on his chest, kneeling low to who knows what. You trace the image of an unlit candle on the back of his neck, asking what it means-- for a millisecond, his mouth tightens into an expressionless line, but then he laughs. “Why, you want one too? Let’s go to the parlor then.”

When you decline, he takes a permanent marker from his bedside table and prints a small label on your inner wrist. ‘Mine’ it says, accompanied by an oddly appropriate smiley face. “Then this will have to do.”

(This kiss tastes like ink and enigma.)

He brings you to a decrepit manor on the outskirts of town-- legend has it a young, newly wealthy couple purchased it twenty years ago, unaware its foundations rested on a centuries old cemetery. The spiteful spirits drove them to the brink of madness. The sort of madness that could only be alleviated by the resounding finality of death.

“They were found hanging from their bedsheets in the west wing,” Yuuji whispers to you, his breath tickling your ear. An unwanted tremor runs from your head to your high-tops. You don’t believe in ghosts, so it must be because you’re cold. (At least, that’s what you tell yourself.) “I want that kind of love.”

You turn, surprised to see his expression remains entirely serious. “The kind where you die for one another?”

“The kind where you die with one another,” he corrects, wistfully gazing into the dingy bay windows protruding from the manor’s anterior.

You remain silent.

“Life is just an accumulation of bad decisions, and love is just an accumulation of bad decisions you make with another person,” he muses, still peering at the grandeur of the lonely estate. He turns to you, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Wanna make a bad decision with me?”

The next hour is spent in the modest company of Yuuji, a couple of baseball bats, and the empty halls of a long dead house. There’s no one to witness the two of you shattering each dusty antique vase save for the portraits on the wall. Soon, their frames, too, receive a violent visit from a vindictive bat, usually accompanied by Yuuji’s unadulterated glee and a resounding whoop.

You’re not a fan of destruction. Especially not the destruction of rare, precious items reminiscent of a life bygone. Yet, it’s exhilarating to indulge in it, to swing your bat with a meaningless vengeance and watch as whatever priceless heirloom that evoked your baseless wrath fractures into pieces. You demolish a set of fine china found in the dining room cabinet and Yuuji gathers you into his arms, kissing you fiercely (it tastes like some sort of perverse, seductive joy, rosewater mixed with ashes). He chuckles into your mouth when you push your tongue into his, retribution for your first kiss many weeks ago. It’s deliciously gratifying.

If Yuuji is right, and love is just a mosaic of bad decisions and desire-- maybe you’re okay with that. Maybe this is all I really need, you think, watching Yuuji from the corner of your eye on the drive home. Yellow street lights cast irregular shadows on his angular features, lending him an otherworldly sort of beauty.

“What is it?” he asks, without taking his eyes off the road. One of his hands inches up your inner thigh, giving it a quick squeeze before retreating to the responsibility of the steering wheel.

You hesitate, just for a second. An unseen force constricts around your throat; you banish it with a hard swallow. “I love you.”

One second passes. Then two.

He says nothing the rest of the ride home, and you sit in mortified silence, watching traffic blur by with glassy eyes. You must’ve misread this whole thing. You’re just a fling Yuuji plans on discarding whenever he grows tired… your mouth goes dry with regret.

When you pull up in front of your house, he walks you to your front door. You can hardly stand to look him in the eye.

“Well, thanks for today,” you say, examining your shoelaces with false interest. “I had a lot of--”

“I love you, too.”

Startled, you look up. “I- what?”

“I said,” he says, stepping close, putting a hand beneath your chin to tilt it upwards. Your body is eclipsed by his larger one, and you’re overwhelmed with the sudden urge to hide from his penetrating gaze. “I love you, too.”

A beat of silence.

“Oh,” you breathe, and, suddenly, his lips are on yours, kissing you fervently— but this time, it’s chaste, it’s… loving (and it tastes like honeyed laughter). Only for a second though.

Then his hands are on your waist, fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises; he’s aflame with a hotblooded passion-- your body is his Holy Grail and your mouth is its rim. He leads you into the hallway, fumbling to close the door behind him. You gasp when he pushes you up against the wall and harshly sucks at the sensitive skin beneath your jaw, your nails digging into his back through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

“I love you,” he mumbles, painting your neck with a line of ardent kisses, trailing from right below your ear to right above your collarbone. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

There’s something a little too tender in the way he caresses your face the next morning to wake you after he’s slipped his clothes back on, in the way he smiles softly at your bleary eyed confusion, in the way he holds you in his embrace a fraction of a second longer than you hold him in yours before saying goodbye.

Terushima Yuuji may play the part of a reckless delinquent, but he’s not your average troublemaker. There’s something inscrutable behind his gaze, even as he sprays obscene graffiti on stop signs and shoplifts alcohol from the neighborhood drugstore, a walking cliche of hoodlum culture.

There’s something a little too careful about the boy who claims to be careless.

Yuuji is still fun, of course. He takes immense pride in being fun. He invites you to one of his friends’ gigs, some sort of grunge-esque affair with a heavily pulsating bass line and a preponderance of cheap liquor in red plastic cups. The drummer winks at you during one of the songs-- later Yuuji slugs him in the jaw, taking a few hits in the process, and makes a show of kissing you sloppily while the poor drummer nurses his rapidly forming bruise with a pack of frozen peas. (The kiss, of course, tastes like blood and pride.)

He teaches you how to use a switchblade-- “Just in case,” he says, wrapping his hand around yours in an effort to show you the proper grip. In exactly what situation you’d be forced to use a switchblade remains unclear, but when you ask he just laughs and shrugs, spinning the knife in between his slender fingers. “You never know.”

(He tells you a story of a fist fight years ago and lifts his shirt to point out a pale, faded scar-- the other guy brought a knife concealed in his sleeve. You then agree it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.)

The two of you trespass on the regular, scaling fences and picking locks to dip your feet in private pools, to run barefoot on the soft grass of a golf course late at night, to explore taped off tunnels and underpasses.

All of it is fun, all of it depicts your relationship as something accidental, something reckless, the convergence of two beings as coincidental as the convergence of the two cells that provoked the Big Bang.

But your intimate moments, the faintest imprints in between the lines, tell a different story. One onlookers don’t see.

They don’t see how Yuuji places a hand on the small of your back to guide you over a crosswalk, or how he pours a coffee and carefully blows on it before bringing it to you. They don’t see how he laughs when you laugh and smiles when you smile.

They don’t hear what he whispers to you under the sheets-- sweet nothings that would make Cupid himself blush-- as he touches you slowly, purposefully, following your curves deliberately as a sculptor molding clay.

They don’t feel his kisses, delicately placed on your lips, your neck, your stomach and thighs. They don’t feel his eyelashes fluttering on your cheek as he allows himself to rest with you in his most vulnerable state.

It’s during these moments that deep secrets are so shyly exchanged in the sleepy haze of late nights and early mornings. He bares his soul to you in all its imperfection (you suspect you are the only one to have ever seen it in this state). He shatters himself bit by bit like the vases you splintered so long ago, offering you the fragments so you can gradually piece together the entire portrait.

“You know how I told you my dad taught me how to fight?” he asks one of these times. Your head is in his lap as he strokes your hair ever-so-lightly. You nod, looking up into those sweet brown eyes-- they look sad today. “That’s only half true. He didn’t teach me, but I had to learn because of him.”

You take his hand and brush your lips over his knuckles, humming softly, and he takes this small act of comfort and stores it away like he always does.

I’m sorry.

“I’m scared of trying to be someone different than I am now, but I want to be. I wish I could be.”

You can.

“I’m sorry for getting you into so much trouble these days.”

Don’t be.

“I think we should run away, just you and me. We could make it, you know.”

I know.

Of course, all good things come to an end. You know that.

You just aren’t anticipating something so good to end so soon-- as suddenly as Terushima Yuuji becomes yours, he disappears.

One morning, he’s sleeping in the bed next to you, and the next he’s gone without a trace. Literally. He leaves behind no extra t-shirts, no stray sock or phone charger, no note. You pad down the hall, ducking your head into each room.

“Yuuji?” you call. “Is this some sort of joke?”

It’s not.

You call his phone and reach his voicemail. Hey, this is Terushima. Not available right now, probably busy doing somethin’ stupid or taking a piss. Leave a message if you want.

The sound of his voice grows more and more painful to hear over the next six months. At first, you call every day, then every week, then every month. At month six, you’ve stopped calling at all. If he wanted to answer, he would. You don’t even know why you’ve kept it up so long when he obviously left for a reason.

So, you pick up the pieces of your broken heart and cobble them together again. It’s not a graceful recovery, but it’s a recovery, and that’s what matters. The gaping hole he left is gradually filled by your family, your friends-- you don’t go on a single date, but that’s okay. (You’re just not ready. You tell yourself that you will be, someday.)

Soon, you’re whole again. As you discover, there are ways to find yourself other than falling dangerously in love with a dangerous boy.

You run into him one day, eight or so months after his disappearance. You’re filling your car at a gas station, and at the park across the street, he’s sitting next to a girl you don’t recognize. She laughs at all his jokes and sips a can of Monster he offers her. As if he can feel your stare, Yuuji glances over and catches your eye. He jogs across the street, dodging traffic, and you two exchange tentative pleasantries before the conversation comes to an uneasy rest on the taboo-- why he left.

It wasn’t because of you, it turns out. At least, not really. You were just the catalyst.

“I was the problem,” Yuuji says, laughing, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “You remember how I once told you I thought love was making your bad decisions with someone by your side?”

You nod, and the wound has scabbed over enough for you to remember it lightly, with a slight curve of the lips.

“You showed me that wasn’t true.” He tugs on the collar of his t-shirt absentmindedly, not quite meeting your gaze. “I started wanting to make good decisions instead. And that just wasn’t me. Love isn’t for me.”

“It could’ve been,” you say simply. He stares at you, momentarily unable to form a response. Then he laughs it off, a sound you used to adore that now sounds harsh and grating.

“Maybe someday,” he says, but his expression tells you otherwise. It tells you how scared he is of ever being that person.

The thing about love is that it gives you something to lose. It gives you a reason to make good decisions. It gives you something to fear for.

As he turns to leave, Yuuji freezes in his tracks. He throws a look over his shoulder. “Just for the record-- it hurt. Leaving. I did love you.”

You smile. It’s a genuine smile, but it’s sad, too. “I know.”

And the thing about fear is that some people can’t bear it well enough to let themselves love someone.

You watch his retreating back for a brief moment before climbing into your car. It’s not until you’re halfway home that you realize you’re crying. Tears roll down your cheeks into your lap, staining your jeans.

You hope he comes to love that new girl, the one he’s sharing a Monster with. You hope she loves him back with all her heart. You hope she spends hours and hours picking through his pieces and reassembling him from the bottom up. You hope she comes to find that his kisses taste like tobacco and novelty, like ink and enigma, like rosewater and ashes and joy. You hope that, to her, those kisses never taste like regret.

You hope that this time, he’s scared. But not so scared he can’t let himself stay.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #hq terushima #terushima #terushima yuuji #terushima x reader #terushima yuuji x reader

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lulu-zodiac · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Blue Ink

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Tags: College AU, Tattoo Artist!Cas, Fluff, Pining, First Kiss

Summary: And then, with the same tender carefulness with which he’d just been tattooing Dean, Cas leans in and kisses him.

If you want to be added to my fic tag list, let me know! <3.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Dean eyes the needle in Cas’s hand apprehensively, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. They’re both sitting facing each other on Dean’s bed, the lights low and Zeppelin playing softly on the record player.

Cas’s blue gaze flickers up to catch his, amused and reassuring all at once. “Dean. You’ve watched me do this plenty of times.” It’s true: Cas trained as a tattoo apprentice for part of his art course last semester, and since then has informally tattooed a bunch of their friends at parties, as well as himself. Dean has been pestering him to give him one for months.

“I know, I know,” Dean hedges, fiddling with the bedspread. “It’s just –”

“It’s normal to be nervous, you know,” Cas tells him, “You don’t need to do this if you don’t want to,” his eyes are suddenly serious, regarding Dean closely, soft blue and familiar in a way that tugs at Dean’s heart. “And if you want to stop at any point, I’ll stop.”

“Christ, I’m not some blushing virgin, Cas,” Dean rolls his eyes, mainly to cover up the way his heart is suddenly fluttering in his chest. “Just get on with it, okay?”

Cas rolls his eyes right back at Dean and rolls up the sleeves of his vintage patterned shirt, exposing the intricate ink on his own arms. “Alright, give me your arm, then.”

Hesitantly, Dean holds it out and Cas’s fingers grasp it reassuringly, warm and dexterous and familiar. His heart rate picks up further, not entirely from the prospect of being tattooed for the first time. Swallowing, he watches Cas swab his bicep with alcohol and pick up the marker that’s sitting on Dean’s bedspread.

Cas leans in, head bowed in concentration, fingers skilled and precise as he inks the outline of the sigil on Dean’s skin. This close, Dean can smell the distinct muskiness of Cas’s skin, the way the patchouli incense he always burns clings to his tousled hair. Dean has to force himself to concentrate on the image taking form under Cas’s touch, resisting the urge to lean in closer than he should and do something monumentally stupid like brush Cas’s hair away from his face or kiss him.

“Alright?” Cas’s low, gravelly voice breaks Dean’s spiralling thoughts. He glances up fleetingly, a flash of dark blue that has Dean’s heart racing. They’ve been friends for years now, but the rush is still the same, the thrill of being this close to Cas. Fleetingly, he wonders if it’ll ever change.

Wordlessly, Dean nods.

They’d met at freshers’, at some house party thrown by someone Dean doesn’t remember. Dean had known he was a goner the moment he glanced up and found Cas’s blue gaze on him, quiet and intent, head tilted slightly, watching Dean like he was fascinated, like he could somehow really see him. They’d flirted that night, but when Dean next ran into him Cas had made a whole speech about not wanting to date anyone, and so Dean had tried to put how Cas made him feel out of his mind. By the time Cas finally dating people last year, they’d already fallen into the pattern of friends and Dean couldn’t stand the risk of losing him to some stupid crush that had no guarantee of working out.

Slowly, though, it’s felt increasingly like they’re edging into this, into something more. Cas spends most of his evenings round at Dean’s, and Dean often looks up to find Cas’s gaze on him, as intent as that first time but laced with something different now; warmer, heavier. It makes Dean’s stomach do cartwheels. It’s got to the point where he doesn’t trust himself not to say something both of them might regret, so he’s started deliberately distancing himself from Cas to protect their friendship. This is the first time they’ve been alone like this for a few weeks, and the quiet tension between them seems to have deepened rather than dissipated. With a not insignificant degree of panic, Dean wonders how he’s going to get through this, Cas’s hands all over him, without doing something stupid.

“Tell me about the design again,” Cas says quietly, interrupting Dean’s internal panic. The cold wet nib of the pen tickles Dean’s skin, slow and careful. Dean watches his hands move expertly, long fingers with chipped black nail polish that Dean finds inexplicably sexy.

“Uh, it’s from the mythology on divine beings I’m looking at for my dissertation,” Dean forces himself to look away from Cas and breathe, trying to calm the thump of his heart and the heat blossoming through him. “An ancient sigil. Enochian, it’s called.”

“Like this?” Cas is frowning, examining his work.

“Yeah,” Dean nods, a little breathlessly. “That’s perfect.”

“Alright,” Cas clicks the cap on the marker and looks up, blue eyes glittering, “Ready?”

Dean swallows, “As I’ll ever be.”

Cas smiles, tightens his grip on Dean’s bicep and leans in again, this time with the needle. “First few moments will sting, but after that it’ll fade, I promise,” he says, eyes searching Dean’s. “Let me know if you want to stop.”

Dean nods, biting his lip. The first pierce of the needle does sting, but it’s not as bad as he imagined, and it soon numbs into vague, prickly discomfort. The downside of this is that Dean isn’t as distracted from Cas’s proximity as he’d like. The sooty sweep of Cas’s lashes, his full lips slightly parted in concentration, his rumpled hair. He’s wearing his shirt unbuttoned and Dean can see a distressing amount of smooth, toned skin, the tangle of pendants round his neck, including the one Dean gave him for his last birthday. Cas had been quiet when he’d opened it, had hugged Dean so hard it hurt a little. It makes Dean’s chest ache just thinking about it now, about this fleeting moment where Cas had just looked at him like he wanted him too, like something was going to happen. But neither of them had made a move, and Dean has always wondered if he’d read too much into it.

“Okay?” Cas asks quietly above the sound of the needle, not looking up.

Dean nods dazedly, before he remembers Cas can’t see him. “Yes – yeah,” he mumbles stupidly, dizzied by the strong grip Cas has around his arm, the tenderness in his touch and the care with which he tattoos Dean. “Yeah.”

“You’re doing so good,” Cas murmurs, and god, he’s so close that Dean can feel the warmth of Cas’s breath against his skin along with the heat that blossoms through him at Cas’s praise. “So good, Dean,” he strokes his thumb along Dean’s skin where he’s holding his arm in place, sending sparks shooting through Dean.

“Uh,” Dean grunts, because Cas’s praise has turned him from low level horny to uncomfortably hard in his jeans. He shifts slightly on the bed, breathing hard. His arm is aching dully, but all he can think about is Cas’s hands on him, Cas warm and familiar and so goddamn close Dean feels dizzy with the proximity. He watches dazedly as black ink slowly appears on his skin under Cas’s careful hands.

“It’s halfway there, almost,” Cas glances up, maybe planning on reassuring Dean – but something unreadable passes over his expression as he takes in Dean’s face, the flush Dean can feel on his cheeks and how he knows his pupils must be blown wide.

For several, long beats they just look at each other, and it suddenly feels impossibly quiet, even with Zeppelin humming in the background. Cas hasn’t let go of where his hand curls around Dean’s bicep, palm a brand of heat against his shoulder. The sexual tension in the air between them is almost unbearable, years of almost crammed into a single, charged moment.

Dean watches the way Cas’s eyes darken slowly, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips unconsciously. He always looks gorgeous, but right now in the soft light of Dean’s bedroom with dishevelled hair and hooded eyes and inked skin, he’s so beautiful Dean aches with it.

“Cas –”

“I’m going to finish this,” Cas says, at last, voice even rougher than usual, sending a thrill of arousal through Dean, “And then I’m going to kiss you.”

Dean lets out a sound that might be a breath of surprise or a groan, staring at Cas wide-eyed, heart pounding. Because this, this is all he’s wanted since he first laid eyes on Cas all those years ago and he can’t quite believe it. “Yes,” he murmurs, dazedly. “God, Cas – yes.”

Warmth mixes with the heady darkness of Cas’s expression, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Okay,” he strokes his thumb across Dean’s bicep and turns back to his work, the smile even wider than it was a moment ago.

Dean’s smiling too, he realises, so wide it should hurt but it doesn’t. He winces fleetingly at the sharp point of the needle again, but it soon fades into the background. The muscles in Cas’s forearms are taut, tensed under their ink. Dean looks at the constellation points of ursa major, two lines of Latin poetry, the wildflowers. It doesn’t do anything to help his current state, looking at Cas’s soft, warm skin, picturing it against his on these sheets. Knowing that Cas wants that now too, that it’s not just a fantasy. That maybe Cas has fantasised about him like this too. Dean has to bite his lip against a groan as Cas’s grip tightens slightly, blue ink slowly blossoming under his fingertips.

Cas has moved closer, leaning over Dean to work at a slightly harder to reach spot. One of his thighs is pressed against Dean’s in a warm line that sends arousal shooting through Dean. He shifts slightly against Cas, pressing closer, heart thumping. From the sharp intake of breath, he knows Cas can tell how worked up he’s getting, how affected he is by this.

Cas lets out a sudden breath against Dean’s skin, as though he’s been holding it, and his hand tightens on Dean’s arm again. Dean hears himself let out a sound this time, helpless, rough and low in the back of his throat, and watches Cas’s throat work as he swallows, jaw set in determined concentration. “Cas,” Dean breathes out, shifting again, cock uncomfortably hard in his jeans. “Cas –”

Abruptly, Cas, sits back on his haunches, breathing hard. “I can’t concentrate like this,” his eyes are darker than Dean’s ever seen them, a flush just visible creeping up the exposed skin of his chest. He lets go and sets his materials on the bedside table without moving away from Dean, without letting go. Slowly, not breaking eye contact, Cas leans back in until they’re even closer than before, both breathing unsteadily. Then, with the same tender carefulness with which he’d just been tattooing Dean, Cas leans in and kisses him.

Dean’s heart fumbles a beat in his chest, his world implodes quietly, infinitely. Cas’s mouth is hot and wet and perfect. Dean tangles his hands in Cas’s tousled hair like he’s always wanted to, tugs him closer, all warmth and racing hearts. Cas lets out a low groan against Dean’s mouth and then suddenly Dean is on his back on the bedspread, breathing heavily. It’s the same one they’ve sat on together night after night, all those times Dean wondered if this would ever happen. It should feel surreal, but it doesn’t. It just feels startlingly real, like this was always inevitable.

They kiss until Dean’s jaw is aching, until they’re both breathless and grinding against each other like they’re still teenagers. When they pull apart a little to catch their breath, Cas’s eyes are shining with the same quiet happiness threatening to overwhelm Dean, full of the same longing that Dean has spent years trying to hide. Dean’s heart suddenly feels so full it hurts, and the moment turns serious, quiet, as they lose themselves in each other’s gazes just like that first night they met. Gently, Dean traces the line of Cas’s jaw, and when he pulls him in again, the kiss is searing, poignant, so full of promise it should terrify Dean, but it only makes his heart beat harder. Cas’s hands are all over his skin, more memorable than any ink.

#reorganising all my fics onto tumblr!#feedback makes me smile like an idiot at my screen <3 #destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #destiel fluff #destiel au #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #destiel fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn #superntural #spn fandom #my stuff #my posts: fanfic

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missymurphy1985 · 3 years ago

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Nobody's Perfect (part11)

Warnings - smut / mentions of baby loss / fertility issues

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers

It had been three weeks since your romantic cottage getaway with Cillian and things had been perfect. The filming was going well, and you'd both agreed that there was to be no talk of babies or IVF while you were here filming. The other cast members knew what you were going through and we're going above and beyond to make sure you were both always distracted and busy, be it with a night out or dinner. Your relationship was back on track and you couldn't have been happier.

Apart from today. You'd been to a sushi restaurant the night before with the girls while Cillian was playing video games with the boys in Joe's hotel room and clearly picked up a bad case of food poisoning. You'd spent the last hour throwing up, sushi was definitely not as pleasant post-digestion.

"Babe, you okay in there?" Cillian knocked the locked bathroom door lightly. "Overdid the wine last night?"

"I didn't even drink Cill, I drove last night... I'm off alcohol remember?" He'd bought you a glass of wine a couple of nights ago in the hotel bar but you'd simply played with it, the thought of drinking it really not appealing to you.

"I'll call Steve and let him know you're sick - I've got the scene with the priest to film, I can't stay. I'll call Helen though, pretty sure she's got this morning clear?" You didn't answer as another bout of nausea flooded you and you vomited again. "I'll take that as a yes..." He chuckled, making the call to Helen to come look after you while he was out.

Helen entered your apartment an hour later while you were lying on the sofa feeling sorry for yourself. She had a carrier bag and a bottle of water with her. Sitting on the chair opposite you, she smiled.

"How you feeling love?"

"Like I've been pummeled by one of Tommy's racehorses..." You grumbled. "I'm aching, I'm vomiting like crazy..." You welled up again. All you'd done so far was vomit and cry.

"Drink this water - just sip it occasionally, we don't want you dehydrated." She felt your forehead. "No fever. Is it just sickness? Nothing the other end?" You shook your head. "I don't think this is food poisoning y/n..."

You looked at her confused. "What else could it possibly be? The sushi was clearly off, it even tasted weird, but I was that hungry I'd have eaten anything..."

"The sushi was fine. Tasted fine too, and the rest of us aren't sick are we?" She pulled the bag from behind her on the chair and took out a box. You could see the words 'ClearBlue' clear as day and you scoffed.

"That's not funny..."

"Just take one, please? What harm can it do?" You scowled at her, part of you highly offended that she could even suggest such a thing after what you'd been through, but she glared back and you knew you'd lose the battle. Snatching the box from her you went to the bathroom to pee on the stick before leaving the test on the bathroom sink and reclaiming your space on the sofa sipping your water. You were starting to feel a little better when Helen stood up and went to the bathroom.

"I wouldn't bother, there's no chance - "

"Y/n!!!!! Come here quick!!!!" She squealed from the bathroom. You edged yourself out of your horizontal position and walked into the bathroom rolling your eyes. She held up the test and you froze. Clear as day, 'Pregnant - 3/4'....

"No... No Helen... It's wrong, it has to be..." You started sobbing as Helen pulled you into her arms letting you cry. You were happy, but absolutely terrified at the same time.

"Now you listen to me - you're going to call your doctor back in Dublin right now and tell him the news. Whatever recommendations he gives you, you're going to follow them, even if that means you're going home, okay? We're taking care of you and this little peanut." You nodded, tears streaming down your face, your hands instinctively holding your belly.

"I can't believe it... I need to call Cillian... This is really happening isn't it?"

"Yes it is love. But I have a better idea," she smirked before picking up her phone.

Cillian came back an hour later to find you in bed, Helen had left half an hour ago after helping you set everything up. He saw you were sleeping so didn't disturb you, instead heading to the fridge to grab the milk to make himself a coffee. There was a post it note attached to the milk...

"Follow the clues to a gift for you.... The first one's easy, it's in your shoe..." He furrowed his brows, exhausted from filming his fight scene with the priest and wasn't in much of a mood for games but he played along. Heading to the shoe rack, he found another note.

"I know this is fun and you think it's neat... Go to the place where we sit and eat...." Rolling his eyes, he walked to the small dining table.

"This ones easy, go take a look... This one's hidden in your favourite book..." Walking into the bedroom quietly, he picked up the book on his nightstand and opened it to another little post it note.

"The very last clue, try not to peep... Are you feeling tired? Wake your girl from her sleep." He moved over to you and peeled the cover back slowly. Your eyes stayed closed as you moved onto your back, revealing a white T Shirt with 'Open me' written in black marker pen at the bottom. Lifting it off you gently, he furrowed his brows again, making you smile as you opened your eyes.

"10% loading?" He questioned, confused. You raised your eyebrows smirking. He looked at your belly again and you saw the penny drop.

"No... You can't be?"

"I can be, and I am!" You held out the pregnancy test you'd been hiding under your pillow, grinning. He pulled you up and held you, unable to form words.

"But how??"

"That weekend in Helen's cottage was exactly what we needed Cill.. I don't think we left each other alone for more than an hour!" You laughed pulling away from him.

"I've already spoken to Doctor Neal. As long as I feel well, I'm fine to stay filming. He's got a contact here in Manchester that'll look after us for the next 3 months while were filming, he's booking us in for a scan in a few weeks. I'm just to take it as easy as possible until then."

"And do you feel well? Really?"

"I'm fine, honestly. Bit sicky and my boobs feel like lead but I'm okay."

"Does that mean I can't play with them?"

"Touch them and I'll cut you, Shelby." You glared, making him laugh. He couldn't take his eyes off your stomach, planting small kisses along it, linking his hand in yours, laying his head down against it as your stroked his hair. You laughed when he sat up.

"You've got black marker all over your face, ya tit."

#cillian fanfic #cillian smut #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy x reader

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moldisgoodforyou · 4 years ago

Text

spring formal

gif from @toesure

warnings: cursing and mentions of sex

wordcount: 2k

Of course, Rafe won out in the end.

The two had decided he would only pay for his half of the ticket for her sorority’s spring formal, upon his insistence. He wasn’t able to win the argument to pay for the whole thing, but with some sneaking around, he got her the dress she wanted too. Rafe caught Sophie looking at the same dress at least five times over one week, adding it to her cart and then exiting the tab, so he bought it when they were studying at the architecture studio while she got up once to grab more materials.

He presented the dress to her the day before the formal, when he dropped her off at her sorority house. “Hey, wait, I found you a little something.”

She paused, backpack in hand, and narrowed her eyes. “It’s never a little something with you.”

“Not true!” He protested. “I got you pizza last week when you were there late grading projects.”

Sophie laughed. “You got me a pizza, and you also got pizza for the four other TAs stuck there too. Who all love you now, by the way.”

“Good, as they should.” He grinned and reached into the backseat, pulling out a big cardboard envelope and handed it to her. She recognized the logo of the brand immediately and took a step back, shaking her head. “No. You didn’t.”

He shrugged, though he smiled. “Open it.”

She traced the tip of her finger over the brand’s logo stamped on the package carefully before ripping the cardboard open and sliding out the dress. It was a silk slip dress in a pretty light blue, the exact one she’d been eyeing. “How did you know?”

“You’ve been practically drooling over it online.” He teased. “I can’t wait to see it on you.”

“You really didn’t have to, I was gonna rewear one of my old dresses -”

“Nope, don’t start.” He cut her off abruptly, leaning over to meet her in a sweet kiss. “I wanted to do this for you, this is our last big thing before you - well, anyways.”

Her face fell a little like it did every time she was reminded that she was leaving him, and they both tried their hardest not to talk about it or think about it too often. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re gonna look killer, I’ll come pick you and the girls up at five tomorrow?” His car was the biggest of the group and he was the designated driver to get her, her roommates and their dates to the formal at the botanical gardens.

Sophie nodded with a grin. “Thank you, Rafe, I love it. It’s perfect.”

“You’re welcome. Night, Soph. Love you.”

“Love you too.” She gave him another quick kiss before leaving. The next day, Rafe came to pick her up right on time, walking to the door in his suit to pick her up. The whole house was practically buzzing with excitement, girls dressed to the nines with their dates in tow. He grilled Allie and Julia’s dates the whole drive there, much to the girls’ amusement, but eased up when Sophie reached over and pinched his leg as a warning sign.

He hardly let go of her all night, continually whispering sweet nothings in her ear about how damn good she looked. The more drinks they shared and the longer the night went on, the sweet nothings turned dirtier and dirtier, to the point that she couldn’t tell if the blush she wore was from his words or the alcohol. Once the bar was shut down and everyone started making their way out, Sophie grabbed his hand, leading him out to the connected hotel without hesitation.

He grinned and offered his arm instead so she could keep a better grip on him, a little wobbly in her heels. “Someone’s eager.”

“You’ve been instigating all night.” She scowled, flicking through her purse for the hotel keycard. Rafe withdrew it from his pocket, scanning them into the elevator. “I can’t help it, look at you. You’re beautiful.”

She tightened her grip on his arm, leaning into him and growing quiet as the elevator ticked up on the floors. “Shh.”

“Hey.” He nudged her gently after a moment. “What’s up? You’re quiet all of a sudden. Normally you’re running your mouth when you’re drunk.” He teased.

“Not drunk.” She protested, reaching up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

He just nodded, a little concerned but chalked it up to her being tired. It was around 1am, anyways, and he knew she had a long week. The two walked down the hall to their hotel room quietly, hand in hand, and he followed her in.

Sophie turned to him once they were inside, slipping her arms around his waist and stepping close. “I love you.”

“Love you too, angel. Are you okay?” He hugged her back securely, cupping one hand to the back of her head to keep her even closer.

“Don’t wanna leave you,” she mumbled, keeping her face buried in his chest while she hugged him tight.

“Hey.” Rafe frowned, rubbing a soothing hand over her back. “Thought we agreed to not talk about that.”

“There’s a chance I’m not sober so I can talk about whatever I want.” She argued, resting her head against his chest to hear his heartbeat, a constant measure of reassurement for her.

He laughed and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I could hardly tell.”

“You’re not allowed to make fun of me.” She murmured, not wanting to let him go.

“Am too.” He scratched gentle circles on her lower back, enjoying her small hum of contentment. “You’ve been looking forward to this for forever, Soph, I don’t want you to be upset about it just because we’ll be apart for a little.”

“It’s more than just a little.” She pulled back to look up at him, biting her lower lip. “I’m still excited, just. You’ve always been there, you know? Even when we weren’t dating.”

He swept the pad of his thumb over her lip, trying to get her to relax. “You were so pissed when you found out I went here too, freshman year. Remember that? You came to a Delt party, into my home, and then had the nerve to ask what I was doing there.”

“I remember. I went home and called Carter and he told me to stay away from your house and to move on from high school.” She laughed, shaking her head. “If only he knew.”

“If only.” Rafe nodded in agreement, then walked over to his duffel bag for the night. “C’mere.” He pulled out a small, poorly-wrapped box, the tape haphazardly placed (which, in her eyes, was incredibly endearing).

Sophie followed him to the bed, taking a seat next to him and accepted the box. She fixed him with a pointed look, though her eyes betrayed her smile. “You need to stop getting me gifts.”

“I won’t stop doing that until the day I die. And even then I’ll send you gifts from the grave.” He teased, kissing her quickly. “C’mon, open it.”

She rolled her eyes but unwrapped it, setting the paper to the side. Once she recognized the Cartier logo on the box, she immediately pushed it back into his hands, eyes wide. “Rafe, I can’t -“

“Open it, Soph.” He grinned, having anticipated her reaction.

He wore at least two or three rings at all times and she had a habit of stealing them when they were together, or playing with his fingers and twisting the rings. When she wore rings on her own - if ever - they weren’t showy in the slightest, one a slim tarnished gold band that she had found in a thrift store and fell in love with the engraved initials on the inside. She liked to think it was a gift from someone to their lover, a quiet marker that they were theirs.

She sighed and flicked the box open, her throat feeling tight when she saw the ring - a Cartier love ring, no less - nestled in the box. “Rafe.”

“Sophie.” He mimicked.

“This had better be a fucking knockoff from Amazon.”

He laughed loud at that, shaking his head. “I’m offended you think I’d buy you a knockoff of anything.”

“I can’t accept this. You need to take it back, seriously.”

“Can’t take back something that’s been engraved.” He raised his eyebrows, prompting her to pull the ring out and see “my favorite” engraved on the inside of the ring - making her choke up even more, tearing up a little.

“Rafe, you didn’t.” She murmured, looking up at him with adoration. He nodded and took it from her, then took her hand. “I did. Don’t cry, I hate it when you cry.” He slid the ring on her finger with care, fitting it snugly around her second finger on the right hand.

She giggled, wiping away a tear. “This feels oddly ceremonial.”

He smirked. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure your real ring would go on this finger instead.” He tapped her ring finger on her left hand. And then, because maybe a comment like that felt all too soon - even though he knew he would go out and marry her tomorrow if she asked - he added quickly, “But this’ll be flashier when you flip people off.”

She immediately blushed as his comment, ducking her head down. “That’s if you think you can put up with me for that long.”

“Hey.” He nudged her chin up with one finger, making her look at him. “I’ll be around as long as you’ll have me.”

Sophie was bright red now, though she was beaming. She shoved his shoulder playfully as she shook her head. “Stop, you’re embarrassing.”

“Nah, you love me.” He nudged her back and she swatted at his hands until he tried grabbing at her wrists. “Say it.”

“No.” She giggled, trying to grab at his arms. It ended up turning into a full on wrestling match, both of them trying to land on top. She finally won out after a moment, a little breathless as she laid on top of him, pinning both arms to the mattress. “I’m stronger than you.”

“In your dreams.” He grinned at her and leaned up to capture her lips with his. She kissed him back, dragging it out until she had to stop to breathe. “Rafe?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“Thank you, I mean it. I love you.”

He laughed and nudged his nose against hers. “I know.”

Her jaw dropped in mock offense. “Love you too would suffice.”

“Already did.”

“Well I want to hear it again. We don’t say it enough.” She insisted, releasing his arms so she could comb her fingers through his hair.

He laughed, pressing into her touch. “Is that so?”

“It is so.” She scowled and tugged a little on his hair. “And we’re gonna be on the phone a hell of a lot more once I leave, so I think we should start a habit of saying it more.”

Rafe nodded and swiftly flipped them over, sliding his hands up her body. “I can do that. I love you,” he kissed her once, “I love you,” a kiss along her jaw, “I love you,” a kiss along her neck.

She grinned, her scowl immediately gone. “Keep going.”

“Say it back.”

“Hm....no.”

“Do you want me to eat you out or not?” He asked point-blank, knowing it’d make her squirm.

She groaned, just as he expected, and blushed red. “Why are you always so crude?”

“Because you love it. And me.” He trailed his fingers down her stomach, tracing along the silk material of her dress. She tensed under his touch, her breath catching in her throat. “I do. I love you. Even if you drive me crazy.”

“In more ways than one, yeah?” Rafe smirked, reaching up to tug the straps of her dress down her shoulders. She tugged at his hair to stop him in his tracks. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He responded, pressing a kiss to her collarbone.

“This is one of our last nights guaranteed alone before I have to go, so make it count.”

He laughed and leaned closer, kissing her soundly. “Is that a threat?”

She grinned, nipping at his lower lip. “It’s a demand.”

taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @sunshineitsfine44 @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23

#FUCK he's so hot in that gif #I'M SORRY i couldn't follow thru with the smut idk why #letting u guys down #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron obx #obx fanfic #outer banks #obx #college rafe #frat rafe #mine #rafe x sophie

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atmilliways · 3 years ago

Note

For the smut prompts... either 42 or 43 for hammertooth? (if you feel like it!)

I finished this a couple weeks ago but totally spaced on posting it, oops. I guess it counts towards Rare Pair Month, but I can't decide on which prompt it fits best. Whatever. Here it is!

Prompts: 42) “I guess I’ll just get off all by myself.” ; 43) “Don’t you want to play with me?”

To Live For You

Magnus had always thought that falling in love was about being willing to die for someone. That’s what it had always been in movies and books, even when he got old enough for the kinds of entertainment that had sex in them too. So he’d always been sure that love wasn’t anything he was interested in, because he couldn’t imagine ever making that sacrifice for anyone.

“Maaaagnus. Ams you coming to beds?” Toki is sprawled across the sheets, easily taking up the entire mattress—a double, because he’d sworn up and down that a smaller bed is better for cuddling.

If it weren’t for the younger man’s complete and utter nakedness, Magnus would pretend to complain about there not being any room to join him. This sight never fails to leave him momentarily speechless.

Then he had almost died. Almost killed himself, in fact, but not for anyone.

Well. Maybe for himself. That instant when the veil had come off and he’d realized how massively, hugely, collossally he had fucked up had been really fucking harsh, and he hadn’t wanted to face it. Because teaming up with cannibals and murderers? Against actual, literal gods? After being so firm in his conviction that he’d had everything in hand and was totally in the right, he’d just figured there was no coming back.

Toki’s hands wander down his washboard abs, teasing. He wets his lips suggestively and then puts on an impressive pout. “Don’ts you wants to plays with me?”

His hands dip lower. Magnus, watching, swallows hard.

The thing was, he’d come back anyway—or been dragged back, really, and he’d deserved it for trying to duck out of the hard part.

Dying, it turned out, was easy. It was living that was hard.

“Yeah,” Magnus says, finding his voice again. It’s a touch hoarser than it was when he’d last left it. He has no idea what to do with his hands. “Yeah, I’m coming. You starting without me, sweetheart?”

Toki grins in that way he does, like Magnus has made his day just by noticing him. Of course I noticed you, Magnus thinks, have you seen you? It’s far more of a miracle that Toki wants his eyes (well, eye anyway) on him at all.

His gaze catches on the one scar on Toki’s front, the place where his knife had come out the other side. There’s a familiar clench in his gut at the sight—the one that reminds him that he doesn’t deserve this, and the only reason he gets it anyway is purely by the grace of this young god (retired).

It doesn’t send him into a downward spiral quite the way it used to, but the reminder is always there. A cautionary road marker: danger, do not swerve again.

And it had been very, very hard. Magnus didn’t like to think about the early days of his recovery. Between being dragged into some mess of apocalyptic prophecy and coming to terms with the horrible things he’d done, he’d been a menace to anyone who had come within snapping distance. With all the excuses stripped away, he’d stumbled through the painful process of really looking at himself and his choices.

“Well,” Toki says coyly, recapturing his full attention, “I thoughts if you were going to stays up longer over theres I’d just . . . gets off all by myself. . . .”

Magnus is watching his face now, but knows the exact moment Toki takes himself in hand from the way his breathing changes and eyelashes flutter. The show he’s putting on is having its intended effect; Magnus’ fingers twitch reflexively from muscle memory, and getting out of these jeans is an increasingly appealing idea.

He is not lucky. He has not earned this. But still, he has it, and he’s trying to be worthy.

It had taken years, and one world-wide close call with oblivion, barely averted, before Magnus dragged himself in front of Toki to offer amends. He hadn’t expected forgiveness, knowing that he didn’t deserve it—but, as his therapist had told him repeatedly until threatening finally to tattoo it on his arm just so it would finally stick, it wasn’t about deserving anything.

Saying it, apologizing, while looking into the eyes of someone he’d literally stabbed, kidnapped, and held in a basement, had been the final stab in the gut that had really, really driven it home. Everything he’d done laid out before him, laid bare in his own eyes while the ultimate figure of accountability watched him unpack it all, piece by fucking piece. Magnus had done it because he’d earned the pain of it, and afterwards Toki had touched him on the shoulder and said three words that had dragged him back to life.

I forgives you.

“You’re such a fucking flirt,” Magnus mutters, grinning. He’s already fumbling with his belt because, as far as he’s concerned, what Toki wants Toki gets. Once it’s undone he gets his pants, underwear, and boots off in two kicks. His shirt follows, a simple matter of shrugging out of it since the front is, as always, already undone.

Compared to Toki, Magnus is scrawny and wrinkled. He feels self-conscious about this sometimes, but Toki always tells him it ams just how bodies are, and he tries to believe him as best he can. The matching knife scar on his own chest (same knife, same hand) doesn’t bear thinking about.

He perches on the edge of the bed near Toki’s hip, birdlike, still unsure of where to put his hands. Such a shame that everywhere isn’t a practical option; Toki would like that.

Once, Toki had told him that’s what being a god had felt like: millions of hands all reaching out in unison to touch, pray, worship him, more intoxicating than all the drugs and alcohol in the world. He doesn’t talk about it often, worried that Magnus might get jealous or something, but when he does there’s this faraway expression on his face like he misses it. Maybe not enough to go back—if he even could, Magnus has no idea—but a good memory nonetheless.

“I'm here now, see?”

It wasn’t about what he deserved. Sometimes, what he’d done crept up on him and left him feeling so ashamed at the person he had used to be that he could have died all over again—but he didn’t.

Magnus had never thought he’d be worth the work it would take to piece himself back together until he felt like a person again. He still didn’t.

Toki always told him that he was worth it because he didn’t feel like he was but still tried anyway. For Toki.

“I sees you,” Toki sighs, and reaches for Magnus’ hands. He guides one to his half-hard cock, wrapping it around and guiding it to move with his, and the other to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. His breath and lips are hot against Magnus’ skin. “Wants to feels you, toos.”

“Is that so.” Magnus leans over him to steal a quick kiss, then shifts around so he isn’t reaching at a weird angle, and settles with one knee between the other man’s toned, tan legs.

He has, on other occasions, explored every inch of those legs with his hands and mouth. Other parts of him too. All of him. And he will likely do so again, many times, before the next time death comes for him. For now, Magnus follows the guidance of his lover’s hands. He watches as Toki draws his fingers into his mouth like a sucking candy, overwhelmed—first one, then a second, then a third—and sits up obediently when Toki urges him to.

“Wants you,” Toki moans again, biting his lip, urging the pace faster and giving Magnus his fingers back to prepare with.

So he does, eagerly, and before long he’s lining up, teasing against Toki’s weeping head until hands grip his hips tightly but firmly and pull him down like gravity.

Toki’s eyes are shining, starlike. “Loves you, Magnus,” he says breathlessly.

For Toki.

Magnus wonders if that really is starlight, some sort of cosmic leftover from whatever it was exactly that Dethklok went off to do as gods when they saved the world, or if it’s something else. He’d always assumed that love was about being willing to walk through fire, but maybe—and this is based both on himself and what he knows of Toki’s shitty childhood—it’s the willingness to crawl towards the light.

“I love you too.”

#metalocalypse fic #my fanfic #mtlrarepair2021 #hammertooth #toki wartooth #magnus hammersmith #i guess you could call this post-godklok #rated lime

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sunlit-squid · 3 years ago

Note

I don't care about everyone else! i care about you, SQUIDWARD! (simping softness asks)

For those who don’t know, my ask box is open. Send me a simping softness prompt, and I’ll write a short sbsp ficlet for you. ✰

so, uh -- i might have gotten a bit carried away with this prompt. it’s definitely longer than a ficlet, but oh well. either way, it was a lot of fun to write! selfish spongebob is so rarely explored.

fic under the cut. also, just in case, cw: drinking, drunkenness, etc.

Spongebob rose bright and early, long before his foghorn alarm went off at 7:00 a.m. With a cheerful shout, the poriferan jumped out of bed, earning a disgruntled “mrow” from Gary, who was still asleep nearby. Stretching vigorously, the sponge leaned down, planting a soft kiss atop the snail’s shell.

“Gary,” he whispered, practically vibrating with excitement. “Today’s the day!”

Turning away, Gary simply replied “mrow”, in a disdainful way that most certainly meant “whatever.”

Undeterred, Spongebob ran to his calendar. Sure enough, the day’s date -- July 14th -- was circled in bright-red, permanent marker, with the words “My birthday!” written neatly across it. And just below those words, was a tiny drawing of Squidward’s face, with dozens of little red hearts surrounding it.

Making his way over to the window, Spongebob gazed out at Squidward’s moai in the distance. He sighed, dreamily. What was Squidward doing right now? Probably sleeping, in that adorable dress of his.

The sponge lingered there, staring dazedly out at the moai, for perhaps a moment too long. Then, remembering himself, he sprinted to the bathroom. Once inside, Spongebob pointed a finger at his own reflection in the mirror.

“Enough beating around the bush, Mr. Squarepants!” he yelled -- much to Gary’s annoyance. The sponge lowered his voice down to a soft whisper. “Today, you tell him how you feel.”

His reflection simply shrugged. “I mean, okay,” it said. “But this is like, the 57th time you’ve said this.”

“Oh, shush.”

-0-

The party was supposed to start at 6:30, but Spongebob, in a manic cleaning fit, had the entire house ready by noon. This year, the party was themed around As The Tide Turns, a very polarizing-but-popular soap opera, especially in Bikini Bottom. If you were a Bikini Bottomite, you either watched the show genuinely, or ironically -- there was absolutely no in-between.

Spongebob and Squidward both genuinely enjoyed the show. It was one of the first things they bonded over, back when Spongebob started working at the Krusty Krab. Through the window to the galley, the two coworkers would talk for hours about the show, and whatever drama was center-stage for that season.

It got to a point where Mr. Krabs -- who only watched ATTT ironically -- got on them both, for shirking their duties.

“If yer gonna flirt,” he’d said, “do it on yer own time.”

So, Spongebob started coming over to Squidward’s house on Friday nights, when the new episodes would air. In fact, even when the show was between seasons, Spongebob still came over, just to watch reruns. It was one of the few times Squidward would (begrudgingly) let Spongebob inside, with no complaints.

Spongebob hummed softly to himself, his eyes scanning the small clipboard in front of him. Food, decorations, party games … Check, check, and check. Everything was present and accounted for -- and he had to admit, the house looked spectacular.

Every room was themed around a different, iconic arc in the ATTT series. His living room, filled with chalk drawings, crime scene tape, and red-string boards, was inspired by the murder mystery arc. His kitchen, decorated with leftover Halloween gear, was inspired by the vampire arc … and so on and so forth. Each and every room had its own particular, careful design -- and in all, it was probably Spongebob’s most intricate and detailed party to date.

That was because it had to be. Spongebob had a plan, a carefully detailed plan -- one that was sure to sweep Squidward Tentacles right off his … er, tentacles. And it went like this:

Squidward and Spongebob’s favorite arc, in all 42 seasons of As The Tide Turns, was the murder mystery. In the arc, the dashing Detective Heartthrob, accompanied by his sidekick-slash-lover Joey, must bring a heinous mass murderer to justice. At the climax, it is revealed that Detective Heartthrob is the true killer -- having been hypnotized by a witch, who was also his evil twin sister, for some reason. In the end, Joey must kill Detective Heartthrob, in a tragic display of love and sacrifice.

The season was thrilling, silly, and emotionally traumatizing, to boot. For months after the finale, Squidward and Spongebob would not shut up about it -- much to the annoyance of Mr. Krabs.

Either way, Spongebob had set up an elaborate, original mystery game, inspired by the events of the show. Each attendee would get a “random” card, assigning them a different role in the story. Squidward would be Detective Heartthrob, and Spongebob would be Joey.

Together, they would embark on an original mystery, one that Spongebob had devised all by himself. After he and Squidward solved the mystery together, and the party was over … Spongebob would finally, finally confess his feelings.

Of course, Spongebob had, more or less, rigged the game to ensure this would happen. Which was cheating, sure, but this was for love! So it couldn't possibly go wrong.

-0-

It went wrong. Almost immediately, in fact.

For one, the party started at 6:30 -- and, nearly two hours later, Squidward had yet to show up. Spongebob spent those first two hours lingering by the door, staring out the window towards the moai, and forgetting to refill the punch bowl. Sandy, ever the observant one, noticed immediately.

Pulling Spongebob aside, she asked, in a hushed voice, “Hey, partner. You good?”

“Oh, I’m -- I’m great!” chirped Spongebob, putting on his worst, most unconvincing smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Uh-huh,” said Sandy, flatly. “This about Squidward?”

Spongebob blushed, immediately. The squirrel sighed.

“I thought so,” she mumbled, folding her arms across her chest. “Did he say he was gonna come?”

The sponge nodded. “He said, ‘I’ll see if I can make it work’, which in Squidward-speak, is practically a yes!” groaned Spongebob, staring up at Sandy with his huge baby blue eyes. “He’ll come, right, Sandy?”

Sandy hesitated. She didn’t really know Squidward that well … but he did seem to have a soft spot for Spongebob. Awkwardly, she replied, “I mean … I can’t say for sure, but he did say he would try. Let’s be patient, okay, Spongebob? Maybe he just got caught up with something.”

Spongebob sighed, then repositioned his face into its usual chipper smile. “Alrighty. You do usually know what’s best, Sandy.”

“I sure do,” she giggled. “Oh, and Spongebob?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t cut his cable this time,” she said, before walking off to get more punch.

-0-

By 9:30, the party started to go a bit haywire. At this point, practically all of Bikini Bottom was at Spongebob’s house, except for Squidward -- and Larry thought it would be a great idea to play Truth Or Dare: Extreme Edition. The rules were pretty much the same as Truth Or Dare: Standard Edition, but with one exception: each subsequent truth or dare had to be more extreme than the last.

It started off alright. A few people were dared to take off their pants, or do a somersault down Conch Street while blindfolded. However, as the game progressed, the stakes grew astronomically. At one point, Patrick was dared to eat half of Spongebob’s pineapple. Later, Sandy was dared to juggle three of Plankton’s bombs, while riding a unicycle. Even later, Larry and Mr. Krabs were dared to switch shells and wrestle -- which wasn’t really destructive. Just disturbing.

The dares were stupid, but if there was one thing Bikini Bottomites had, it was a complete lack of common sense. Or any sense, really.

It certainly didn’t help that as the night progressed, the partygoers grew more and more … inebriated. The punch itself was non-alcoholic, but apparently, Karen and Plankton had taken it upon themselves to bring their own alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

By 10:30, Squidward still hadn’t shown up yet. Several people had either passed out or thrown up. And the pineapple was a complete disaster.

Spongebob sighed. He was seated on his living room sofa now, watching as the partygoers reveled inside (and outside) his home. Of course, the sponge was happy they were enjoying themselves -- but this day was supposed to be about him, and … well, nothing had gone as planned. His entire house was destroyed, it would take days to clean up the mess -- and Squidward hadn’t even bothered to show up! The nerve.

“Hey Patrick,” muttered Spongebob, waving a tired yellow hand at his drunken best friend.

Immediately, the starfish stumbled over to him, drink in hand. “Wha… haha … whasss’ up, Spunchblarb?” he slurred.

Spongebob pointed to the drink in Patrick’s hand. “Could I have that?”

Patrick grinned widely. “Yeeeeeahh! Now -- now, yer talkin’, buddy!” And with that, the starfish handed Spongebob his first drink of the night.

-0-

About three drinks in, Spongebob Squarepants was well and truly intoxicated. Which was nice, in a way. Now, the world was a weird, misty haze, and he didn’t have to worry about his pineapple being destroyed, or his party being ruined, or Squidward, or whatever. Now, he could just be peacefully drunk and stupid, just like everybody else in his house. Blissfully unaware of the world around them.

As the night went on, Spongebob began losing track of time. What time was it? Midnight? 3:00 a.m.? Did it even matter?

Over the course of one very stupid evening, Spongebob made more than a few bad decisions. For one, he bought like, ten mops online. Which was both counterproductive (he was a sponge) and financially irresponsible (he was also a frycook). Later, the sponge swam to the surface of the ocean to see how long he could breathe without water. He fainted within the first ten seconds, and had to be retrieved by Larry. After that, the night became a dizzying blur. Spongebob was certain he had been driving, at one point, and also dancing, and maybe singing?

Either way, several hours later, Spongebob was still dancing in his living room, a lampshade stuck on his head, when he felt something on his shoulder. Turning woozily, the sponge tried to get into “kara-tay” position, and ultimately failed.

“Who -- what -- stay back! I’m warning you!” shouted the sponge. “I know … er, kar .. karat … carrots?”

There was a familiar sigh, then a soft chuckle. “Oh, you moron,” came a voice, a voice that Spongebob loved so dearly, even in this drunken state. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Squ … squib … ?”

“Yeah,” said Squidward, wrenching the lampshade off of Spongebob’s head. “It’s me. Sorry I’m late.”

Spongebob looked up at Squidward -- and in his inebriated, hazy stupor, he couldn’t take it. He loved him so much, and for so long. It hurt. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “Squi -- Squidward, you -- you came,” the sponge stammered, his bottom lip quivering. “I -- I didn’t think …”

“Hush,” said Squidward, looking around the room. “This is, uh … wow, you really had a rager, huh? I didn’t think you had it in you, Spongebob.”

Stepping away, Squidward began picking up random items off the floor -- the punch bowl, some photographs, and a spilled carton of milk. The octopus had to step over and around several bodies, which were lying passed out on Spongebob’s floor.

“Listen, I’m gonna try and find a way to get everyone home,” said Squidward, sifting his way through the pile of garbage and bodies. “Everyone else is knocked out -- ”

Spongebob had had it. He’d had enough. He’d planned out this whole day perfectly, just for Squidward to not show up, for his whole house to be demolished in the chaos. Sure, he was glad everyone had a good time, but deep down, Spongebob was a little selfish, and deep down --

“I don’t care about everyone else!” shouted Spongebob, clenching his fists at his sides. “I care about you, Squidward!”

Squidward, startled, nearly dropped everything he was holding -- and before he could properly respond, Spongebob fell over, unconscious.

-0-

For once, Spongebob didn’t wake up to the sound of his foghorn. Instead, he woke up to the sound of the television nearby. Very soft dialogue wafted its way over to the sponge, bathing him in its pleasant familiarity.

“Why, Joey, I think you’re right -- the killer is closer than we seem to think!”

“Then we best get cracking, Detective Heartthrob!”

Groaning, Spongebob sat up -- a dull, throbbing pain coursing through his skull. Dear Neptune. What happened last night? There was the party, the drinking, and … Squidward, maybe? Spongebob felt his heart drop at the thought of his neighbor, and sighed. He hadn’t gotten to tell Squidward how he felt. Attempt 57 had failed. Miserably.

Blinking slowly, the sponge looked around, and with surprise noted that his bedroom was not a mess, like it had been during the party. In fact, it was squeaky clean. The only thing out of place was the living room television, which had been moved to the end of Spongebob’s bed. The TV was playing an old rerun of As The Tide Turns, from the murder mystery arc. A smile tugged at Spongebob’s lips. How ironic.

Wait a minute. Who moved the TV?

Just then, there were footsteps on the stairs -- the tell-tale pat-pat-pat-pat of someone with four legs. Squidward. He was still here! Steeling himself, Spongebob sat at attention, gripping the blankets tightly.

When Squidward entered, he was holding a tray of food and wearing a long pink apron. When he saw that Spongebob was now conscious, the octopus jumped, nearly dropped the food, then steadied himself just in time.

“Squidward!” said Spongebob, cheerily. “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m here, you nitwit,” muttered Squidward. “Who else was gonna clean up that messy party of yours?”

Squidward crossed the room to place the food tray on Spongebob’s nightstand. Once there, the octopus shoved a glass of water and two pills into the poriferan’s hands, with one simple command: “Drink.”

Spongebob did so, gratefully. Then, he asked, “The party … what all happened?”

“I don’t know, but it was a mess,” sighed Squidward. “I’m pretty sure half the town was completely passed out by the time I got here. I’m surprised the cops didn’t get involved.”

“Oh,” said Spongebob, feeling very guilty all of a sudden. “Did -- did everyone get home okay?”

“Yeah,” said Squidward. “Listen, don’t -- don’t worry about it, okay? I took care of everything. Your house is clean, Gary is fed, everyone got home. That’s all.” Squidward’s cheeks were stained red.

Spongebob smiled, his heart jumping happily in his chest. “Thank you, Squidward.”

After a moment of silence, Squidward brought the food tray up to Spongebob’s lap. “You should … you should eat that,” he muttered, then took a deep breath. “Look, I … I’m sorry I was so late, alright? The truth is, I … I got caught up.”

With a mouthful of food, Spongebob asked, “Wif whaf?”

Squidward grimaced. “You’re disgusting,” he snapped, then looked away, blushing brightly. “Anyway, I … was trying to get ahold of your birthday present. It was supposed to be delivered here, to Conch Street, yesterday -- but I guess there was a mix-up, and it was instead delivered to Conch Road, which is … in an entirely different town. Several hours away.”

Spongebob blinked. “You drove all the way to get it?”

Squidward scowled. “Whatever,” he snapped, pulling a small red present box from beneath Spongebob’s bed. “Either way, it’s here. So, I guess … open it, maybe.”

Shoveling down the rest of his food (much to Squidward’s disgust), the sponge quickly shredded the pristine red wrapping paper to reveal -- a boxed set of the entire As The Tide Turns series. The extended edition, with all the bonus scenes and commentary tracks. And to top it all off -- the box was signed by the stars of the show.

Spongebob looked up at Squidward, eyes shimmering with shock and awe. “Squidward, this is -- this is amazing, I thought they didn’t sell these anymore!”

“Oh, trust me,” said Squidward, shuddering. “You have no idea what I had to do to get my hands on that.”

“Let me guess,” said Spongebob, holding up two yellow hands to form finger-guns. In his best Joey impression, the sponge said, “You had to kill a lotta folks, didn’t ya, Detective Heartthrob?”

Squidward chuckled immediately. In one suave motion, he leaned against Spongebob’s bed, and pointed a finger-gun of his own. In his best Detective Heartthrob impression, the octopus replied, “I did, and I don’t regret it at all, Joey!”

The two laughed for a good long while. Then, suddenly embarrassed once more, Squidward looked away. Taking a deep breath, the octopus said, “Look, Sponge, I -- last night, you said something kinda weird, and I wanted to know if -- if maybe --”

“Huh?”

“You said -- you only cared about me, not anyone else, and I -- I wanted to ask,” stammered Squidward, “... what exactly … you meant by that.”

Spongebob’s eyes widened. Oh, barnacles. Did he really say that? Well … there was no hiding it now. Gripping his sheets tight, Spongebob steeled himself for what was to come. “It means I … I wanna keep hanging out with you, Squidward,” said the sponge, staring down at his yellow knuckles. “I wanna hang out with you more than anyone else.”

Squidward swallowed, hard. “Sponge, what are you saying?”

Spongebob looked up. Their eyes met. “I like you,” said the sponge, smiling nervously. “A … a lot.”

A long moment of silence passed. Spongebob’s heart hammered furiously at his chest. Then, Squidward sighed, and picked up the ATTT boxed set. Walking over to Spongebob’s TV, the octopus inserted the first disc, grabbed the remote, and returned to Spongebob’s side.

Lifting the blankets, the octopus said, “Scooch over.”

Spongebob blinked, then did as instructed. “Why?” he asked.

“You really are an idiot,” muttered Squidward, climbing into bed with him. “It’s a Sunday, the Krusty Krab is closed, and we have a whole boxed set to watch together. Might as well start now.”

Spongebob smiled, happily. “So -- so you -- ”

Squidward rolled his eyes. “If you must know, yes, I … I like you,” he snapped. “I’m not gonna drive halfway across the ocean floor for just anybody, you know.”

Spongebob grinned stupidly. “I guess not.”

With that, the show began, its melodramatic theme tune echoing pleasantly across Spongebob’s pineapple home. And just below the bed, Gary let out a soft, contended meow -- which almost certainly meant “finally.”

-0-

References:

The line about cutting Squidward’s cable is a reference to the episode “Party Pooper Pants”, in which Spongebob cuts Squidward’s cable to get him to come over for a party.

#sbsp #my fics #spongebob squarepants #squidbob #spongeward #spongebob #squidward #ask #asks #sunlit-squid

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bentforkent · 4 years ago

Text

glittery

penelope garcia x emily prentiss

a/n: whipped something up for valentines dayyyy, i hope u enjoy! happy vday from me to u. also shoutout to cj @hotchseyebrows for helping me with this i am A Mess and u are the best.

content warning: fluff, SMUT (18+), alcohol mentions, oral sex, first time, begging, sexy-ass emily prentiss

word count: 2028

in which emily and penelope are crafting for valentine’s day, and some feelings come up

- - - - “You’re more glittery than normal,” Emily remarks, pushing Penelope’s front door open and surveying the scene in front of her.

“You’re here!” Penelope scrambles to get out of her chair, pushing away from the kitchen table that’s covered in shimmery pinks, reds, purples, and rushing to wrap her arms around Emily’s waist. To free her arms and return Penelope’s hug, Emily sets her plastic grocery bag onto the counter. The cheap bottles of wine inside clink against each other musically, making Penelope’s ears perk up and gesture towards the bag.

Emily launches into a retelling of her time at the grocery store: There was a weird woman there who Emily was exactly 73 percent sure was following her. As she tells the story, she flits around Penelope’s kitchen with ease, finding the bottle opener and two stemmed glasses. Penelope watches her intently, entranced by her black-cat movements. It’s not lost on her how easily Emily makes use of her space. Penelope’s space, that is. Emily is here, in her kitchen, popping a cork---two corks, she’d bought pink wine specifically for Penelope--and washing her hands and drying said hands on her tea towels and lounging against her countertops, mindful of her cluttered space and figurines. It’s domestic. It’s domestic and overwhelming and Penelope just might burst.

“Anyways,” Emily says, concluding her story and turning back to Penelope, glass looped languidly between her fingers. “Why are you covered in craft glitter?”

“We, my friend, are making Valentine’s Day cards,” Penelope says.

“Alright,” Emily hums, taking a seat at the end of the table. “I’m not very crafty.”

“I am! I’ll teach you.”

- - - -

“Pass me the scissors, please,” Penelope requests. Careful of the blade, Emily reaches across the table to hand Penelope the glue-sticky scissors. After Penelope’s careful tutorial on how to cut a perfect heart and administer the perfect amount of campy shimmer, the room fell silent save for the jazzy music playing in the background--Amy Winehouse, at Emily’s request--and the soft sounds of crafting--snip, paste, glitter, repeat. Snip, paste, glitter, repeat. Snip. Paste. Glitter. Repeat.

Emily pauses her routine of gluing a piece of red cardstock to a pink one. She’d been considering her next question carefully, debating whether she wants to ask it at all. “Who are you making these valentines for, anyways?” Attempting nonchalance, she takes a sip of her wine.

Penelope can read Emily like a book. Not even looking up from her homemade card, maintaining Emily’s same nonchalance, Penelope replies, “Why does it matter? You have a crush on me or something?”

Obviously Emily has a crush on her.

Penelope knows.

She’s known since a few months ago, on a random Thursday, when Emily had shyly brought a cup of coffee into her office. Penelope had never seen Emily at a loss for words before, but she was just so anxious about if she’d gotten the right coffee order. Penelope’s definitely not a profiler, but it really didn’t take much to figure out the strange blush on Emily’s cheeks. Thank god she did, too, because Penelope was just about making herself sick pining after Emily. She’s had a thing for her for as long as she could remember; since Emily had settled herself into the BAU all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. And then Penelope had discovered reciprocation of those feelings and her heart soared and she just wanted to wrap her arms around Emily and fucking kiss her.

But they’re still doing the “best friends” thing. God, does Penelope just want to stop this whole stupid back and forth act where they both pretend like they’re just best friends. But she’s playing hard-to-get. Too often had she given herself away too soon just to be let down later. So she’s keeping the upper hand on this one, because it matters. Emily matters.

And on an entirely separate note, watching Emily flounder and figure out Penelope’s feelings for herself is quite entertaining. Penelope only feels a tiny bit bad about that.

“No, I’m just curious,” Emily says carefully, teetering into defensiveness. She continues gluing her cardstock, letting the sound of her dragging the paste across the paper serve as an ending to the conversation.

“No?” There’s a playful lilt to Penelope’s voice, but Emily is embarrassed she asked and quite frankly, done talking about it. The air thickens, and Penelope doesn’t feel much like joking anymore.

“No.”

There’s a few moments of silence. Amy Winehouse croons, Penelope presses a marker across her Valentine, scrawling a message onto it. Emily’s scowl radiates through the room.

“You’re a big baby, Emily Prentiss,” Penelope says bluntly.

Emily sets her glue stick onto the table, crossing her arms around her chest and leaning back in her chair. “How am I a baby?” Her words are calm, careful.

With a dramatic sigh, Penelope holds up the Valentine she’d been working on for the greater part of an hour. She could hear Emily building her walls up and she’s tired of all of that. The card is beautiful, obviously, having been carefully crafted under Penelope’s skillful hand. “Emily” is written in shimmery purple bubble letters, surrounded by little hand drawn hearts. There’s a lengthy message attached, heartfelt and sincere.

“The valentines are for you, you beautiful, oblivious disaster,” Penelope says. “Everything is for you.”

Emily purses her lips to avoid the smile from creeping onto her face.

It doesn’t work.

“Oh.” She pauses to think, replaying every interaction she shared with Penelope for the past few months and reframing them. Penelope likes her back. She feels a touch stupid for not figuring it out, but excitement prevails over that emotion. “Yeah?”

Penelope huffs. “Just kiss me, please.” Emily didn’t really need it spelled out for her, because that was her next move, but she appreciates the proactivity from Penelope.

With renewed gusto and pull, Emily leans back in her chair, patting her lap. “C’mere, then.” With a squeal, Penelope gets up out of her chair and skips--literally skips--the short distance to Emily’s side of the table. Emily is looking at her like she hung the stars as Penelope swings her leg over her lap.

“Hi,” Penelope says, holding Emily’s shoulders tightly to steady herself. She’s suddenly nervous, despite all of the frustration and excitement she’d been channeling into this conversation just a second ago. Tentatively, she trails the pad of her thumb down Emily’s nose, letting it fall to her bottom lip.

Emily just wants to look at her, for a second, her rosy cheeks and gentle gaze. But one more second without kissing Penelope is far too long and before Emily’s brain can catch up with her chin, she’s leaning in to press her lips against Penelope’s.

They’ve both clearly been anticipating this, as they move in sync like they were made to kiss each other, as if their lips were crafted specifically to be against each other in this exact moment. It feels like hours that they’re kissing, that Emily is tugging on the roots of Penelope’s hair, that Penelope is leaving careful bruises against Emily’s jaw.

Once Emily is sufficiently out of breath, she pulls away and rests her forehead against Penelope’s. “Let me eat you out, please,” she requests quietly, trying to catch a bit of air.

Penelope nods, rapidly. “Oh my god, yes, yes,” she says, giggling softly. “You don’t even have to ask, seriously. Okay, yes you do. You do have to ask, but I will always say yes.”

Emily cuts off Penelope’s rambling with a hot “shhh,” and a suggestive tug on the hem of her skirt.

Penelope blushes, unzipping the pink dress on her side and lifting it over her head.

“You’re matching,” Emily notes lamely. It would be quite literally impossible for her to come up with a sufficient compliment for the way Penelope looks in her lacy, red set. So she gapes, feeling utterly grateful for the chance to even be in the presence of this sun of a woman.

“I had plans,” Penelope says through a grin, standing from Emily’s lap. Wordlessly, with Emily still staring indecently at Penelope’s tits in that bra, they switch spots, Penelope now sitting in the kitchen chair with her legs spread. Emily lowers herself onto her knees in front of Penelope, rubbing soft circles into her skin. She runs her finger along Penelope’s heat, sighing gently at the wetness seeping through the fabric. “You’re so wet for me,” Emily says, peering up at Penelope, who has already settled in and closed her eyes.

“Mhm,” Penelope replies, shifting her hips up in order to shimmy her underwear down her legs.

Emily kisses across the expanse of Penelope’s stomach, taking a moment to rest her chin on the soft skin and look up at the woman in front of her. “You’re so pretty,” she murmurs. “Look at this pretty pussy.”

Penelope lets out an embarrassed whine, nudging Emily’s cheek with her knuckles.

“Keep going, okay, I get it,” Emily chuckles, half to herself. Penelope’s eyelids flutter closed, her fingers tangle in Emily’s hair. It’s soft and for half of a second Penelope wonders what shampoo does she use?, but then Emily is licking and kissing and biting and Penelope’s brain has been reduced to that damned purple glitter and she feels like it might be pouring out of her ears.

When Penelope’s usually getting head, once every few months, Penelope is acutely aware of where her thighs rest, careful to keep them open and away from her suitors’ ears, but Emily is clutching the outside of them like a castaway holds a buoy, tugging her closer. It makes Penelope impossibly more wet. There’s a gasp that could have come from either of them as Emily drags her tongue flat across Penelope’s slit.

Penelope squirms under Emily’s mouth as she continues her careful, skillful tongue work. “‘S good, Emmy, so good,” she moans. Egged on by the praise, Emily wraps her lips around Penelope’s clit, making Penelope emit a high-pitched noise. Emily chuckles against her skin, pulling away to pepper gentle kisses along her thigh.

“Hey,” Penelope pouts at the lack of contact. “C’mon, Em, you’re so mean,”

“I’m mean?” Emily asks with a raised eyebrow, looking up at Penelope through her lashes. “If I’m so mean I’ll leave you here high and dry begging to cum, then.”

This time the gasp is definitely Penelope, scandalized and not used to being told no. Her hips buck forward on their own accord, aching for Emily’s touch. “That’s not fair,” she whines.

Emily taps Penelope’s knees, signaling for her to close them. “Life isn’t fair, sweet girl.”

Penelope weighs her options in her head. It’s clear what Emily wants to hear--begging. But god, if it’s not in Penelope’s nature to put up a fight. She’s contemplating, trying to ignore her lower half twitching in desperation. The moment seems longer than it is--after about 10 seconds and Emily wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she begins grovelling.

“Please Emmy, please,” she says, “I’ll do anything, just...please.” When Emily doesn’t react immediately, Penelope tacks on an extra, “Pretty please.”

Emily grins, leaning back in and pressing a delicate kiss just to the left of where Penelope needs her. “You’re a good girl, baby,” she mumbles under her breath.

“Mhm,” Penelope agrees quietly, letting her hands settle back onto the crown of Emily’s head. The pair devolve into a rhythmic sound of Emily’s mouth and tiny subsequent moans from Penelope. As Emily speeds up, so do Penelope’s whines, so does the rise and fall of Penelope’s chest.

There’s not much build up before Penelope’s snapping, she finds. One second she’s reveling in the feeling of Emily’s warm mouth working her up, and the next her legs are tensing and she’s shaking through an intense wave of orgasm, pushing Emily’s head from where she’s most sensitive.

Emily grins, pressing a sweet kiss to Penelope’s knee, waiting for her to calm and recover. “You’re like, really good at that,” Penelope says with a wide smile, her glassy eyes filled with satiation. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Emmy.”

Emily rises to kiss Penelope softly, swiping her tongue over her bottom lip. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

#penemily #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss fanfic #penelope garcia fanfiction #emily x penelope #prentiss x garcia #criminal minds #cm #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfiction

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digitalworldbound · 3 years ago

Text

unexpected

pairing: takeru x hikari (college age)

summary: She had been ignoring the symptoms for weeks. Even now, as Hikari dry heaved into the toilet bowl, there was a logical explanation.

author's note: slight cursing and adult themes

She had been ignoring the symptoms for weeks. When her blouse fit snugly around her chest, she chastised herself for putting it in the dryer. Miso soup had always been one of her favorites, so she disregarded her brother’s raised eyebrows as she went back for seconds, and later, thirds.

Even now, as Hikari dry heaved into the toilet bowl, there was a logical explanation. The few Smirnoff’s she had been able to stomach swirled away. A pitiful groan escaped her lips; she hated to waste food. Heavy bass thumped from outside the door, Mimi’s “little get together” in full swing. Initially, Hikari had been happy to escape into the bathroom. Twelve fully-grown bodies practically filled the small apartment to capacity. The taste of sweat and alcohol lingered in the air, the heat sweltering.

“Hey, you good in there?” Takeru’s voice called out. Her headache thumped in time with the music. Oh god, it’s Takeru. The bile in her stomach swirled with dread; he of all people would see right through her. Hikari didn’t trust herself to speak, opting to flush the toilet again. Quickly, she washed her hands and splashed her face with cool water, washing all the evidence of her escapade down the drain. The thought of facing him made her stomach clench harder.

“Yeah, I’m fine! Just had to use the bathroom.” With the door open, the air was more stifling than before; she was smothering. Hikari put on her best smile and willed herself to act more drunk than she was. Perhaps even under Takeru’s trained eyes she would appear more like the reckless college students she was supposed to be.

He just laughed and guided her back to the epicenter of the party. Takeru’s arm was tight against her waist, pulling her body closer to his. Hikari didn’t miss the way his eyebrows knit together in worry. He knew something was up, but would wait until they were alone. She did her best to detangle herself and get lost in the music, to giggle with Miyako and dance with Sora. Every time her eyes would catch Takeru’s, she would feel nausea burn in her throat.

Three days after her expected period, Hikari fingers turned white around her cellphone.

“Miyako.” It was not a greeting so much as a demand. Her face was wet with shame, the tears scorching her cheeks on their descent. “Please.”

Takeru’s schedule blessed Hikari with a day to herself in their miniscule apartment. They had long ago given up any pretense of sleeping in separate rooms, their clothes, sheets, bodies mingling together. Traces of him lingered everywhere. Hikari’s amber eyes were unfocused around his toothbrush when Miyako found her.

Her face had a healthy flush, bangs sticking to the perspiration on her forehead. “You know, I ran all the way here. The least you could have done was open the front door.” Crinkly plastic was ensnared in her hands, the bag hanging limp.

Despite the gusto Miyako brought to every social interaction, the only thing to draw Hikari from her stupor was the shiny red logo that dangled from Miyako’s fingers.

“Does your family know?” Her voice was hoarse in the aftermath of her suspicion. The thought of her friend buying something so grotesque from her family’s store nearly sent Hikari back over the rim of the toilet.

Miyako had to bite back her laugher. “Of all the things to be worried about, this is what you choose?” Hikari narrowed her eyes, their puffiness and red rims diminishing their intended effect. “If you must know,” Miyako continued, sinking onto her knees beside the brunette, “My sister and I have a no-questions policy. I don’t ask where she sneaks off to at night, and she doesn’t ask why I buy pregnancy tests at noon on a Tuesday.”

If the logo didn’t set Hikari off, the sheer magnitude of the situation did. Her lunch had already been flushed down the drain, bile burning her throat. “Damn, you really are sick. How long has this been going on?”

The older girl ran her hand down Hikari’s rumpled shirt. Once her trembling hands flushed the remnants of her stomach, she listlessly held up two fingers. Loose strands of her bangs shielded her eyes from Miyako, shame deepening the blush on her cheeks.

“I remember being twelve and our only concern being the flavor of lip gloss we wore. When did everything get so messy?” Hikari’s voice broke, forehead leaning against the toilet rim. She could feel herself shrinking against Miyako’s scrutinizing gaze. She let the silence settle, leaning against the bathroom cabinets. “Hikari, growing up is the messiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Hikari's tears were hot and raw, dripping off her chin. Her laughs were shallow, shoulders trembling in the effort to hold herself together. Slowly, as if Hikari was a dove, Miyako wrapped her arms across her middle. She gently tucked her frail frame into her chest, murmuring hollow encouragements into her ear. Miyako let Hikari soak her shoulder in tears, allowing herself to be baptized in her best friend’s pain. There was nothing she could say to make this better, no evil monster she could destroy to make this all go away.

Miyako’s knees grew numb against the linoleum, the plastic bag discarded beside her. A glance at her watch told her that Takeru would be home soon.

Her heart ached at the sight of Hikari. She laid limp in Miyako’s arms, lips swollen and eyes puffy. There was nothing she could do. “Hikari, it’s time.” Her words seemed to stir the girl into action. As Miyako pried the box open and read the instructions out loud, Hikari splashed her face with cool water. Silently, she prayed to whichever deity would hear her case. Please, let it be negative.

“I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” Miyako gripped her shoulders lightly, bending her neck down to meet her eyes. Hikari gripped the plastic handle with a ferocity the rivaled Daisuke’s. Wordlessly, she shut the door to the bathroom.

Once she was finished, the test laid discarded on the lid of the waste bin.

Three minutes.

Hikari’s earliest memory was of her brother. Their parents had been away at work, entrusting Taichi to take care of the both of them. He was practically a baby, barely able to reach the countertops in the kitchen. They decorated the walls in their bedroom with markers, childish dragons and princesses stretching across the baseboards.

Hikari was only nineteen, more of a baby now than she ever had been.

Two minutes.

She was fourteen the first time Takeru made her blush. It was innocent, mere child’s play compared to the predicament she was in now. They had been walking home together, chatting mindlessly about anything and nothing and all things in between. She remembered the way that the late afternoon sunlight reflected in his golden locks, an ethereal halo highlighting his rosy cheeks. Hikari had never seen him like that, beautiful and raw with a smile just for her.

How had things gotten so out of control?

One minute.

No, that was wrong. Hikari’s love for Takeru could not be construed into anything negative. Their love was pure and all consuming, stretching into every aspect of their lives. It was in the way she leaned into him whenever he was near, unconsciously seeking his comfort. Their love gathered itself in the clothes Takeru meticulously folded the way Hikari taught him when they had just moved in, all those months ago. This love – gentle, warm, and pure - could never be out of control.

But it could have consequences.

Thirty seconds.

Her stomach clenched. This couldn’t be happening. Hikari had given up her childhood to save the world; she didn’t deserve this. The universe was constantly bending her to its will, no matter how cruel the circumstances. She had tried to take control of her own destiny, enrolling into college with dreams of becoming a teacher. How could she expect herself to teach children when she had so much left to learn? And Takeru? Would he have to give up his dreams for her? For them?

Positive

If Hikari were a dove, her wings had been clipped.

#takari #digimon #digimon drabble #takeru takaishi #hikari yagami

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doyumacy · 4 years ago

Text

𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐘 — 6

gif not mine

pairing: taeyong x doyoung x reader

warnings: 「dotae x reader, polyamorous relationship, alcohol consumption, language, mentions of an abusive relationship, graphic depictions of violence 」

word count: 「 3,7k 」

ꜰɪᴠᴇ

“Sorry for crashing your place like this, I didn't know where else to go,” you say as you sit on Jaehyun's sofa in his living room.

“No problem,” he walks to the kitchen, “what happened? Why did you call me from a public telephone so I could pick you up in the middle of the street?”

You sigh, leaning against the white sofa. “Doyoung happened.”

You hear Jaehyun walking back to the living room but he stops. “I think you won’t need tea. You need something stronger. Be right back.”

You giggle. It 's true. Tea won't work.

Jaehyun comes back with a bottle of Don Julio 70, your favourite tequila. You smile. “Like the old times.”

“Correct,” he places the bottle in the middle of the table and two tequila shot glasses. “Johnny is out of town for the weekend so we can play loud music all night.”

“You’re the best,” you pout. “Thank you so much.”

“Anything for my best friend,” Jaehyun sits next to you and pours the two shot glasses. “So, what happened?”

You take one of the shot glasses and stare at it for a couple of seconds and go bottoms up. “Doyoung called me a gold-digger.”

“He fucking did what?” Jaehyun looks at you. “I’m gonna punch him.”

Jaehyun stands up and you grab his arm shaking your head. “It’s not worth it.”

“Don’t defend him, y/n,” he stares at you, frowning. “He disrespected you. What the hell is wrong with him? Why did he do that?”

You scratch your forehead and sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Doyoung is so stupid,” Jaehyun pours your glass again. “If he only knew you’re richer than him.”

“I’m not richer than him,” you laugh, having a sip of the tequila.

“You could have been,” Jaehyun shrugs.

“I was disinherited for not wanting to marry a guy I did not know,” you tilt your head to the side, “not that I care. They can keep their millions.”

Jaehyun nods and finishes his drink. “What did Taeyong say?”

“He was as startled as I was,” you swallow the hard liquor. “He texted me saying he’d come with me, but I said no because I don’t want him to have problems with Doyoung.”

Jaehyun leans back, sliding a little on the sofa. “Do you think Jackson has something to do with Doyoung’s behaviour?”

“I surely am,” you groan. “I’m not gonna let him destroy me again. He doesn’t get to do that ever again, to me or anyone else.”

“What are you gonna do?” Jaehyun tilts his head to the side, looking at you.

You pour the glass again and go bottoms up. “I know people in the media. I’m gonna tell them everything he did to me. He once got away with it, but not again.”

Jaehyun places a hand on your shoulder. “And I’m gonna be by your side. “

You smile a little. “Can you come with me to my old place? I need to take the box file where the evidence is.”

Jaehyun nods and places a kiss on your head. “I love you.”

You hug him and kiss his cheek. “Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” he smiles.

(...)

On Monday, you show up at your office and after a long morning of checkouts, you finally have a 10 minutes break. You have a sip of your cold latte your assistant brought for you and check your phone.

No messages.

You sigh and leave it on the desk again.

You miss Doyoung and Taeyong, but mostly Doyoung. Yes, he hurt you but that doesn't mean you don't love him. But you also know that you won't speak to him until he comes to his senses and apologizes for what he did.

And what if he never does? Then… is it over?

You want to cry just of the thought of not seeing them ever again. The thought of not kissing them, loving them and hugging them hurts you more than the current situation.

A knock on the door interrupts your thoughts session. It’s Donghyuck. “Yeah?” You ask.

“Someone who doesn't have an appointment wants to see you,” he says.

“Did they say their name?” You slide a little on your chair.

“Mark Lee,” Donghyuck lifts the corner of his lips.

“Ah,” you nod. “Yeah, let him in.”

Donghyuck let Mark in your office and Mark greets you with a big smile. “Hey, sorry for coming without calling or something, but I was having lunch 2 blocks away from here and thought of stopping by. I hope you don't mind.”

You shake your head and grin. “Not at all. Please sit, do you want something to drink? Water? Coffee?”

Mark sits in one of the black velvet armchairs. “No, thank you.”

You sit back on your chair and rest your elbows on the desk. “What can I do for you, Mark?”

“Well,” he purses his lips as if thinking. “You know my dad will be retiring soon, right?”

You nod, resting your head in your palm. “I kind of want to do something for him. And as I was walking I thought of doing an article of him; honoring him and mentioning all the things he achieved during all these years.”

“But then I was like, ‘oh, who could help me?’and I remembered you,” he smirks. “Of course, only if you can.”

You nod. “I can totally make that happen, Mark.”

“Really? Oh, my God. Thank you so much, y/n,” Mark beams. “It really means a lot. Really, thank you.”

“No problem,” you smile. “But you need to know that the article will be released next month because we already finished this month. “

“Oh yeah yeah,” Mark quickly nods.

Doyoung is feeling like an asshole. He behaved like an asshole to the love of his life and now he was paying for it. Sleeping 4 days without you is enough for him. He misses you like crazy.

That’s why, on Monday he decides to go to buy some flowers and then to your office. He will apologise because you didn't deserve to be treated the way he treated you that night.

Doyoung walks to your office and frowns when he doesn't see your assistant. He checks the hour on his wristwatch. It’s his lunch time. He walks to your door and he stops himself from knocking when he hears your laugh and an unknown's one. He leans to listen more so he can recognize the voice inside your office and hisses when he realizes it’s Mark.

“And please y/n, no one can know about this,” Doyoung hears Mark say.

“No one won’t. I promise,” you say.

Know that? That you two might be fucking in your office?

Fuck.

Maybe Jackson is right.

(...)

“Hello, baby,” Taeyong hugs you when he sees you. He kisses your right temple. “How are you?”

“Better not that you’re here,” you smile a little. “Got a haircut?”

Taeyong nods and smirks. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” you give him a peck. “It suits you.”

“That’s what the hairlyst said,” he winks at you and caresses your cheek. “Have you talked to Doyoung?”

You shake your head. “No. Has he said something?”

“Not since that night,” Taeyong sits and invites you to sit with him. “Today he was… utterly in a bad mood.”

You bite your lip. “Do you know if he has been in touch with… uhm Jackson Wang lately?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “He had lunch with him today.”

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“What?” He tilts his head.

You take a deep breath and look at him in the eye. “I need you to promise me something.”

Taeyong furrows his eyebrows. “What’s going on?”

“Promise me,” you look at him

“Okay, I promise.”

“I know Jackson Wang,” you say.

He nods. “Know him as in…?”

“As my ex boyfriend,” you stare at your hands.

Taeyong chuckles, but it’s more of a nervous chuckle. “I’m not the jealous type so I’m not following, y/n…”

“I met Jackson when I was 19,” you tell him. “We dated for 2 years… uhm I-I,” your hands start shaking and you choke a sob.

Taeyong cups your face and looks at you. “I believe you.”

“What?” You look at him with watering eyes.

“Whatever it is, I believe you, y/n,” He murmurs.

You sob and wrap your hands around his torso. You tell Taeyong everything that night.

Taeyong is back to the penthouse later that night just to find Doyoung having a glass of whisky with Jackson in the living room.

Motherfucker.

Taeyong wanted to make Jackson suffer the same way he did to you because killing him wouldn't be enough. He doesn't deserve the easy out.

“I should go now, it’s a bit late,” Jackson stands up and fixes his suit jacket. “Thanks for having me, Doyoung.”

“No problem, thank you for coming,” Doyoung accompanies him to the front door.

“Goodnight, Taeyong,” Jackson smiles at him and he just nods.

Doyoung shuts the door and walks to Taeyong. “Where were you?”

“Jaehyun’s,” he says, walking to the stairs.

“Ah, you went to see y/n,” Doyoung nods, following him. “Did she tell you she saw Mark this afternoon?”

“She did, yes,” Taeyong begins to climb the stairs.

“I wonder what lie she told you,” Doyoung huffs behind him.

Taeyong turns around. Doyoung can tell he’s really pissed. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Doyoung cocks an eyebrow. “Watch your tone.”

Taeyong laughs, annoyed. “Are you really that stupid?”

“Taeyong,” Doyoung warns.

“Listen to me, Doyoung,” Taeyong leans closer to him. “I won’t let anyone hurt y/n, especially you. She’s been through enough already.”

Doyoung frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Taeyong sighs. “I’m just gonna tell you Jackson is not who you think he is.”

“What does Jackson have to do with this?” Doyoung tilts his head.

“That motherfucker has been filling your head with shit since you met him,” Taeyong mutters. “If you’re a bit smarter than you say you are, you probably know that kind of person he is.”

Doyoung scoffs. “Please don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“Oh, my God, Doyoung,” Taeyong stares at him. “Wake up!”

“Explain it to me then!” Doyoung glances at him.

“y/n is coming tomorrow,” Taeyong informs him. “She has to tell you something and I better not see you acting like today, because I swear to God, Doyoung I will not hold back this time. I will punch you.”

(...)

You’d lie to yourself if you say you’re not nervous. You are about to do something big, and these emotions have become markers to find your bravery, to go forward and tell yourself you are worthy.

You’d also be concerned if you aren’t nervous because there is all the difference in the world between brave and foolhardy. You are brave, so you have these feelings. It 's good. It makes you more reliable and solid.

You take a deep breath when you hear steps coming to the front door. You can tell it’s Taeyong.

He opens the door and smiles at you to then kiss your forehead. He helps you with the box you’re carrying in your arms and invites you to come in. You follow him to the living room where Doyoung is sitting on the big couch.

You greet him with a shy ‘hi’ and he just nods without making any eye contact.

You gulp.

This might be harder than you thought it’d be.

Taeyong places the box on the crystal table and looks at you. He nods at you and he sits next to Doyoung.

You intertwine your hands together, trying to hide the fact that you are a bit shaking. You sigh and sit on the armchair in front of them.

You tell them how you met Jackson years ago and make a big pause. “He wasn’t like that the first months of the relationship. He was a nice guy, I don't know what changed.”

You press your lips together. “I used to think everything would get better eventually. Maybe it’d stop, but he got worse and worse each time.”

“He’d just push me and grab me using so much force I’d end up crying,” you stare at your hands. “Until one day he slapped me and I let it slide because he was drunk. I was just making excuses up.”

You can feel both of their gaze on you and you refuse to make eye contact. “Until one day he didn't just slap me…”

6 ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀɢᴏ.

You could hear the sound of your alarm clock beeping loudly, signaling you to wake up and face yet another day. You don't feel anything quite yet, your sense of where you were at in the world was still in a dream state. Oh, what a great dream you were having. You were at the beach, holding a cocktail in your right hand. Oh, it felt heavenly.

You were really liking your dream.

You finally decided that it was time to open your eyes, but you couldn't.

Well, one of them at least.

It's then you feel it.

The pain.

The uncontrollable ba bump ba bump you feel throbbing behind your right eye. The pain was cursing through you, your blood, your systems. You felt it everywhere.

It was then you realized that the pain was coming from another source as well. Your back.

Kick

You feel the tip of his expensive shoes barrel into your spine again and again as you cry out, begging him to stop.

"Jackson please!" you plead, trying to scramble your way into a sitting position before your boyfriend can do any more damage.

But you struggle, because you forgot about the fracture of your right wrist. "Shit" you hiss out, a whole new round of pain surging through your body from putting pressure on that one limb.

It was then that Jackson stopped, towering over your broken figure, grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them above your head, so you had no way to escape his hold. "You know damn well what you did y/n." he says venomously.

He looks at you, his gaze so full of pure hatred and jealousy. His eyes scan over your broken body. Bruises covering your stomach and back, some on the inside of your thighs. The marks make him feel a sense of pride. He was winning.

You shake your head, tears coming down her cheeks so quickly you weren't sure if you would ever be able to get them to stop.

"N-no I don't. I'm sorry Jackson. I-I'm sorry f-for whatever I did." you stutter out, choking on your own words as you feel the lump in your throat grow more and more form trying to keep your sobs at bay.

"You lying whore!" he exclaims, roughly pulling your wrists from the headboard and pushing you to the ground, causing you to let out another cry of pain as you land on the fresh bruises on your back.

Your whimpers, trying to crawl into the corner of the room, bringing your knees up to your chest and putting your head between them, hoping that this was just a nightmare.

You hoped that the last year was just a nightmare, and you had just yet to wake up.

But to no luck, it wasn't. It was reality. The cruel, cruel reality that you lived in.

"Who the hell is emailing you y/n? Huh! Who the fuck is Jongin?" he sneers at you, referring to the email he saw on your computer earlier that morning.

Oh no. You think to yourself. How could you be so stupid? How could you forget to delete the email?

You swallow, trying to get your breathing under control. Jackson didn't like it when you stuttered. "H-he is a new guy from my Strategic Communication class. He wanted to get to know everybody better, so he sent out some emails." you tell him, speaking to him the truth.

A new guy named Jongin had just changed colleges and he was just trying to be nice to everyone introducing himself. You liked him, he was nice.

Your boyfriend scoffs at you, looking at you like you were a piece of trash on the side of the road. "Is that so y/n? Are you sure it wasn't just you he's trying to get to know?" he leans in closer to your face, watching with a victorious glint in his eyes as he sees you try to form his thoughts.

"Y-yes." You squeak out. "H-he's nice. He's just trying to make friends, Jackson." You explain.

You watch as a new flame of anger appears in his orbs, making you curse to yourself once more.

Shit, y/n, you stupid idiot.

"Oh yeah? Is he nice, y/n?" he asks harshly, picking you up off the floor and throwing you into their bed, the blue comforter bouncing up and down as you do too.

You couldn't believe that there was a time when hearing your name roll off his tongue was a peaceful feeling. Like everything way okay when he said your name. Now, it was like someone lured ice cold water every time he spoke the letter words.

"Is he so nice you want to screw him? Huh y/n? Do you want to screw Jongin?" he picks you up from the bed and pushes you into a wall, knocking the wind out of you.

"N-no!" You yell out, squeeze your eyes shut as you cross your arms over your body.

"Good y/n, because you are mine. You hear me?" he asks, physically dragging you into the living room. "Mine." he hisses at you.

Please let me wake up. Please let me wake up.

He practically throws you across the room because of how harshly he shoved you. You crash back onto the floor, falling into a coffee table.

Crack.

Your ribs.

"Look at what you've done now!" he roars, referring to the books and papers now spread out all over the floor of the room. He walks over to you again, grabbing your waist, ignoring how you wince at his harsh movements, "the motherfucking mess you are making.

"No matter where you go or who you are with," He grips your hair, "you will always be mine."

"I'd rather die," you say, quietly.

Jackson cocks an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

You feel another kick in your stomach, leaving your breathless.

Another kick in your stomach.

Kick.

And one last kick to your face.

He kneels in front of you and takes you by the neck. "Then fucking die, slut." He stands up and shoves you to the ground, leaving you in a ball of your own pain, crying your silent tears.

When you arrive at the hospital, the doctor sees that you need a chest tube. Other doctor see no neuro deficits, but ask they ask you to move your fingers or toes. You don't respond, a doctor figures out that you can't hear them due to barotrauma. They also realize they have to reduce your jaw dislocation in order to intubate you. It is painful, but it is also necessary.

They also spot all the injuries you have all over your body and when they make an echo, they discover one of your kidneys is pinched. You need surgery immediately.

You wake up after surgery. You see Jaehyun. He tries speaking to you, but you can't hear him.

You wake again, much later. You see Jaehyun and two cops. Jaehyun smiles and says something to you, but you still can't hear.

You wake up again. You see Jaehyun arguing with someone over the phone. He then stares at you and hangs his phone. He approaches you and sits on the armchair next to the bed and holds your hand.

You make signals asking for his phone and he hands it to you. You open the notes app.

Police?

Jaehyun reads it and nods. He then writes.

They are coming today to take pictures. Evidence.

You sigh and nod.

Weeks later, your hearing is back and you're discharged from the hospital. The lawyer who's taking your case tells you the judge has not found Jackson guilty of assault and domestic violence.

He paid millions to get away with it.

You cry.

ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛ

Doyoung puts away the pictures the police took of you as evidence. It 's too much. Bruises all over your body, your jaw wired shut, the subconjunctival hemorrhage in your right eye and the stitches of the surgery you went through.

He feels disgusted. Not by the injuries, but because how would someone hurt anyone like this? Hurt you like this?

He stands up, walking in circles gripping his fist.

Oh lord. He wants to hurt Jackson.

End him.

For fuck 's sake. He is so stupid.

Doyoung returns to where you are and kneels in front of you. He looks right into your eyes and holds your hands. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I should have never doubted your feelings. I am an idiot. I love you.”

You furrow your eyebrows and a tear comes out of your eye. Doyoung is quick and wipes it. He strokes your cheek, staring at you. “I’m gonna make him pay, y/n. He will never come close to you ever again. You have my word.”

You burst into tears and he tugs you to his arms, you snuggle your face into his neck, sobbing. He rubs your back with one hand and places his other hand on your head. “I’m sorry, y/n.” He whispers to your ear.

“Just hold me,” you whimper and he does as you say.

Taeyong sits next to you and places a hand on your thigh. “y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“Just say the word,” He looks at you.

You sigh and shake your head. “Not the easy out. I want him in jail.”

“Then we’ll get him in jail,” Doyoung plants a kiss on your forehead.

Doyoung eyes Taeyong and nods slightly. They know how to handle Jackson and they will do it on their way.

#doyoung smut #doyoung imagine #doyoung x reader #doyoung nct #taeyong imagine #taeyong smut #taeyong x reader #dotae smut #taeyong nct #nct 127 smut #nct 127 imagine

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angelswithcigarettes · 4 years ago

Text

[If you know me - you don’t]

“Let me be your first(s)”

Summary: The many "firsts" Spencer shares with Morgan.

Warnings: Sexual Content

Relevant Tags: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drinking

Pairing: Derek Morgan/ Spencer Reid

Word Count: 5538

Chapters: 4/4

First Chapter:

"Happy Birthday baby boy." Morgan places a coffee cup on Spencer's desk, a "23" scribbled on with a marker.

"How did you-"

"C'mon you really think I would forget your first birthday with us?"

"Well I never-"

"Garcia has every birthday on the team marked in her computer one day prior it will send out a notification and she told me."

"Oh." Embarrassed Spencer looks down.

"Hey none of that, no hiding your beautiful face today." With two fingers under his chin he makes him look into his eyes. "We are going to have some fun tonight." Confused Spencer avoids Morgan's eyes. He still hasn't gotten used to him always flirting and touching people and he had a conversation with JJ about it who said it's just who he is and that he would stop if Spencer would ask him to.

"What do you mean?"

"You ever been to a strip club?"

"Wha-No!" His voice cracks slightly in astonishment over the question. "No."

"Today will be a lucky day."

"I don't-"

"Nah, the night is on me just the two of us having a little fun with some ladies."

"I appreciate the gesture but that is really not my thing-"

"You are not getting out of this." He gave in in frustration over the day when he realizes that no one else had remember his birthday and if Morgan really had thought this was a good present he also didn't want to seem ungrateful. "That's what you are wearing?" He asks sceptical looking down at Spencer.

"I mean yeah-"

"No. No. Go change and don't dare to come out with a tie again." When he did he was wearing a red yellow striped T-shirt under a black vest tugged into a black Jean's and that is probably the best it will get Morgan thought. "You ready?"

"It's not like I have never seen stripper before you know? I am from Vegas I just never went into a strip club with the purpose of watching half nacked women."

"We can go to a male one if that's what you prefer." Morgan jokes having one arm around Spencer's neck.

"No-no the women one is fine."

"Alright." The first humiliation starts at the entrance when the bouncer asks Morgan why he thinks it's a good idea to drag his fourteen year old cousin with him into a strip club. "Well Dr. Spencer Reid here is going to celebrate his birthday." He says while Spencer shyly holds up his ID.

"Right" Not in the mood to argue with them he let's them through and they are met with the loud music and crowd of a Friday night.

"Let's get you something to drink."

"I don't drink."

"You do tonight pretty boy." They stand at the bar for a moment and Morgan can see the hesitation before Spencer drinks so he stops him. "You don't have to drink. I am sorry."

"No I just- I never drank alcohol before. I don't know what- you know what it is like."

"Do you want to try it tonight?"

"I am not sure."

"I will look out for you nothing will happen. I won't drink enough that I can't okay?"

"Yeah" Only now Spencer dares to take a sip and then screws his face making Morgan laugh and take the glass out of his hands.

"We will try something sweet first." After another shot and half a cocktail that seemed to have enough sugar in it to satisfy Reid they go over to a table and Spencer is uncomfortable playing with the money in his pocket that Morgan put in there.

He had seen all these men do it, just taking the bill and paying the stripper with it and it looks so easy on them but Spencer can't bring himself to do it and instead looks to the ground, his feet shoving over the ground until a blue Highheels came into his sight and he looked up to a women placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You look like a sweet boy,what's your name?"

"Spencer" Her hand grabs his chin and he takes his hands out of his pockets placing them on his legs. The cold of her rings meets his neck as her other hand touches him and he can feel a cold shower running down his back. "I am sorry. I don't- They are nine female stripper for every one Male stripper. I don't know why I said that." She chuckles ones and tugs a strain behind his ear and then she let's her hand guide over his chest and moves back again turning around ones and winking at Morgan and the moment she had stopped touching him Spencer felt wrong in this place again and it didn't take long to Morgan to realise that something is wrong with him.

"Thank you beautiful." He hands her a decent amount of money and then squads down in front of Spencer his hands grabbing Spencer's knees. "Look at me. Eyes on me." Spencer did thankful to find something he can look at without feeling bad or like he is staring. "What do you say we change to a normal bar?"

"Please I don't like it here."

"Alright come on pretty boy."

Spencer got suspicious when Morgan gave an address to the taxi driver that is a little bit out of the city when they could have just went into a bar across the street but chose to stay quiet until he can feel the tears in his eyes, caused by unsettling feeling in his stomach and the fear of were they are going.

He hardly knows Morgan, they only have spend four months on cases together and he didn't expect to be drinking and now Morgan wants to take him to a bar, he never went to a bar before to drink, only with the whole team and he had left with Gideon shortly after drinking one glass of Sprite.

Morgan doesn't notice him spiraling, he is to focused on his phone were he is in contact with JJ who is over at Hotch's house, waiting for them to arrive. Spencer had off handedly mention to her that he didn't have a real birthday party since he was seven.

The team doesn't know it was because his father would want to integrate his son into the neighborhood and would throw him those parties and he had loved it but when he left his mom didn't think much about this society standard and left it with a special breakfast and a new book. If she was healthy enough.

He only notices when they are standing infront of Hotch's house and he pays the driver and walks around the house but realizes Reid doesn't follow him.

And on a second thought he knows why,the house that already is held in dark colours doesn't have one light shining out the windows and he had told Spencer they would go to a bar. Not this. With a sympathetic smile he opens his door. "Spencer?"

"This isn't a bar."

"No" He realizes how afraid Spencer must be when he catches him, for a short second, flinching with his hand trying to get his gun and then remembers he isn't carrying it. "I am sorry, it's a surprise we have with the team. We are at Hotch's" Spencer hesitates, having himself so worked up in the worry that he isn't sure that he isn't lying. "That's his car, and that's JJ's and if you look through the windshield you will see Gideon's car."

Ashamed Spencer gets out but Morgan doesn't judge him and instead lifts his head by his chin taking his palm and wiping the tears away. "These have to go and you need your acting skills to at least look a little bit surprised."

"I am sorry."

"No,don't be. I rather live with the knowledge that you are careful when it comes to stuff like this than having you walk in some dark house with some strange."

"You are not a stranger." Morgan huffs ones and then let's Spencer calm down before walking in front of him into the house, before the lights turn on and the team is standing there,a cake and presents on the table, garlands and balloons hanging from the ceiling.

A little bit overwhelming Spencer plays with his watch and then smiles when they finished the song and they take notice of his troubles, and take their voices down a little bit, being less rushing and taking their time in between congratulating him.

It has it's perk working with profilers.

Shortly the alcohol gets out and they start drinking and Gideon eyes Spencer questioning but Morgan steps in, having his hands on Spencer's shoulder and assuring him that he will keep his promise and look out for him.

Spencer doesn't get drunk maybe strongly typsi and Morgan walks him up to his apartment. "How do you feel?"

"Dizzy,its not what I thought it would be."

"You won't have to do it again if you don't like." Morgan takes the couch that night after Spencer falls asleep, not appreciating how dizzy he feels ones he tries closing his eyes. If he threw up in the middle of the night,Morgan wouldn't tell the others.