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okay-j-hannah · 1 month ago

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The Kickstart | Smosh 💛

Smosh : Multishot

Spencer Agnew x Reader

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: slow burn, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, Spencer pining, reader is struggling in LA, not a lot of money, multiple jobs, poor studio apartment, inconsiderate boyfriend, lots of musical theatre talk, reader insert but a few things are already decided (last name is Bennett, favorite drink is Diet Coke, love the colors blue and green, artist, theatre nerd, etc.)

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: I haven't written for Smosh in years... but the current cast and crew has me sucked back into the fandom. And I am sorely in need of more Spencer content 😭

I was initially inspired by this incredibly well done fic "Late Night" by @simpingsavant Please give it a read because it's a masterpiece.

Part 1: The Kickstart {You Are Here}

Part 2: Mama Bear

It was nearly three in the morning. The witching hour, you think with a smile. There was a light flickering near the fountain drinks. You lean against the checkout counter, thumbing through an aged script.

You memorize the cue lines that signal when quick changes are supposed to happen between scenes. The current musical you are working on is Hairspray.

Going through the script and your production notes really help pass the time.

The small rinky-dink gas station you manage is your reluctant home most nights. It wasn’t your favorite place, but it helped with the bills. Trying to make a living on production design for musicals isn’t the money maker you hoped it would be in LA.

You barely made anything doing hair and makeup for the community theatre. But it was something you loved.

And wouldn’t you rather be doing something you love than being miserable in a high paying corporate job?

Sure, you think.

It had been nearly eight months since you started working at this gas station. The owner was as rinky-dink as the store itself, speaking in short, to the point sentences and avoiding eye contact. There were only two gas pumps out front that rarely attracted customers.

The biggest commodity are the cheap drinks and snacks inside. Many stop by for something quick on their way to and from work.

Normally working the night shifts from 10pm to 6am, you are quick to notice any regulars. Not many people are awake at this time of night, let alone on their way to the gas station for a drink.

The bell sounds above the door as a familiar face enters. It was Glasses.

That’s what you called him after seeing him for the third time in a week, back when you first started working here.

He usually came in late like this, looking exhausted. He has curly dark hair, gold rimmed glasses, and some scruff. Today he’s dressed in jeans rolled up at the cuffs, brown boots, and a gray sweatshirt.

He gives you an awkward, close-lipped smile as he passes. You watch him go for the drink fridges. Energy drinks are his specialty, maybe the occasional coffee or breakfast sandwich. He always bought them two at a time, taking the slight discount for buying a duo instead of a single.

About every other week he’s there three to four of those days. You’ve always wondered why – especially when he always looked so tired when he came in.

But you’ve never had a conversation that’s lasted longer than the cordial exchanges.

“Hello,” you say.

“Hello,” he replies with his awkward smile.

You scan his drinks, Mountain Dew Kickstarts like always. “Find everything you need?”

“Yep.”

The computer beeps. “That’ll be $8.56.”

“All right.” He taps his card on the machine in front of him.

“Would you like your receipt?”

“No thanks.” He grabs his two cans.

“Have a nice night.”

“You too.”

It had been like that for maybe six of those eight months. After that, your curiosity began to plague you. The next time he came in, you watch him browse for a Kickstart and a breakfast muffin.

Saying hello to him had felt routine. But it was clear that you both recognized each other. So you decide to say something a little more than usual.

“Getting breakfast a little early?” you joke in your quiet voice.

He smiles, pulling out his wallet. “I just haven’t eaten anything all night.”

“Sounds like a rough night. That’s $9.34.”

He scans his card. “It has been.”

With him looking down at the keypad, you take the time to look at the circles under his eyes. “You should try the croissant sandwiches. Much better than stale muffins.”

He nods his head, “Next time. Thanks.”

You watch him walk away, still at a loss as to why he’s always in there this late at night.

A couple days later he’s walking in and giving you a wave. You smile at him as he makes for the drinks again.

He’s dressed in those same jeans and combat boots. Now he wears a t-shirt with a denim jacket. If you had friends to talk to, you’d want to tell them how Glasses loves to wear the same jeans and jackets all the time.

He comes to the counter and clears his throat.

You scan his drinks and a breakfast sandwich. A croissant sandwich.

You chuckle, “You won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m counting on it,” he says, tapping his card against his hand while he waits.

“Haven’t eaten anything all night again?”

He hums, shrugging his shoulders, “Felt peckish.”

“Do you want your receipt?”

“No, that’s fine. Have a good night.”

You throw the balled up receipt into the garbage bin beside you. “You too.”

You’d love to tell a friend that Glasses seems shy. He seems nice.

A few weeks later, you’re drawing sketches for costume designs. You were doing Shrek The Musical at the community theatre. Papers were full of drawings depicting a white rabbit, a wicked witch, a wolf in granny clothes, and fairies with colorful makeup.

You were humming one of the songs when Glasses came in with a yawn. His eyes search for you and he waves, “Good evening.”

“Good night,” you say sarcastically.

He grabs his drinks and comes to the counter with wandering eyes. You try to move your sketches and pencils out of the way.

“Sorry,” you say, “That’ll be $8.56.”

He scans his card, but keeps looking at your art. “You draw those?”

“Yeah,” you say, abashedly. “Little project.”

“They’re really good,” he pops open one of the drinks and takes a sip. “Are they just for fun, or…?”

You shyly pull out a drawing of a person in a dragon scale costume. “They’re for the musical I’m a part of. Down at the local theatre.”

“That’s cool,” his face lights up.

Something warm tickles your stomach. You were actually having a normal conversation with Glasses.

“Are you the costume designer?”

“Assistant,” you bow your head. “I’m head of hair and makeup.”

He nods, clearly interested. “Have you been a part of production teams much?”

“For years,” you smile, “I love theatre. I’ve done almost everything. Acting, costumes, set design, lighting – you name it.”

He pockets the other energy drink in his jacket pocket. “Sounds like fun. Have a nice rest of your night.”

“Thank you, you too.”

If you had friends, maybe you’d tell them that Glasses might become a friend. The only person you have to text is your new boyfriend Aaron. But he wasn’t a fan of nonsense texts – texts that were unnecessary.

A few weeks go by, now seven months into your job at the gas station. Glasses was still making his almost daily visits. You caught him standing outside the window for a minute before coming in.

You have confusion in your face, but a smile on your lips. “You okay there?”

He raises his eyebrows and talks as he walks to the fridges. “What do you mean?”

“Was there something on that window or were you just making sure you weren’t a vampire?” At his knitted brows, you continue, “You know… checking that you still had a reflection.”

Heat floods your face at the poor attempt at a joke, but Glasses laughs, nonetheless. “I might be nocturnal, but no, I’m not a vampire.”

You smile, admiring him walking towards you. His fluffy curls were sticking out from beneath a green hat. In white embroidery it says, Smosh.

“How were auditions?” he asks, getting his card ready.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Good. I think we’ll have a good cast.” Earlier that week he asked about the latest Hairspray script that was on your counter. “The quick changes will be fun.”

He clears his throat, having paid but still standing at the register.

“I’m sorry, did you want your receipt?” you ask suddenly. “Normally you don’t so I stopped asking.”

“No, no – sorry. I’ve been trying to find some clever segway to introduce myself. But we’ve been seeing each other for months and it feels strange to do it now.” He rubs his forehead, struggling to maintain eye contact with you while he talks. “I mean, it’s not like I have a nametag like you.”

You look down at your chest to see (Y/N) printed on the laminated tag. “That’s true.”

He takes a deep breath and extends his hand. “I’m Spencer.”

You take his hand. It was very warm. “(Y/N).”

He smiles, “Nice to officially meet you.”

Maybe you’ll tell Aaron that Glasses has a new name now. Spencer.

One night at two in the morning, you were asked to do inventory while another employee managed the registers. It was strange to have a coworker with you on night shifts, but when things need to be restocked, it took a team.

You use a box cutter to break through packages, pulling out chip bags and candies. You roll them out on a dolly. Plastic wrappers crinkling as you restock shelves, you don’t notice who Eric at the counter is talking to.

But then a pair of glasses peek around the corner. “Hey!”

You smile wide, “Spencer!”

He smiles back, “I was worried when I didn’t see you at the registers.”

“Yeah, they need two of us here when we do inventory,” you shake a bag of doritos before putting it on the shelf. “How was your day?”

He sighs, opening his drink, “Long. Shooting weeks always are.” He tells you about the online comedy group he’s a part of. It was called Smosh.

“Oh, you’ve worn some merch that has that logo on it,” you say, moving a box out of the way.

Spencer nods, “Gotta promote whenever we can.”

“How large is the group?”

“Well, it’s more of an entertainment company. We have a huge production team and a cast. We film content for four different channels.”

“That’s impressive.”

He suddenly dips down to help hand you boxes of candy. “I guess. I think most of LA are internet personalities in one way or another.”

“I’m not,” you say quietly. “It is impressive.”

You learn about his directorial position on one of the channels. Being a head producer, he has a lot of sway on that content. You commend him on the responsibility, and he seems pleased, if not a little embarrassed.

He excuses himself not long after that.

You head towards the registers to restock the candy on the counters. Eric is there giving you a telling smile.

“What are you looking at?” you ask.

The middle-aged man scoffs, “That guy came in with the biggest smile on his face, but then he realized I was the one standing at the counter and he looked so disappointed.”

“I’m sure he was just in need of an energy drink.”

Eric shakes his head, “It wasn’t me that he wanted to see.”

Now in the present, you stand at the counter while Spencer leans against the other side. You had just revealed the fact that you have a boyfriend.

“H-How long have you been together?” he asks with much more nervousness than before.

You scrunch your nose in thought, “About two months. It’s been great though. He gives me rides to work and everything.”

“You don’t have a car?” Spencer asks, paying for his snacks.

You throw the receipt away, “No. I was taking the bus before I met him.” Noticing the awkwardness enter Spencer’s face, you say, “Rough I know. But I manage.”

“It’s nice of him.”

“Yeah, especially because I don’t really make enough to get a car right now.”

“Isn’t that why you have this job on top of the musical theatre stuff?” he offers you a package of your favorite candy.

It makes you smile, “Sure. But rent isn’t helping with my savings. Living paycheck to paycheck.”

“Does Aaron drive you to theatre too?”

Your gaze falls from Spencer’s, eating a piece of candy to give you some time before answering. “No, he’s not a big fan of musicals.”

Spencer scrunches his brow. Unsure of what was stepping over the line with this new friend of his, he tiptoes. “He won’t drive you because he doesn’t like theatre?”

“It’s kind of inconvenient asking him to come get me late after rehearsals. I shouldn’t ask for so much, he’ll think I’m dating him just to have a cab driver.” You snicker at your joke, but Spencer doesn’t seem to think it’s very funny.

He drinks from his can when another customer enters the store. That always meant he would excuse himself so you could get back to your job.

You start to expect Spencer each week. You wait for when you know a filming week was at Smosh. During that time, Spencer would visit for his necessary caffeine. He always stops to talk to you for a few minutes before leaving.

You always feel bad since he normally came in exhausted from work. He denies himself sleep just to spend a few more minutes with you.

It takes a couple more weeks, but he starts to stay even when more customers come in. He just steps to the side and waits for you to ring the customer up.

Then he comes back to continue your conversation.

“So do you prefer acting or production?”

You share the snacks that he’s purchased. “Production, for sure. I kind of developed stage fright a couple years ago. But I do miss being on stage sometimes.”

He looks at you while you talk. He’s an active listener. He zeros in on your face while you speak, ensuring he doesn’t miss anything.

But when he speaks, he tends to look elsewhere. “Did something happen?”

You shrug, “I just get nervous being in the spotlight now. I don’t like the attention much.”

“I get that. I haven’t always loved being on camera. It’s taken finding the right company to do it.”

You nod, “That sounds nice. To be so comfortable in the workplace. And to have everyone there as friends.”

He agrees, “Though a lot of them like to crack jokes about not seeing each other outside of work.” He chuckles as he remembers something. “It’s great being a part of a company where the goal is comedy content. You get to have fun with your friends every day.”

“And you’ve been there for so long,” you say, “You’ve definitely earned your place.”

“Thank you,” he feels warm around the collar, “It’s been hard at times, but well worth it now.”

You suddenly feel a warmth in your cheeks. “You know, um… my show opens next week. If – If you’re interested in seeing it. I’ll be there every night.”

“Helping Edna quick change into her fancy 60s outfit,” he smiles kindly. His eyes are soft and considerate as he watches your nervous gesture. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

You brighten, “Great!”

A week later you’re in the wings of the stage, sweaty with the heat the spotlights generate. A headset adorns your head, microphone near your mouth. You’re readjusting a costume onto a rack from the last quick change.

The last number of the show was currently playing: You Can’t Stop the Beat. You whisper the lyrics and subtly follow along with the choreography.

It was safe to do so with the curtains hiding you from the audience.

You listen to the applause as the cast bows. You imagine them gesturing to the tech booth, acknowledging the production team behind the scenes. You give a little imaginary bow to the audience.

Waiting in the dressing rooms, you help organize the costumes and clean up the makeup counters. Cast members thank you for your help, carrying massive bouquets and presents from the crowd.

You compliment the flowers and give your praise to their performances. It’s forty minutes later, having put the makeup and hairspray away, preening the wigs, and spraying down the character shoes, that you find your purse and head towards the front doors.

Outside on the sidewalk you’re met with an unexpected surprise.

Spencer.

He stands under the white lights of the theatre logo. He adorns his usual rolled up jeans and band t-shirt, denim jacket over it. His curls look extra defined tonight and in his hand are three colorful carnation flowers.

“Spencer? What are you…? I didn’t know you were coming tonight!” You walk towards him and for the first time since meeting him – you hug him.

Arms around his shoulders, smelling his clean, fresh scent. He seems timid to hug you back.

“Well… I did say I would come see the show.”

You shake your head. “I would have come out sooner if I knew you’d be here. I’m so sorry to keep you so long.”

“It’s no problem,” he offers the flowers. “Worth the wait.”

You give a smile, but your face is still regretful, “You shouldn’t have. I wasn’t even on stage.”

“Of course you were,” he says, “Your costumes and wigs and makeup were there.”

You hold the few flowers, completely endeared by him. “Thank you. This is really kind of you. You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs, shoving his empty hands into his pockets. “It’s kind of weird seeing you out of uniform. I’ve never seen you out of that polo and black pants.”

“Well, stage crew attire isn’t much different,” you laugh, gesturing to the long sleeve black shirt and leggings. “What did you think of the show?”

“It was excellent,” he says, “It’s such a fun show. I bet you loved teasing those wigs and picking out costumes with those crazy patterns.”

“And the quick changes?”

“I counted like 38 seconds,” he laughs, “That’s super impressive.”

You smile warmly, though the night air had a chill to it. “Thank you for coming, Spencer. It means a lot.”

“Of course,” he steps away, “I’ll see you later.”

You start to walk down the sidewalk, opposite the parking lot. Spencer suddenly has a thought. He runs up to you.

“Wait, how are you getting home?”

“Oh, I walk to the bus stop and take that.”

He looks down at your crossed arms trying to keep you warm. “Aaron really won’t come get you?”

“I don’t want to inconvenience him.” You wave away the look of worry in his face. “I do this every night, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Yeah, but… you shouldn’t have to.”

“Have a good night, Spence.”

You’ve never used a nickname with him before. He huffs a little before following your retreating figure, “Then let me give you a ride.”

You keep walking, “Really, Spence – I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” he says, “But let me help. I want to give you a ride. It’s cold.”

Your fingers feel like ice against your arms. You look in the direction of the bus stop before looking at the pleading in Spencer’s face.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

Relief floods his expression, “Great, this way.”

He guides you to his car and even opens the passenger door for you. It’s a kind gesture that you aren’t used to. He turns on the heater and your seat warmer before exiting the parking lot.

You direct him to your poor excuse of a studio apartment. The pair of you speak pleasantries the entire way. The lighting design of the musical, the strategic sets that move quickly, the realistic prop hairspray, and things like that.

He didn’t notice how you cower in the seat. He thinks it’s just because you’re still cold.

“Is the gas station good about changing your schedule so you can be there on show nights?”

“Yes, they’re so kind about it,” you say, playing with your fingers. It was a nervous habit of yours – pinching, rubbing, and picking at them. “I switch with a usual day shifter.”

Spencer nods, “I – I’ve missed seeing you at our usual time.”

“Our usual time?” you laugh, like your gas station hangouts were scheduled playdates.

He smiles, embarrassed, “Yeah, I mean… your customer service is so excellent. How am I supposed to get a Kickstart when you’re not there?”

“You know there are dozens of other gas stations and convenience stores around here.”

“Yeah, but they don’t have you.”

Something beats loudly in your chest. It sends a waterfall of warm, fizzing fireworks into your stomach.

Your apartment building is in a scary part of LA – but it’s what you can afford. Aaron was hinting at moving in together just for the ease of splitting the rent. It did sound appealing when you could actually save a little for a car.

“Thanks again for the ride,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt.

He looks nervous again, “Anytime. And… maybe we could exchange numbers – in case you need another ride from the theatre?”

You look at him warmly, “I’m not going to ask you to come grab me when you could be in a filming week.”

He shrugs his shoulders, “I would still come.”

With a small smile, you take out your phone and open a new contact. In the name slot you put ‘Glasses.’ Spencer switches your phones and puts his number in.

You smile wider as you put your name in the contact and put a little theatre emoji after it.

“Glasses?” he asks, handing you back your phone.

“Yeah, that’s…” you brush warm fingers with him as you accept your phone. “That’s what I called you when I noticed you as a regular at the gas station. I didn’t know your name, so I gave you one in my head.”

He seems overly please about that. He has to look away from you and smile. “That’s funny, I like it. What would you do if you saw me without glasses? It would be a whole new identify to you.”

“Very Clark Kent of you,” you laugh.

He suddenly removes his gold rimmed glasses and looks at you all serious. “You’re right, during the day I’m fighting crime with the Justice League and at night I refuel at the gas station.”

“Superman refuels with energy drinks?” you laugh, causally reaching over to snatch his glasses. “I don’t know if Krypton would approve.”

“No, no – Kryptonians thrive off extra energy. Sun energy and now caffeine energy.”

His eyes are a dark green-gray color. Maybe that’s just because it’s dark outside. But you can’t decide what color they actually are. They’re definitely not brown.

You raise the glasses to your eyes and look at him. “I didn’t realize Superman was so blind.”

“It’s not that bad,” Spencer laughs, looking at you fondly.

You return the glasses, “Drive safe. Thanks again for the ride. Text me when you get home safely.”

He waves you off, waiting until you’re able to unlock your door before driving away.

Inside your apartment, you look at the chipped walls and cracked ceiling. The musty, uncomfortable couch in front of the small tv atop a table you got free off a lawn. To the right is the tiny kitchen with only one counter and no dining table.

Rummaging through a cabinet, you find a tall plastic cup to put your carnation flowers into.

The bathroom is straight ahead, where you go into to get ready for bed.

The porcelain of the tub and sink have rust stains around the handles. The tile of the floor is broken in places and the dim light above is giving off an ugly yellow glow.

You open the mirror cabinet to grab what you need to brush your teeth. Brand names are all obscure as you did get the supplies from a dollar store down the street.

If you had a little more money, you would buy a face wash and face towels. But the essentials were good enough.

You cross the hall to get to your bed. Being a studio apartment, there isn’t a separate room for your bed. It lies on the floor behind the tv stand and in front of the only window in the whole place.

The queen mattress was the one thing you spent a little more money on. It doesn’t have a headboard or support to keep it off the ground, but it was comfortable and had nice periwinkle blue sheets.

You change into sage green pajamas with little daisies on them, climbing into your bed and fumbling for the phone charger next to the mattress.

As you plug your phone in, a text message comes in from Glasses.

“Just got home. You did amazing tonight! See you later this week.”

You heart his message and give him a thank you in reply.

~~~

The end of the week is approaching and you’re at the theatre again. Headset on, you hang in the tech booth, grabbing a few more safety pins, mic tape, and alcohol wipes.

The oversized fanny pack you love to wear across your chest is open and full of supplies. You stuff the microphone items inside, watching the stage from the view of the booth.

Tracy was beginning the song Welcome to the 60s. You turn on the microphone by your mouth.

“Head to the wings for quick change pretty please.”

A muffled reply comes through the headset, “On the way, (Y/N).”

You leave the tech booth and walk out of the audience room to the side entrance of the wings. Waiting on stage right, you hold Edna’s new dress for the song. Two stage crew members help by holding accessories and waiting to take off Edna’s current costume.

“Go mama, go, go go!”

Edna comes running off to stage right, tossing their purse to the stage crew member. They wiggle out of their simple purple plaid dress and step right into the sparkly pink dress you have waiting open on the floor.

You pull up the fabric as you hear the lyrics continue on stage.

“Don’t let nobody try to steal your fun, ‘cause a little touch of lipstick never hurt no one.

The future’s got a million roads for you to choose, but you’ll walk a little taller in some high-heeled shoes.”

You zip up the dress and readjust the mic pack on the suit strap beneath. Stage crew throws a new necklace on and a sparkle to the lip makeup. The other stage crew snugs a fuller wig onto the actor, starting to pin it down onto the wig cap. You hand a feather boa to the actor and help pin the new wig in.

“Come on out, hear us shout. Mama, that’s your cue!”

Just in time, you think, sending the actor back onto stage. It always felt like a close call, but the audience shouting their surprise and praise always felt like a reward.

You smile at the stage crew members and wave them off to help with set pieces. You then take the old purple plaid costume to the rack to keep it from wrinkling on the floor.

While in the dressing rooms you meet the actress playing Penny Pingleton, “Hey, sis – I noticed your mic tape not sitting so good on your cheek.”

She smiles worriedly, the action making the mic tape unstick from her face and the microphone dangle from her ear. “Just a little.”

You pull out an alcohol wipe and roll of tape from your pack. “There might just be too much makeup in the way.” You wipe the spot where the microphone sits on her cheek, fanning your hand to make the alcohol dry.

Cutting two pieces of tape, you line the microphone and stick it in place. The actress keeps her face straight, letting it adhere.

“Thanks, (Y/N).”

“Anytime.” You leave the dressing room to find the man playing Seaweed. His mic belt kept twisting beneath his costume.

You track him down and use safety pins to secure the mic belt to his undershirt. Now as he dances and changes, the mic pack will stay in place. He shares his gratitude and runs off to the next scene.

The rest of the show goes without a hitch. The audience claps during the bows, and you give your imaginary bow to the curtains.

You begin to clean the dressing rooms when you get a text. From Glasses.

“Hey, I’m at the entrance by the concessions when you’re done in the back.”

A smile creeps onto your face. He saw the show a second time? You text back, “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

You’re quick to clean up and organize the costumes before heading out. The front was still packed with audience members trying to talk and take pictures with the cast members. You push your way towards the concessions table to see Spencer there.

He was wearing a black Creed t-shirt, arms full of silly tattoos on total display. Instead of holding flowers, he’s holding a Diet Coke from the concessions. You grin, falling out of the crowd and into him for a hug.

He catches you and hugs you back. You feel the cold soda against your shirt.

“I can’t believe you came again!” You pull away, eyes shining. You’ve never had someone to meet outside the theatre after a show before.

He extends the drink he got for you. “I told you it was an excellent show. And I wanted to bring a friend to see it too.”

A woman stands beside him, “And he misses seeing you at the gas station every day.”

You miss how Spencer nudges the woman with his elbow. You were too busy recognizing her face.

“Oh my god – oh my fucking god,” you accidentally shake the soda as you wave your hands. “You’re Angela Giarratana!”

Her brown eyes widen ridiculously, “Um… yeah, I am.”

“You were on Nerdy Prudes Must Die!”

A smile replaces the surprise on her face, “Oh, yes! I was in that show last year. You really scared me there for a second.”

Spencer licks his lips, watching the excitement on your face. “I wondered if you’d seen anything from StarKid.”

“Well, I’m a theatre kid, aren’t I?” you say, “I literally have a Hatchetfield Nighthawks letterman jacket. It’s so nice to meet you, Angela. I’m (Y/N).” You lean into a hug and Angela returns it kindly.

“I know, Spencer’s talked about you.” She steps away and compliments the show, “You did a great job with the costume design. Spencer and I were timing the quick changes.”

“I am very proud of those,” you say excitedly. “I’m sorry, I can’t stop smiling. Thank you for coming to our show. How do you know Spencer?”

Angela smacks Spencer’s arm, “We work together. He’s more behind the scenes and I’m more on camera.”

“At Smosh? That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, it’s all right,” she says, looking to Spencer and then laughing. “I gotta be careful or Spencer won’t put me in any of the videos on Games.”

You open your soda, drinking it like you were parched all night. “Are you working on any more theatre projects?”

“Eh, not at the moment,” Angela says, folding her arms. “I’m spending most of my time on Smosh sets.” She eyes you for a second before saying, “Do you have a portfolio by chance?”

“A portfolio?” you ask, wiping your lip of soda. “Of what?”

Angela rubs at her chin, “Sketches of your costume designs or makeup aesthetics. Maybe a performing arts resume. Pictures of your work on stage.”

“Um…” you pull awkwardly on the edge of your shirt. “No, not formally. But I could pull something together.”

“That’d be great. I’d love to see more of your work.”

Spencer looks incredibly pleased with himself, biting on his lips. “Would you let me give you a ride home?”

Your eyes are still shining, flitting your gaze between the two friends. “Um… yeah – that’d be great.”

All of you walk outside the theatre and towards the parking lot. Spencer is quick to open the passenger door for you and you give an awkward thank you.

Angela rolls her eyes and climbs into the back. “He’s such a doofus.” You watch Spencer walk around the hood of the car to get into the drivers side.

“A what?” you laugh.

“Just watch him – you’ll notice sooner or later.”

He climbs in and uses the seatbelt, “Watch who?”

You clear your throat, “Joey Richter. He’s another actor on StarKid Productions. He’s super talented.”

Angela snickers in the back. “What was the first thing you watched on StarKid?”

“A Very Potter Musical,” you laugh, “Way back in the day.”

“Classic,” Angela says, folding her arms and slumping into the seat. “What brought you to LA?”

You play with your fingers. “I wanted to move out of my home state. And I wanted to get more into the arts. But it’s been hard to find stable work.”

“You’re telling me. That’s the life of an actor – just jumping from one gig to another.”

“It would be the dream,” you sigh, “To do this full time. I just wish I had a little more security with it. A stable income. Not to be afraid with how I’ll afford food every month.” You awkwardly laugh as you realize you might’ve said too much. “But I’m doing all right.”

Angela agrees, “It’s hard to do well in the arts.”

“Hard to be recognized,” Spencer says. “(Y/N) already does well in the arts.”

You smile, your cheeks warm. “When is your next filming week?”

“Next week,” Angela sighs, yawning big. “Which reminds me – I gotta pick up that new pair of glasses for the office.”

“Angela is super blind and never wears her glasses during shoots,” Spencer explains. “Especially on the games channel. She’s always squinting super bad at the tv whenever we’re playing a game.”

“And I’ve been doing just fine!” Angela says loudly, “I’ve been training my eyes to see that far.”

Spencer scoffs, “Yeah, and the compilations of you squinting are growing at an exponential rate because of it.”

“Shut up!” Angela yells.

You laugh at their antics. “Are you allowed to yell at your boss like that?”

Spencer looks in the rearview mirror, “Yeah, Angela. As your superior you need to treat me with a high level of respect. I expect a full written apology and a certain amount of groveling before you’re allowed back on the Games set.” His tone was serious, but by the wide comical look in his eye, you know he’s using hyperbole as a joke.

“The heads of Smosh are actually Ian and Anthony, so don’t you even pull that superiority card!”

You keep giggling at this funnier, more outspoken Spencer. Proof that he was very comfortable with this coworker and their workplace.

It sounds nice.

~~~

Angela sits in the passenger seat now, slumped into the door and leaning her forehead against the window.

“She’s really nice.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says quietly, thoughts still lingering on you.

Angela looks over at him and smirks. “You like her so fucking much. I knew you did when you wouldn’t shut up about her at the office, but damn – seeing you with her was nearly painful.”

“What are you talking about? I’m so subtle about it.”

“So you don’t deny it!” she sits up stick straight, so fast that the seatbelt locks into place and stops her from moving anymore.

Spencer flounders, “I – what – no, that’s not what I said!”

“You totally did you little fucker! You like her so much it hurts. You like her so much your cheeks are going to burst into flames. You like her so much you can’t get a full sentence out.”

“Angela, shut the fuck up – you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

She bounces in her seat, “I’m so subtle about it. I can’t believe you. You’ve been talking about this girl for almost a year. Of course you have a crush on her!”

“Angela, I swear to god, don’t ruin this for me.”

“How would I ruin this? I want my little Spencey to have true love. You have to ask her out.”

“Yeah, genius – you’re forgetting about a teensy little detail. She has a fucking boyfriend.”

Angela freezes, sitting back. “Right.” She bites her lip, “Should have made your shot earlier.”

“And risk looking like a creep asking a girl out at a gas station? No thank you.”

“Is you considering her for the production team on Smosh an elaborate way to play the long game with her?”

“No!” Spencer grips the steering wheel, sounding like a bickering sibling. “She has real talent, and I think she deserves the position.”

Angela holds up her hands, “All right, okay.” She side eyes him with raised brows, “… but you wouldn’t be upset if she suddenly became available and you could ask her out?”

He refuses to meet Angela’s eyes. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction by answering that question.”

“You basically just answered it,” she folds her arms, “You know… I can’t promise I can keep this from Amanda. Or Shayne.”

Spencer puts his elbow against the window and holds his temple.

“Or Chanse.”

“I figured.”

Angela gave him a sympathetic smile. “For what it’s worth – I think she has a real shot. We should get her portfolio to Ian and Anthony asap.”

~~~

You’re cleaning the counters at the gas station. It’s nearing the end of your shift, almost 6am. And Spencer hadn’t visited you like he usually did. It was actually making you worried.

You had spent the last few days collecting every piece of art and experience you had to compile a portfolio. It didn’t feel like a very thick folder, but it had every ounce of hard work from the last few years.

It sits within a blue cover under the registers, waiting for Spencer to come.

“Hey!” there he comes through the door. “I’m so sorry, we had an overnight shoot, and I forgot to tell you.”

You look confused, “Spence, you didn’t have any obligation to be here. We didn’t make any plans.”

“I know, but I usually…” he looks flustered and upset. “You know, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

You smile kindly, “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

He runs a hand through his curly hair, his eyes considering you as you clean. “This early in the morning, we both look exhausted now.”

“Aw, we have matching dark circles under our eyes!” You go under the counter to grab the blue folder. “Here’s that portfolio Angela was asking about. I wasn’t sure how to get it to her, so maybe you could take it to work?”

“Um… yeah, for sure. Thanks.”

The bell above the door rings, signaling the appearance of a new customer. Usually at this point in the mornings, customers would come in for their sustenance before work. You’re focused on Spencer, unaware of the person walking towards you.

“(Y/N), let’s go.”

You turn your eyes around and see Aaron beelining for your counter.

“Oh, hey,” you say quietly, “You’re twenty minutes early.”

“And?”

This man was over six foot, broad shouldered, and unkempt. His eyes are lazy and hard pressed, his jaw tense as you contradict him.

You wring your hands, “I’m not allowed to leave until six.”

“Well, I’m here now. Let’s go.”

“That’s…” you suck in a breath. He smells like stale beer. “Let me clock out and tell my boss.” You round the counter and are quick to enter the back rooms.

Spencer stays where he is, holding the blue portfolio, and looking at Aaron with an air of disdain. It was not the first impression he was expecting when picturing your boyfriend.

“You waiting to buy something?” Aaron asks, frowning at the way Spencer’s looking at him.

“No, I was just…” he swallows. “I was just talking with (Y/N).”

Aaron squints his eyes, hands moving to his hips. “And you know her because?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“(Y/N) doesn’t have any friends.”

“Untrue, because I’m standing right here.”

Aaron flexes his jaw, “She hasn’t mentioned you before.”

“Yes, I have,” you reappear without your nametag and your purse now around your shoulder. “I’ve talked about him a couple times.” You stand beside Spencer and instantly feel the tension.

Aaron extends his hand like he wants to take yours. “If you did talk about him, I would have remembered. We’re leaving.”

You go to hold his hand, but he moves his to grab your arm, pulling you towards the door. You turn your head to mouth, “Sorry,” towards Spencer.

Spencer waves at you, his face placid and upset. He watches out the windows to see Aaron let you go on the sidewalk to get into the car yourself. He slams the car shut, neglecting his seatbelt, and squealing out of the parking lot.

Still upset, Spencer gets into his car and contemplates his next move. His instincts told him that you weren’t completely safe. He wonders if you and Aaron have moved in together yet – he was trying to pull the ‘cheaper rent’ card on that account.

It was blatantly clear that Aaron was gaslighting you. Within three minutes, he was pegged as an asshole.

Spencer pulls out his phone and sends you a text. “Nice seeing you today, hope you get some good sleep.”

He rubs hard at his face before driving off. He plans to show your portfolio to Ian and Anthony tomorrow.

~~~

You’re sitting on the couch, playing on your PlayStation, when someone knocks on the door. Enjoying the day off, you wonder what door-to-door salesman is at your house.

You open the door and a giant smile envelopes your face, “Spencer! You didn’t tell me you were going to visit.”

He take a breath, “Um… yeah, I wanted to ask you something and I couldn’t wait until you were on shift.”

You lean against the doorframe, biting your lip. “Well, I would invite you inside, but I have to warn you… it’s not very nice.”

“I don’t care,” he says matter-of-factly. “I just want to talk.”

“All right,” you say shyly, opening the door wide. You watch his reaction, already feeling embarrassment brewing in your stomach.

Spencer looks around for a second, taking in the minimal furniture and all around lackluster state of the structure. He zeros in on the old tv displaying your video game.

“Are you playing Red Dead Redemption 2?”

“Uh… yeah,” you say quietly, holding yourself and you walk into the living room. “It’s one of my favorites.”

Spencer smiles, finding it amazing to learn something new about you that he loves. “Nice horse.”

You laugh, sitting on the couch and grabbing your controller. Your cowboy character was riding a white horse in the middle of a river. “It’s the White Arabian you have to tame by Lake Isabella.”

“Is that… like the best horse or something?” Spencer comes to sit beside you, sinking into the musty couch.

“It’s the only elite Arabian horse that you can find in the wild.”

Spencer leans against the couch arm, resting his face in one hand. “I didn’t realize you were a gamer.”

“The more you know me, the more of a nerd I become.”

“Nothing wrong with that, you big nerd.”

You giggle, “What did you want to talk about?’

Spencer clears his throat. “I uh… I took your portfolio to work.”

“What did Angela think?”

“She thought it was all great. But um… a few others got a look at it too.” He shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “There’s this job opening on the production team, specifically on the Smosh main channel. But they would help with all the channels.”

You pause the game again and really look at him. “What is the position?”

“An assistant art coordinator. They help the art directors with creating sets, costumes, and character looks.”

“And what are the responsibilities?”

“They’re looking for someone to manage hair and makeup for Smosh skits and any character work on other channels. Most of the cast do it themselves, but we do need someone who specializes in prosthetics makeup. And you seem to have done that a lot in theatre. We also need someone to manage costume work – the upkeep of them.”

You swallow hard, arms slowly moving to hold yourself. “Do you know what the salary is?”

“I think it’s around 50k-60k. You’ll make between $24 - $28 an hour.”

You bite your cheek. “That’s great.” You look at your surroundings. This new job would be paying you over $10 more than you’re getting now. “Are you saying Smosh is interested in interviewing me for assistant art coordinator?”

Spencer nods his head. “That is basically what I’m saying.”

“Did you show your bosses my portfolio on purpose?” You lower your eyes but look at him through your lashes.

He takes a deep breath, stretching out on the couch. “Maybe. Maybe I thought you deserved a chance.” He looks at you seriously, “I think you’ve got some real talent, (Y/N). You should go for an interview.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll do it.”

You look at him, “I’m suddenly super nervous.” A laugh escapes you, “I… I have to talk to Aaron about it.”

“Okay,” Spencer says with an edge. He tries to be respectful. “Have you two…”

“We’ve moved in together,” you say softly. “To make bills a little easier. And… and as a trial run, I guess. I’ll be able to save up for a car now.”

Spencer has a finger on the corner of his mouth. “Do you think you could make an interview this Thursday?”

You think for a second, “I’m sure Aaron would be okay with that. I’ll just talk to him about it tonight.”

He doesn’t seem happy about that statement. But instead of saying something he might regret, he points to the PlayStation. “Have you completed this game before?”

“Oh, yeah – maybe three times,” you pick up the controller again. “This time I’m trying to complete all of the side quests before finishing the main story.”

“You should be wearing a cowboy hat while playing.”

“That would be awesome,” you laugh. You look at him with sincerity, “Thank you for looking out for me, Spence. I appreciate the chance.”

He gives a close-lipped smile. “Always.”

~~~

You step off the bus and begin to walk down the street. Using your phone, you follow the directions that Spencer gave you.

The Smosh office was right around the corner.

You enter the building, pulling on the only pair of dress pants you own. You readjust the simple blouse to show off the single diamond necklace you wear around your neck. You hope it gives you a professional first impression.

The main entrance of the building shows a little receptionist desk and plush chairs to wait in. You advance the desk while noticing behind it are many tables and folding chairs – probably for lunches.

“Hello, how are you?” a nice lady at the desk says.

You wave shakily, “I’m good. I’m here for an interview with Mr. Hecox and Mr. Padilla.”

She seems to find you saying their surnames comical judging by the little smile on her face. But she gestures to the plush armchairs behind you. “Sure, just wait there and I’ll call them.”

You turn around and notice that behind the chairs is a large window showing a large kitchen. The lunch tables and folding chairs makes more sense.

“Thank you,” you say, looking down at the name plate, “Selina.” You sit down and holding your famously large fanny pack in your lap. It gives you something to hold with your fidgeting hands.

Now sitting, you can see the wide windows behind Selina’s desk. There’s a long conference table in there with a television and speakers on a stand. There’s a phone speaker in the middle of the table for any people that are being called in remotely.

Behind the conference table is a little sitting area with a couch and armchair. A couple tables and folding chairs are in the rest of the open space. It’s probably a big room for any meetings with teams or big groups of people.

“(Y/N) Bennett?” someone asks. You jump and stand to see two men coming around the corner.

One is taller with dark, wavy styled hair, a nose ring, and cool tattoos spidering up his neck. He has a great smile and just radiates a natural energy you like.

The other is slightly shorter with brown hair in a classic cut. He has a scruffy beard and black square glasses. He gives very much dad energy with how he’s dressed.

“Yes,” you say rather breathlessly. “I’m (Y/N) Bennett.”

“I’m Anthony,” the taller says, “And this is Ian.”

You shake hands with them, Ian gesturing to the conference room. “We’ll meet in here.”

The three of you walk into the room and take seats around the long table. “It’s nice to meet you,” you say quietly, “Thank you for offering me an interview.”

“For sure,” Anthony says, leaning forward in his chair. Ian sits and immediately starts spinning back and forth. “We saw your portfolio and were really impressed with your work.”

“Thank you,” you say eagerly.

Ian clears his throat, “Could you tell us a little bit about yourself?”

“Well, I’m living here with my boyfriend. I’ve lived here for about two years. Before that I was in Nevada, just outside of Vegas. My family is still there,” you say quietly. “I’ve been a theatre and fine arts student all my life. I’ve been doing community and school productions since second grade. I have experience in both stage acting and in tech behind the scenes.”

“Which do you prefer?” Anthony asks.

You hold onto your fanny pack, “Right now, probably tech. I really enjoy designing costumes and putting characters together. Sometimes I do miss acting though.”

“What do you enjoy about art design?” Ian questions.

You focus on his chair spinning back and forth. “I’m a fan of storytelling. I think one of the greatest talents a person can have is in telling a story, no matter the platform. If I can be a part of that process, I’d enjoy every second. I want to show the story in costumes, hair, and makeup. It’s the most expressive way to describe a person or character.”

“Well said,” Anthony nods. “How would you manage a set when coordinating those things?”

“I would need to see the costume closet to know how to care for it. Organization is key, ensuring you don’t lose any pieces. You’d need a costume rack on set and some essentials, like safety pins, apparel tape, a lint roller, things like that. Makeup vanities will need to be disinfected and cleaned after use, brushes clean and organized. Prosthetics and stage makeup would need to be cared for to make sure we don’t share any germs and possible infections. The same goes for any hair and wig essentials.”

Ian seems a little lost in your explanation, just impressed that you were on top of it. “You have a fine arts degree, is that right?”

You nod, voice still quiet with the nerves. “That’s right. I got a bachelor’s in fine arts at Utah Tech University in St. George, Utah.”

“Is that close to where you’re from in Nevada?” Anthony asks.

You smile, “Yeah, it’s just over an hour away. It has a well known outdoor theatre called the Tuacahn Amphitheatre. I helped with a few tech things during summer shows. And then I acted at the college.”

“What shows did you act in?” Anthony asks further.

You play with your fingers. “We did Footloose, Addams Family, The Drowsy Chaperone, Elf: The Musical, Measure for Measure, and Much Ado About Nothing.”

Anthony whistles, “You did Shakespeare?”

“I love Shakespeare,” you say. “Much Ado About Nothing is my favorite play.”

“You are a major theatre kid,” Ian says, “Why don’t you act anymore?”

You squeeze your fanny pack, “I’ve gotten a little camera shy the last couple years. I prefer helping with quick changes and fixing any mic tape mishaps.”

You take a turn asking some questions about their art department and typical filming schedule. You learn about their expectations for the job and what the salary would be. It was exactly as Spencer had said.

Ian and Anthony share a look with each other before leaning forward. Anthony looks at you kindly, “Would you mind if we conference for a minute? We want to give you an answer today.”

You widen your eyes, “Yeah, of course. Thank you.”

The pair stand and excuse themselves to discuss things outside the room. You’re left in the swivel chair, picking at your fingers and praying that the interview went well. It would be incredible to be given a job that grants you the security and stable income you wanted.

There was a chance to have friends here. Spencer and Angela would be here. You would be storytelling in little comedy sketches. You’d be a part of a team that designed characters. You’d be in charge of ensuring faces weren’t shiny on camera, hair was in place, and clothes looked good.

This could be a home for you.

It takes almost ten minutes for Ian and Anthony to return. They come back with two others that are introduced as Cassie and Erin. They are art director and assistant art director for all productions.

You would be working beneath them should you be offered the position.

More questions are asked by the newcomers, and you find them to be very kind and artistic like yourself. You agree on many fronts, having many things in common. You would be happy to be working in their department.

Ian and Anthony both have smiles on their faces when they say:

“(Y/N), we want to formally offer you the position of assistant art coordinator. Responsible for hair and makeup, and the costumes of the cast. You’ll be our main reference for any special effects makeup and prosthetics. And you’ll help coordinate for all four channels.”

Tears start to form in your eyes. “Really?”

Cassie and Erin had faces full of sympathy. Cassie was covering her face with her hands. Erin was folding their arms and smiling.

Ian was standing their awkwardly, looking at your emotional reaction, but Anthony was quicker to ask. “Is that a yes?”

You laugh tearily, “Yes! Yes, I’d love to take the position. Thank you guys so much. I’m so excited – I don’t know what to say other than thank you.”

They all clap momentarily, Ian announcing, “Then we should call everyone to the lunchroom and make introductions.”

“We’ll have Selina bring up contracts to sign,” Anthony says, gesturing to the door. “You want to follow us?”

You nod enthusiastically, shaking hands with everyone on the way out. There are lots of thank yous and congratulations.

Cassie, Erin, and Ian go to round up cast and crew to the lunch tables you spotted earlier. Anthony goes to speak with Selina at the receptionist desk.

You exit the conference room, wiping tears away and clutching your fanny pack.

Spencer was there, pacing by the plush armchairs you sat in earlier. He has his arms crossed, one hand at his mouth, tracing his lips in a nervous gesture.

At your arrival, his head whips to you, eyes wide at the tears running down your face. He looks so afraid, unsure of how the interview went. But he might’ve misinterpreted your tears.

“(Y/N),” he says softly, “What… what did they say?”

He didn’t even notice the other people gathering at the lunch tables.

You walk towards him, still trying to wipe at your face, “Spence.”

He wants to hug you desperately then. He wants to comfort you. And he wants to hurt whoever decided to make you cry.

You throw your arms around his neck, burying your face there. He holds you back, still at a loss as to what the final verdict was.

“(Y/N)!” you hear Anthony, “Get over here!”

Spencer still holds you as you whisper to him, “I got the job.”

He pulls away and holds your waist, “What?”

“I got the job,” you whisper more excitedly. “They’re about to announce it to everyone.” You flounce away to stand at a counter with a few mini fridges, addressing a group of cast and crew. You notice Angela standing in the crowd.

She gives you two thumbs up and you wave back.

Spencer walks over just as Ian begins to talk.

“Hey, guys! We wanted to introduce our newest member of Smosh. This is (Y/N) Bennett!”

Anthony continues, “She will be working in the art department as an assistant art coordinator. She’ll be our head of character design and management of costumes, hair, and makeup.”

The crowd begins clapping and shouting their congratulations. Spencer joins them, standing next to Angela and a few others.

Unbeknownst to the pair of you, some cast and crew were sharing looks. People you hadn’t met yet were winking at each other. They knew full well how much Spencer wanted you to get this job.

You wave at everyone, “Hello! I’m so excited to meet you all and start working on these projects.”

Everyone breaks apart to introduce themselves.

Angela brings over a number of people, “Hey, (Y/N).” She says, “Here are some of our castmates.”

A tall woman in a beautiful jumpsuit says, “I’m Amanda, welcome to the Smosh family.”

“I’m Shayne,” a fit blonde man shakes your hand, “And this is Courtney.”

“Hi,” a blonde woman then shakes your hand, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Angela sticks her head in, “Those two are married.”

You nod, giggling, “Wonderful.”

“I’m Chanse,” a curly haired man says, giving you a hug, “Welcome to the team.”

A tall man with a great mustache waves, “I’m Tommy!”

“Hi!” you say, “It might take me a while to remember all your names. Thank you for being so welcoming. I’m so excited to start.”

“Spencer’s told us a lot about you,” Amanda says with a cheeky smile.

You look toward Spencer’s rosy face. “All good things, I hope.”

“Oh, definitely,” Shayne laughs, “He has nothing but praise for you.”

Spencer ignores the immediate retort that the single worst thing about you is your boyfriend. “You guys need to calm down.”

“Can we give you a tour?” Amanda asks, taking your arm, “The office has a lot of sets and rooms.”

Courtney appears on your other side, “We can show you the art department and the costumes closet!”

“And the makeup vanities,” Chanse says, already leading the way, “There are a couple by the sets, but there is one in the green room where Angela takes her naps.”

“Hey!” Angela instantly retorts, “Hey, hey, hey… uncalled for!”

Amanda scoffs, “But true.”

Angela snorts, “Yeah, sure.”

You are dragged away by Amanda and Courtney, Chanse and Angela still bickering along the way.

Spencer stays where he is with Shayne. The latter having a very knowing smirk on his face. Spencer ignores him as long as he can.

“Have you ever been told that you shouldn’t make faces because you’ll be stuck that way?”

Shayne chortles, “I’m just curious how you feel about this.”

“Clearly you already have a theory.”

“I do, based purely on the last eleven months of you pining over this girl.”

“I am incapable of pining.”

Shayne wheezes, “Yeah, sure. What do you call bringing up (Y/N) whenever possible, talking through ways to introduce yourself to her, workshopping conversations with me to get to know her…”

“All of those things were in confidence.”

“And all blatant examples of pining over a woman you’ve grown attached to!”

Spencer licks his lips, watching you being dragged by Angela towards the pods of employee desks. “I don’t… I can’t do anything about it now.”

“I’ve never seen you like this, man,” Shayne chortles. “It’s kind of throwing me off right now. You don’t talk about girls much.”

“The dating apps have been seriously lacking the last year.”

“Because you’ve been talking up some chick at the gas station,” Shayne laughs again. “I have to commend you for playing the long game.”

Spencer shakes his head, “I have to be fine with being just friends.”

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to be your best friend.

#spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew fanfiction #spencer agnew smosh #spencer agnew #spencer agnew imagine #smosh games #smosh fandom #smosh au #smosh x reader #smosh pit #smosh #okayjhannah #fandomfantasia

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purplecoffee13 · 6 months ago

Text

NFWMB - PART FIVE*

Summary: “Y/N hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what happened, but it seems like she is not the only one overthinking this time…”

Tropes: innocent!reader x boxer!harry

Wc: 3k

Warnings: smutty scenes, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk, teeny tiny bit of angst ig

A/N: I AM BACK! I finished my exams today and I hurried home to write the rest of this chapter bc I have been itching to do so for the past weeks. I will try not to put as much time in between the next chapters, sorry about that! Love you all and enjoy!!!

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

It had been three days. Three entire days since the kissing-in-the-car debacle that Y/N had participated in, and she still wasn't over it. How was she supposed to act normal at their class tomorrow? It had plagued her mind ever since she walked into her apartment that Saturday night.

All weekend, she had been contemplating different things. Saturday and Sunday, she was sure she wanted to never see his face again because she couldn't stand the embarrassment. But when Monday rolled around and re-thought everything after coming back from work, she realized that she should probably be mature and talk to him.

However, that resulted into her pacing around her room like a maniac with the phone in her hand, his number ready to dial. For the past twenty minutes she had been trying to convince herself to just press that call button and get it over with.

"C'mon..." Y/N growled to herself. She stopped in her tracks, took a deep breath, and finally called him. Her hands were sweating as the dial tone sounded over and over again, and the nerves she felt were sure to explode her stomach, but she kept breathing and waited for Harry to pick up.

The distant sound of a phone ringing took Y/N’s attention away from her own attempted call. Her heart began beating even faster as she walked towards her front door, and sure enough, when looking through her peephole, she saw Harry standing in front of her door.

As she took the lock off, Y/N broke up the call and putting her phone in her pocket. Harry's eyes were wide at the door opening all of a sudden, but he still managed to muster an awkward smile amidst his shock before he greeted her.

"Hi." He said quietly.

"Hi." She greeted back, unsure of what to do or say or feel. "uhm, what are you doing here?"

The question came out so soft, as if she was scared to ask it, not ready for the consequences his answer may bear. Maybe it was true; she had always had the feeling that her body was better at communicating her true feelings than her brain was.

"I need to talk to you." Harry said, his tone serious enough for Y/N's chest to start pressing on her, but a soft edge to it nonetheless. "Can I come in?"

She nodded, opening the door wider and letting Harry inside her apartment. He walked in and silently observed the place. Y/N felt oddly tense as she waited for him to take it all in, but he was quite quick to turn around. In the seconds that he stood there, entirely quiet, Y/N deduced the obvious: he was awaiting some instructions from her.

"Go sit on the couch, do you want something to drink?" She asked, already heading for the kitchen. Harry sat down like she told him to, but shook his head.

"No thank you, just wanna talk. Can you... sit down?" His difficulty to meet her eye and the apprehension behind his words had Y/N immediately head for the couch and sit down next to him.

"What did you want to talk about?" She asked innocently, like she wasn’t the reason this awkwardness existed in the first place.

"About last Saturday." He answered. You began to shake your head, cheeks already reddening from the shame that washed over you.

"Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Just— hold on," He interrupted her. "I said something, that night, I can't help but think that you didn't take it how I meant it. And it has been eating at me all weekend because I'd hate to be the fool who accidentally rejected you."

Harry's eyes bored into Y/N's until she couldn't take the intensity of it anymore and looked down. He leaned forward, putting his hand on her leg. She studied his fingers as they slowly caressed her skin.

"Harry, it's okay. I misinterpreted it, you don't have to make excuses to make me feel better." She shrugged her shoulders, hoping to prematurely dodge any bullets that might have ended up with her crying otherwise.

"I'm not!" He protested. "I— Y/N, look at me."

When she didn't instantly comply, Harry's fingers traced up to her chin and redirected her face towards him, forcing her to meet his gaze. His thumb slowly stroked her chin as he took in every inch of her face.

"I wanted it." He said slowly, making sure she heard every word he says. Slowly leaning in, he added: "Really bad."

His lips hovered near hers, so close it was nearly sending her into a frenzy, but far away enough for him to assess her reaction on his movements. But Y/N was an open book, a reactive person when it came to these desires. She couldn't feign disinterest as she had never felt this strongly about someone in such a perverted manner before. Harry mouth slowly curled up into a smirk.

"Can I show you how badly I wanted it?" He asked, the heat of his breath reaching her face and making her core pulsate. The only thing Y/N could do was nod, and before she knew it, Harry's lips closed in on hers.

A soft whine escaped her throat as he kissed her, the desperation of her body unshielded under his roughly delicate touch. Nothing seemed to make sense as he slowly slipped his tongue into her mouth and pushed her back on the couch, nothing but him.

Harry leaned forward, not taking his mouth off Y/N as she sat against the armrest. He hovered over her, his body between her spread legs. One of his hands was holding onto her waist, while the other one kept him up by holding onto the armrest.

As their tongues danced around each other, Harry's hand slipped down from her waist towards her inner thighs, and Y/N felt her panties getting wet at the suggestive caresses of her skin. She put her hands on Harry's shoulders and pushed him back a little bit, their lips now apart. Still caught up in the heat of the moment, Harry mindlessly trailed his kisses down her jaw and then onto her neck.

"Harry." Y/N tried to get his attention, but his name sounded more like an erotic plea, and caused a growl to sound from his lips, followed by a rougher treatment on her neck. Her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head as his lips sucked at that sensitive skin of her, and a small whine fell from her as he bruised her neck.

"Ha— hmm... Harry!" She exclaimed. "S— stop."

Within a millisecond, or at least it felt like that, Harry's hands and mouth were removed from her. His face was filled with worry as he took in hers.

"Are you okay? Did I go too far?" He began asking, but she was quick to shake her head.

"No! It's just— I haven't really, done much of this before. I don't have a lot of experience and uhm, I just wanted you to know that before we... proceeded." Y/N explained, voice near trembling as she spoke. Harry's eyes softened, and his face pulled into a soft smile.

"Thank you for telling me." He said, leaning forward and giving her a kiss before pulling back, sitting up straight. "I just have one question, though."

Y/N nodded, big doe eyes staring right at him as that innocent smile transformed into a smug grin.

"Can I show you what I actually wanted to do last Saturday?" He asked, stroking her already spread legs. Before she knew it, the answer fell from Y/N's lips.

"Yes."

He let out a satisfied hum before his hands grabbed at her shorts and pulled them down along with her underwear, leaving her bare cunt to be exposed to him. Y/N blushed, feeling slightly embarrassed at how exposed she was, but the fascination that twinkled in Harry's eyes washed most of her insecurities away. She watched carefully as he leaned down and his fingers began stroking her folds.

Y/N held her breath in anticipation, curiously waiting for Harry to continue, and when he finally put his hands on her clit, she couldn't help but shift in her seat a bit at the tingling sensation.

"O— oh!" She shrieked when she felt Harry's tongue attached itself to her clit, his middle finger now paying more attention to slowly beginning to slide in and out of her. Y/N tried to control her breathing to the best of her abilities as Harry explored her sopping and pulsating core.

Y/N's mind had gone all fuzzy from the sweet feeling of his touch on her sensitive parts. It was impossible to focus on anything else than Harry, and even if it was, she wouldn't dare take her eyes off of him anyway. It was addictive, the way he was ravishing her like she was a culinary meal, and it felt glorying.

Harry temporarily removed his mouth from her heat, and looked up at Y/N before saying: "C'mon, angel. Tell me how it feels."

Her heart skipped a beat at the nickname she'd grown to love ever since the first time he said it, and she tried to control her whines as she responded.

"So— ah! So good..." She managed to reply, her knuckles turning white from balling up her fists in an attempt to not come too early. Harry's tongue swept over her clit in such an intoxicating way, and his now two fingers pumping in and out of her was only getting her closer to her inevitable climax.

Harry moaned at her verbal approval, and picked up the pace of both his mouth and his fingers, leaving her nothing but a whimpering mess under him. This was surely going to be the death of her, wasn’t it?

"Harry— I think I'm going to..." She ran out of breath before she could finish your sentence, and she began convulsing around him, legs trembling as her orgasm began to reach her like a wave building up. And then just like that, it crashed.

With a cry of his name and a few profanities that followed, the sensual waves of her release hit Y/N. The release was slow and long, and one of the most satisfying ones she'd ever had. Harry's touch stayed on her skin, helping her ride out her high.

When he finally backed away, Y/N was still breathing heavily from what she had just experienced. Wide eyed, she observed how he licked his lips before he looked up at her. She could've come again from the sight of that alone.

"D'you want some water?" Harry suddenly asked, getting up from the couch and walking over to your kitchen. She followed him with her eyes, mouth agape as he went through her kitchen cabinets until he stumbled upon two glasses and filled them with water. As he returned to the couch, he raised a brow, indicating that he was still waiting on an answer.

"Uhm, yes, thank you." Y/N stumbled as he handed her the glass. She took a few sips, scanning him while she drank. He was so casual all of a sudden, leaning back against the couch with his legs spread like that... there was something cocky about it and Y/N wasn't sure if she wanted to roll her eyes at it or jump his bones.

Possibly both, at the same time.

Y/N put her glass down and slowly crawled over to Harry, who sniffed a laugh at her wobbly movements on the way too squishy couch. She hoped it would at least come off as cute, now that her attempt at being sexy had been trampled by her own furniture.

As the laughter from both parties died down, Y/N took it upon herself to slowly start kissing Harry's neck. Her heartbeat rose when she felt him shifting in his seat, a pained sigh escaping his throat. Meticulously, she dragged her hand down his chest until it reached his pants, and she began unbuckling his belt.

She was surprised when she felt his hand pull hers away, and stopped her actions to see what was going on. When she saw his clenched jaw, she frowned.

"Are you okay?"

"You don't have to do that angel." He said, tilting his head a bit. She slowly shook her head.

"Oh, alright." She said, and felt a pang in her chest at the idea that she could've done something wrong. Harry took both of her hands, cupping his over them.

"I’d like to save it for next time." He suggested, the slight raise of his brow adding a certain playfulness to his reply. The hint of a smile on his face filled her with a warm feeling, and she quickly found herself nodding at what Harry had said.

“Plus, I have to get my beauty rest… I’ve got a long day tomorrow. I teach this private self-defense class, client’s got me working till late.” He joked, eyes beaming when a giggle fell from her lips. Y/N took her bottom lip between her teeth, stomach fluttering as she took in the painfully beautiful, funny, charismatic man in front—or well, under her.

“Really? Is she any good?” She teased back, brows raising in surprise when Harry nodded.

“Difficult to teach tho.” He responded.

“Why’s that?” Y/N questioned, genuine curiosity dripping from her tone. Harry took his eyes off her and shamelessly lowered his gaze to her body as his hands, that had dug into her waist, slowly began to trail down to her ass.

“‘S just so hard to concentrate…” He said lowly, and she felt her core heating up again at the sole sound of Harry’s voice. Her cheeks flushed alike at what he was implying, and she felt like an animal with the way her body reacted to him.

Y/N remained as quiet as she could, savoring Harry’s touch on her bare skin. She would have closed her eyes, had she not been too mesmerized by her face to do so.

Nerves swirled in her stomach as she watched Harry’s stare trail upwards again, only to stop at her lips. Gradually, he leaned forward, closing the gap between the two’s mouths. Y/N couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her when Harry put his lips on her again, and much like the touch of his hands on her, she relished in the way his tongue circled around hers, and she was surprised at how well their bodies captured the connection that she had been unable to explain in words.

It was safe to say that Y/N was disappointed when at last Harry pulled away, but she couldn’t be mad at him, not with that face of his.

Her eyes widened when he got up all of a sudden, hands still holding up her thighs in the few moments before she wrapped them tightly around him in response to the sudden movement. He sniffed a laugh, which Y/N was only able to hear because her arms were locked around Harry’s neck and her face was only a few centimeters away from his. The urge to smile almost prevailed over her shock.

Harry’s hands let go of Y/N’s thighs, and she lowered her legs in response, putting her feet on the ground again and removing herself from his touch completely.

As they walked towards the front door, Y/N found herself to be a bit gloomy. She didn’t want him to leave, he was so fun to be around. He made her not worry, which was a miracle because Y/N always worried. And she knew she’d go back to worrying and overthinking the second she’d be alone again, so the prospect of Harry going away was not the most fun. She had to remind herself that she’d see him tomorrow, though.

Y/N opened the door, waiting as Harry put on his coat. When he finally had, he turned to her one last time.

“Sleep tight, angel.” He said, and with that, walked right out the door. Y/N croaked out a weak ‘bye’, but she was pretty sure she’d heard the elevator ding by then.

It took her a minute to recover physically before turning off her lights in the living room and floating towards her bathroom, where she smiled like an idiot all the way through brushing her teeth.

It wasn’t until her head hit the pillow that what she dreaded came along again: that tiresome worry. Thoughts and scenarios filled her head as she lied in bed, watching the ceiling as if it would grant her answers, or peace.

It was as if, with Harry, nothing else truly mattered. Not necessarily in the corny, dramatic way, but rather in the sense that it felt like the outside world wasn’t that much of a factor in Y/N’s decisions, nor did she have the feeling that it should be whenever she was around him. But when he was gone, it would all start to matter again and suddenly she found herself doubting whether dating Harry would even be a good idea.

What would her parents think? What would Sophie think? Would she be viewed as less professional by her co-workers for dating her trainer? Would it impact Harry’s reputation—

She stopped herself. Probably not, considering Harry was a man.

It was with a frown that Y/N eventually dozed off into a deep slumber. Not even in her dreams she was safe from the anxiety that plagued her, a nightmare about being fired stirring her awake at around four in the morning. She was more exhausted when she woke up than when she went to bed.

But despite all of it, her body still buzzed in anticipation of tonight’s class…

Taglist: @meetmeatyourworst @mema10 @seafoamwhispers @namoreno @inkedskin @fangirl509east @mellamolayla @lizsogolden @prettydelilah @kierramcduffie @harry2121 @babegoals @hermionelove @bitchidontpost @lomlolivia

#harry styles #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #blurb #harry #one direction #one shot #smut #excerpt #harryedwardstyles #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry edward styles

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 7 months ago

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Until I found you

The reader's nickname is princess. There are slightly spicy scenes so mdni. Fuck boy Eddie who quickly turns into simp for you Eddie, fluff and a bit of angst. 18+

❤️

The First time that Eddie met you was when he was running from a very irate ex fling. He had literally just ended things and she had taken it badly; even though he told Cassia that he wasn't a relationship guy, she still thought that she could change him.

So intent on getting away from the crying and yelling he fell arse over tit and landed in a heap at your feet.

Normally Eddie would put on the charm right about now but his mind had gone blank at your pretty smile and the amusement in your eyes.

"Uh hey, you wouldn't mind hiding me from my very angry ex would you?" you snort at his request and proceed to help him up.

Now he would like to say that he charmed the pants off you that night but he didn't. In fact it was weeks before that would happen.

Eddie didn't do love. He was too cynical for that shit and he had seen enough break ups and fighting from his own parents and couples around him in his early years that it stuck with him.

Truthfully when he was younger there was still an idealised part of him that dreamed of finding someone who would love him but after various disappointments it was easy to close off that part of him.

He was thirty nine and had yet to have a serious relationship, preferred to indulge in flings with like minded people; there were still a few women who liked to think they could change his mind despite his warnings but they were unsuccessful.

Some people liked nothing better than a challenge and Eddie was a challenge, but he was also stubborn and refused to change his mind about things.

Even when he met you he was still determined that you would be like the others, that this would be a short fling and then be over within weeks... well if you ever agreed to go on a date with himm

However you seemed to have other ideas...

When you finally did agree to a date, Eddie made sure you knew the rules. No way was he having another angry woman chasing after him. You seemed pretty nonchalant about the whole thing until towards the end when you surprised him by gently taking his hand.

"Doesn't it get lonely?" you ask him curious and a little sad. He swallows and shakes his head. "No" he murmurs but that isn't quite the truth, he does get lonely but chases it away with flings, weed and D&D.

You didn't look like you believed him but you dropped it and gave him a little smirk. "So what's this amazing date you're taking me on Munson?"

❤️

Weeks pass and Eddie doesn't seem to realise that this has lasted longer than his usual flings, the two of you are having fun so he doesn't see why you would have to stop now.

Eddie groans as he thrusts into you, he can never get over how incredible it feels being inside of you and quickens the pace, loves the way you moan his name and clench around him.

A powerful, intense orgasm rocks the both of you and Eddie moans into your neck, softly kissing over it and your breasts. You're still shaking from the intensity of the orgasm, eyes closed and a blissful smile on your face.

"Hey beautiful" he caresses your cheek for a second, you cuddle back in his arms and look so content and happy, warmness spreads over his chest as he watches you. Fuck.

This was bad, this was very bad. What the fuck was going on with him? He was moving into dangerous territory here, things he avoided like the plague.

While you were nodding off he quickly dressed and tried to ignore his racing thoughts. So he liked spending time with you? So what! that didn't mean anything.

The content feelings that had been popping up out of nowhere meant nothing either, the warm feeling when he looked at you? Maybe he was getting sick or the AC was too high. That must be it..

This was fine. Maybe if he kept telling himself this then he would believe it? He feels a tug on his hand as he's trying to find his shirt and you're wide awake and gazing at him with big puppy eyes.

"Stay" you murmur sleepily and pout, it's so adorable that Eddie can't help but join you back in the bed.

This was fine. It was just one night it didn't mean anything. Nothing at all.

...

Steve is the first person to notice what's happening, he presses a beer into Eddie's hands before everyone arrives for the campaign and the two settle to chat.

"So you and princess? It's lasting a while huh?" Steve waggles his eyebrows at Eddie who almost chokes on the beer he's drinking, annoyed at Steve's teasing tone he shrugs and answers.

"I could end things whenever I want Steve" Eddie waves off Steve's comment, he really doesn't want to mention to Steve how sick he feels at the thought of never seeing you again.

"Yeah, you could but you don't want to Munson and you need to admit that to yourself" Steve says wisely and is saved from answering as some of Hellfire arrive.

No he doesn't.

Steve doesn't stop there and pins Eddie with his gaze. "Dude she's a catch and if you lose her because you're so stubborn, you know she will get snapped up like that" he snaps his fingers and Eddie feels like he's been punched in the gut.

Steve is right. He knows he's right and Eddie knows he's right and those thoughts stay with him.

He tries to lose himself in the campaign, and it works for a while, he's completely in DM mode and smiling at his enraptured audience. Dustin and mini Dustin are hanging on his every word as he finishes this part of the campaign on a cliffhanger.

"Dude, seriously!" Mike whines and Eddie smirks and pats Mike on the shoulder, "Wheeler good things come to those who wait. Now scram!" he orders him.

He's already annoyed that he was so distracted at times during the campaign in the first place, it wasn't often but it was enough to unnerve him. Since when did he get distracted while he was in the zone?

It was you that was distracting him and Steve stupid musings but speaking of you distracting him...

You walk into Steve's house smiling shyly at Steve and your eyes light up the minute that you find Eddie. His heart annoyingly speeds up which makes him grumble under his breath.

The minute you're in his arms his grumbling ceases and he smiles. "Hey whatcha doing here princess?" he's aware of the others watching him and gawking, he throws them a dark look and they scatter off in different directions.

"I thought I'd surprise you, is that alright?" you ask nervously and he's quick to assure you it's fine. The two of you liked hanging out together so he didn't see the problem and he never wanted you to feel nervous asking him these things.

"Sure princess, you want me to teach you how to play? I have a mini set back home" he doesn't expect you'll say yes but you surprise him by nodding happily.

"I'd like that Eddie"

❤️

Eddie smiles as you fall asleep cuddled into his chest, the two of you have barely left the bed since he picked you up from work and you're finally tuckered out.

Usually right about now he would slip out while you slept. Except he finds out that he doesn't want to, he wants to stay and the thought doesn't make him want to run for the hills.

You mumble in your sleep then whimper as your hand traces the empty sheets, he moves closer to you and instinctively you seek him out and sigh content when you're cuddled up on his chest.

It's cute as fuck and he melts. Melts, he can't cope with how sweet that was and he feels that warmness flood over him again as he strokes your hair.

The realisation hits him then. He could happily do this for the rest of his life.

Well shit. That was new and terrifying and he needs to leave now and not look back.

For a second it feels like he can't breath and he's gently moving you to your side of the bed and is halfway through scrambling for his boxers when it hits him that he doesn't want to leave.

His breathing calms and the racing beat of his heart slows down to a normal rhythm.

Once again the thought of not seeing you again makes him feel like his chest had caved in and he slumps back on the bed and immediately gathers you back in his arms.

With a gentle kiss to your hair and the feeling of your body flush against his, he begins to relax and he admits to himself that the feeling of you in his arms is something he will never tire of.

He wants to do this for the rest of his life.

❤️

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #stranger things eddie munson

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jburrgf · 5 months ago

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About You I — The Love Trope Series.

“Do you think I have forgotten about you?”

◦pairing: ¡lsu! joe burrow x ¡ex situashionship! reader

◦summary: second change trope, college relationships, slow burn love, right person wrong time.

◦description: you and joe had a thing months before, but the things ended in a bad way. now, you see yourself stuck in something that requires you to be close to him every single day.

◦playlist: About You - The 1975, Love Me Like You Do - Ellie Golding, Like Real People Do - Hoozier, I Bet You Think About Me - Taylor Swift, Called You Again - Lizzy McAlpine, Tolerate It, ImGonnaGetYouBack, Clean - Taylor Swift

PART ONE: CLEAN.

There are certain moments in life that seem impossible to forget. The second I walked onto LSU’s campus, I knew my life was about to change. But not just because of the classes, the social scene, or the crazy football culture.

When I started in LSU, it was supposed to be a clean slate. A chance to focus on my career path and prove to myself that I could thrive in a bigger pond, surrounded by people just as driven as me. Advertising and Public Relations wasn’t just a degree—it was a strategy. A way to blend my creative instincts with a business-minded edge.

What I didn’t expect was LSU’s football program to be the centerpiece of everything.

LSU football wasn’t just a sport. It was culture, identity, and religion rolled into one. By my second semester, I was interning with the athletic department, brainstorming marketing campaigns and filming promos for the team. I was good at what I did—so good that I convinced myself it didn’t bother me when my work bled into my personal life.

Everything started to go wrong when I met him. Tall, blond, American aesthetic, and so, but so kind. That was Joe Burrow, the youngest transferred from Ohio State to the south. New just like me.

Joe was Joe —calm, collected, and infuriatingly charming. He wasn’t flashy like some of the other players, but the air shifted when he walked into a room. Everyone noticed him. And the first time we crossed paths, I did too.

We met my junior year at a party, back when he was just Joe—a talented quarterback with a quiet intensity and a way of looking at you like he could see straight through every mask you’d ever worn. I hadn’t planned on noticing him, but it was impossible not to.

And since then, I'm haunted by his face, his smile, his smell, his body. Every little thing that made him Joe, it was inside my head like a bad song that you can’t stop singing. I didn’t want that, not in the beginning.

And now, I'm running from him like the plague. Every place he might be, I'm not going. Every little encounter or party, or dinner, or what else, I wasn’t going.

It was a party I didn’t want to go to. Maddie had been bothering me for weeks to go to this party, and honestly, I didn't feel like going. Simply no desire.

"I'm serious, Y/N. You work too hard," Maddie, my best friend at LSU, said to me. We had just left one of our classes together, and were walking around the campus, heading towards Maddie's car. "You're missing the entire college experience."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m here to build my career, not get drunk at frat houses.”

“Even Beyoncé has to relax,” she shot back. “I’m picking you up at eight, tomorro, no excuses. But now, we’re going to Malone’s.”

[…]

I didn’t want to be here.

Malone’s was Maddie’s favorite spot, a college-town bar where everyone gathered on weekends to drink, laugh, and pretend their responsibilities didn’t exist. It was the kind of place where the sticky floors were part of the charm, and you couldn’t walk two feet without bumping into someone you knew. Normally, I’d avoid it like the plague—especially on a night like tonight, when Maddie’s sole mission was to convince me to go to that stupid party tomorrow.

“You’re being dramatic,” Maddie said as I slid into the booth across from her, the sound of the bar’s chatter and faint music drowning out half her words. “It’s just one party. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I rolled my eyes, pulling my coat tighter around me despite the warmth of the bar. “You say that like you don’t know me. I don’t do frat parties, Maddie. I don’t want to spend my Saturday night elbow-to-elbow with drunk people I barely know.”

“That’s the fun of it,” she countered, her grin far too smug for my liking.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered, reaching for the drink she’d already ordered for me.

“I’m persistent,” she corrected. “And don’t think I didn't notice that you didn’t actually say no.”

I groaned, leaning back in the booth. Maddie had been trying to drag me to this party for days, claiming it was some can’t-miss event that would somehow make my life infinitely better. I wasn’t convinced, but I’d stopped arguing because, frankly, I didn’t have the energy.

I was checking on the bar from above my shoulders when It happened.

Joe Burrow.

The last person I ever expected to see here, especially tonight.

My chest tightened the moment I spotted him standing by the dartboard, his tall frame impossible to miss, his blond hair was slightly disheveled, and the faint scruff on his jaw made him look older than he had when we’d last spoken. Joe was dressed casually, jeans and a hoodie, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world, and was laughing at something one of his friends said, the sound cutting through the low hum of the bar like a knife.It wasn’t just the way he carried himself or the fact that he was Joe Burrow—LSU’s star quarterback—but the way my body reacted, as if it had its own memory of him.

I hadn’t seen him in months—not since we’d ended things without really ending them. And now, seeing him here, so casually present in my space, felt like a slap to the face. Work Out from J Cole was playing, and everything felt like a movie scene.

It wasn’t like we had history. At least not in the way most people assumed. We barely knew each other. But there had been that one night at a party a while back, and another one after a game, and another one at our friends house, and another one… and the tension between us had never fully died down. I could still remember the way his eyes had felt on me, like he was measuring me in some silent way I didn’t know how to interpret.

“Y/N.” Maddie’s voice snapped me out of my daze. She followed my line of sight and groaned. “Oh no.”

I shook my head, panic setting in. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t even know if he saw you.”

“I’m not sticking around to find out,” I said, already sliding out of the booth.

“Y/N—”

But I was gone, weaving through the crowd toward the back hallway where the bathrooms were. I needed to breathe, to get away from the overwhelming weight of his presence.

The bathroom at Malone’s was about as glamorous as you’d expect—a narrow space with flickering fluorescent lights and graffiti scrawled across the stalls. I locked myself in one of the stalls, leaning back against the door as I tried to steady my breathing.

Of all the places to run into Joe, it had to be here.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about him. I had—more than I cared to admit. But thinking about him was one thing. Seeing him, knowing he was just a few feet away, was something else entirely.

I couldn’t face him. Not now, not here.

The bathroom was quiet, the kind of eerie stillness that felt out of place in the chaos of Malone’s. I leaned against the sink, staring at my reflection in the smudged mirror.

“Get it together,” I whispered to myself, taking a deep breath.

I didn’t even know why I was reacting like this. It wasn’t like we were still together. We weren’t anything anymore. And yet, the sight of him had thrown me completely off balance, dredging up feelings I thought I’d buried a long time ago.

But I couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever, either.

I opened the bathroom door and nearly walked straight into him.

Joe was leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom, his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze fixed squarely on me.

I froze, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low and steady, a hint of amusement curling at the edges.

Nope.

Without a second thought, I ducked back into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, and I bit my lip to keep from screaming. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

I paced the small space, my mind racing. He’d seen me, which meant he was waiting for me. I couldn’t hide in here forever, but the thought of facing him felt impossible.

Eventually, I forced myself to take a deep breath and opened the door again.

Joe was gone.

Relief flooded through me as I stepped out into the hallway, my eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of him. But instead of Joe, my attention was drawn to a small slip of paper pinned to the corkboard on the wall next to the bathroom.

It wasn’t there before.

Curious, I stepped closer and pulled it free. The handwriting was unmistakable—slanted and bold, with a certain sharpness to the letters that felt uniquely him.

“Go to the party tomorrow. Please.”

I stared at the note, my heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

My fingers tightened around the paper as Maddie appeared at the end of the hallway, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“What’s that?” she asked, gesturing to the note.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, shoving it into my pocket.

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Ready to head back? I don’t think Joe’s here anymore.”

I nodded, though my mind was miles away.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I would go. Maybe I wouldn’t.

But one thing was for sure: Joe Burrow had just made sure I wouldn’t forget this night.

——————————————

part 2: About You II (The Love Trope Series) — All Over Me.

hey guys! this is the beginning of my Love Tropes Series. The first part, About You, it’s going to be launched in four parts! stay tuned :)

#joe burrow #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic #joeburrow #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow x reader #bengals #joe burrow angst #joeburrowtiktok #joe shiesty

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grimmsbride · 4 months ago

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ᬊ ᭣֤ࣨ🩸𖥔 ݁ ˖ TAKING OVER ME ཐི♡̵̼͓̥͒̾͘ཋྀ° LOSER! CHOSO KAMO

( you called for me and woke me up … )

video games are addictive, especially when said video game comes to life in the shape of something choso kamo has been craving for ages; a woman.

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ NOTES ╲ i got this idea after listening to whatsaheart & remembering that one giffany episode. i also have been seeing “loser!” fanfics and have been intrigued. as always please excuse any typos or grammar mistakes

Hours spent within that chair, sinking into the leather whilst his eyes burned into the screen. One would be surprised how well the bedroom smelled given its’ inhabitants terrible habits. But it was simply a routine for the man; wake up, shower, go to work, come home, shower, and sit down for hours playing that same stupid game.

Choso Kamo doesn’t remember how he got so entranced by it in the first place. Before this, he was a gamer, but not to this extent. He didn’t get so lost in most first person shooters or story based novellas. But this one, this particular game seemed to plague his mind the moment it was downloaded to his pc.

It was an bishoujo game, the storyline entirely dependent on his choices and actions. The main objective was capturing the heart of this beauty known as [Full Name]; someone that stole Choso’s eye far too quickly. He wondered who exactly was the artist behind designing her character; given it was completely flawless. Her sun-kissed skin shined in about every scene, body plump and always dressed in the prettiest outfits.

Plus her hair— always kept in curly braids, cascading down her back in such a delightful fashion the man wondered how it would feel between his fingers.

These thoughts continued to tug at his mind the longer he played, days turning into weeks, and soon months. Choso did feel shame at first. He’s only human after all, and any human is bound to be embarrassed by their own peculiarities. But soon enough that shame was washed away, the longer his eyes settled onto the screen. Choso doesn’t remember the last time he’s even looked at another game— nor did the man care. This beloved Bishoujo.. his beloved [Name] deserved all of his attention after all.

The day was long, filled with endless tasks that slowly began to overload Choso’s brain. He found himself sitting down at times, eyes pinched closed to hopefully find just a bit of solace. Work was always laced with constant stress, his attention regularly needed for assignments that coworkers could easily do. But alas, Choso never said a thing; simply nodding and walking off to complete it. Human interaction was its own struggle amongst the workplace.

But it’s not like it mattered to him, he got enough of it at home; infront of his beloved pc.

That seemed to be the only thing that pushed Choso forward these days. Being able to see [Name]’s face each time his pc started, how her smile lit up the moment he greeted her; features perfectly animated to the point Choso could practically feel her excitement radiating through the screen. She was all he needed now, a simple light in his life to get through even the toughest of days.

So it was only natural that the moment Choso was finished with work he was rushing home, practically tripping over himself to get through the door. With a quick shut and lock the man was tossing his bag to the side, hands reaching for his work uniform to began tugging it off. Routinely he walked towards his bathroom, bare by the time he reached to quickly hop in the shower.

Choso always made it a habit to bathe before seeing her. Delusional? Maybe.. as the ai couldn’t exactly smell him, but it always seemed to freshen Choso’s mind.

After showering the man quickly moved to his bedroom in his towel, drying himself completely before throwing on a simple pair of boxers, sweats, and a tshirt. He couldn’t contain his excitement as he made his way to his gaming chair, pressing the power button of his pc even before sitting down.

Once he did though, Choso’s eyes shined at the bright light of the screen the moment it booted up, fingers resting rather impatiently amongst his keyboard. Shortly after he typed his password in, hand swiftly finding his mouse and dragging the cursor over to that pretty little icon occupying a space on his hot bar.

It only took a couple of seconds for the game to start up, Choso’s heart pounding the moment [Name] came on screen. She was dressed in a simple white button, emulating a sleep scene where Choso accidentally woke her.

Despite this she only smiled, pressing her face into the pillow beneath her.

“Hi Choso..” [Name] sung in that dreamy tone, reaching out towards the screen. Choso was quick to respond, allowing the rest of the world to disappear in that instant. His only focus was her, his perfect [Name], his only objective making her fall more and more in love with her.

He didn’t care about anything else, nothing at all— not even the slight ache in his stomach from hunger. Obsession and addiction all mixed into one terrible, yet exhilarating combination.

Choso rode that high for about two hours before something.. happened.

“What the hell..” His breathing was bated, eerie as darkness invaded his bedroom. So in tune with his game, Choso hadn’t even realized it was thundering outside. Rain pelted down against his home, smoothed out with a sudden crackle every so often. The man quickly deduced his issue to the power going out, a heavy sigh escaping him. He tried not to be annoyed, especially when the game was getting so, so good. He simply hoped auto save was still in effect.

Choso debated on what to do in the meantime. He could sleep, this was the perfect time to after all. Though the fear of his power not coming back racked his mind; what if when he woke up it was still gone? Aside from the game, he needed his computer for emails and other necessities— plus having to move around in the dark just wasn’t as fun as it seemed.

The man lifted his phone, thumbing the case and debating whether to inform the owners of his building. Maybe a quick message will at least give him a time frame or in better scenarios; speed up the process. Choso was hoping for the latter, of course.

Opening up his phone, the gamer made quick work of moving over to his mail app. There, he began to construct an email; being as polite as ever whilst asking how long the power would be out. The subject read for about a single, simple paragraph; his eyes casing his screen every so often to assure his words were concise and civil.

With his attention completely gifted to his phone, it was no surprise the sudden illumination of his room completely startled him— Choso nearly leaping out of his chair, as his heart squeezed. However that fear wasn’t short-lived, instead it increased the moment his eyes settled upon his pc.

The device was still shut off, surely needing to be manually pressed. With the screen black, Choso could see his tired features staring right back at him.. along with, someone else standing right behind him.

The man quickly spun around in his chair, chest tight and breathing hard as what he saw seemed to disappear in thin air.

Choso’s mind was playing tricks, wasn’t it? It had to be! That or spending hours infront of a screen straight was catching up to him at the absolute worst time. It was probably time to go to sleep..

With a heavy breath the man slowly turned back, eyes fluttering and gaze landing on the woman currently sitting right on his desk.

The noise he let out was far from attractive let alone the way he practically flew back out of his chair was even less graceful. With a harsh thud to the ground, Choso groaned heavily, eyes closed and trying to self-soothe.

“Choso! Are you okay?!” A feminine voice practically yelled, the gamer hearing movement coming towards him amidst his pain. A shiver ran down his spine as cold hands made contact with his skin, his eyes spanning open to land on the person before him.

The person being.. you, [Name]. That beloved video game romance thats been on his mind for months.

Choso couldn’t help the pure shock invading his features, struggling to find words as his eyes ran down your form. This had to be a joke, some type of prank a person was playing on him. As, there was no way in hell you, were sitting right before him; touching him so delicately with concern and worry.

“Ho..” The words came slow, a quick nervous swipe of his tongue treading along his bottom lip. “How.. did you get in my house?” Choso finally managed, watching your eyes flick from his body to his face.

With an adorable grin your head tilted a bit, arm outstretched and pointing a manicured finger right to his pc.

“You suddenly left, so I got worried something happened. I came to check on you!”

The words came out so sweetly, and simple; Choso nearly forgetting how worrisome this truly was— and it certainly didn’t help you were suddenly breaching his personal space, slithering your arms around him to cuddle your cheek right against his.

“What..”

“I missed you Choso.” You mumbled softly, sliding a bit to rest your head against his chest. The frantic beating of his heart caused you to smile, head tipping to press your chin against him. You looked at him through your curly lashes, glossed lips parting slowly;

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting? Trying to find the perfect time to come out and.. properly see you.” The words were laced with the sweetest honey, causing a shiver to trickle right down Choso’s spine. Here you were, the woman that’s been on his mind for ages and all he could do was sit back and watch; utterly helpless to your existence.

You tried to not let on how much this excited you. How each twitch, sharp breath, and shaky glance of his caused your heart to swell. But you weren’t so discreet, you never were; not with your beloved Choso.

You moved carefully, sliding to sit right in his lap whilst your hands dragged up his chest. His smell was addicting, freshly showered with a hint of mint and pine. You breathed him in deeply, coming closer the moment your arms wrapped around his neck so tenderly.

“I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.. Always wondering how you felt beneath my palms.” You spoke, lips fixated into a little pout as you leaned forward, allowing them to graze the shell of his ear.

“You’ve ruined me Choso.. take responsibility.”

The sharp hiss of your words was the last thing Choso heard, while the next thing he felt was your lips on his. His heart was practically thundering at this point, eyes wide whilst a dark scarlet was painted across his cheeks. Choso’s hands danced about, unaware of what to do. He was clearly inexperienced in this department, stuttering thoughts debating on the proper course of action.

He didn’t want to ruin this, whatever this was. Shouldn’t he be more worried about your entire existence rather than this silly kiss? What were you anyway!?

All his thoughts seemed to dissipate the moment you kissed harder, your own pretty eyes peering open staring right at him. Fuck, you were dreamy; perfect just like on the screen. Why on earth was he thinking so hard? Here you were, right infront of him, giving him what he’s been craving for years at this point.

It was time for Choso to be a little selfish.

With shaky hands, Choso found your waist, fingers sinking into your flesh and tugging you just a bit closer. He couldn’t help the sense of pride he felt from the happy hum you released right into his mouth, the kiss getting just a bit deeper. Your lips moved with clear experience, taking the reins and dominating his mouth the moment his lips parted.

Choso couldn’t help the downright pathetic whimper that escaped him the moment your wet muscle met his own. He’s imagined what kissing felt like, but never expected for it to feel this good. You marked the dark cavern as your own, licking in spaces that caused the tingles to rush right between his legs.

The man couldn’t help his hips rising, bucking up into you and groaning heavily the moment he made contact with your perfect form. Within moments you were pulling back, a clear string connecting the two of you as heavy breaths fanned between the two of you. Choso shook as your hands found his hot cheeks, spotting the pretty grin pulling your bruised lips.

“Just from a kiss?.. Such a pervert, Choso.”

His eyes went wide at your words, struggling to find his own in defense. But unfortunately he couldn’t, as the moment those pretty hips rolled; he was lost— a complete stuttering mess.

“I..I’m— no..”

“Yo—you’re not?” You mocked sweetly, continuing to roll your hips, gliding your barely covered cunt right against his thick bulge. You leaned over, trailing your lips over his neck; stamping wet kisses and suck against his pale skin.

Focusing on your lips and grinds, Choso barely noticed your fingers sliding under his tshirt until they made contact with his nipple. His eyes shot open, fingers digging into your sides as he felt your two fingers twisting and rubbing against the little bud.

“[Name].. fuck—.. I—!”

You smile right into his neck, continuing the rubbing while increasing your rough grinds. Choso was shaking like a damn leaf at this point, unable to contain the moans escaping his throat. You were barely touching where he needed you most, yet he felt as if he could burst at any time. Normally his inexperience would be a complete embarrassment, but the man was far too focused on the pleasure instead.

You lead your kisses up to his chin, kissing his cheek affectionately and innocently as if you weren’t completely ruining him. “My handsome Choso.. You like this?” Your thumb swept against his hard, abused nipple, a breathy sigh escaping you as you continued your delicious grinds.

Unable to speak affectively the man could only nod, head leaning back against his wall whilst he bucked up into you. Moments of this intensity passed before a sharp groan thundered from his throat, Choso coming undone right there in his pants.

His breathing was hard, gaze hazy as he attempted to relax from his high. Choso felt you lay a kiss right to his nose, the sweetest encouragements falling from your lips shortly after.

“Did so well for me, Choso. Think you can do it again?..” You mumbled softly, hand falling from under his shirt to instead thumb against the waistband of his bottoms. Through a bleary gaze the man took in your features; how your previously sweet smile now resembled a more impish grin. You clearly enjoyed toying with his body, pulling out reactions he didn’t think were even possible.

Yet, Choso didn’t hate this; in fact, it only turned him on even more. Call him a masochist, maybe some freak— it didn’t matter. For, only for you, he would be anything; including putty that you could morph into just about anything you wanted.

With far too much enthusiasm he was nodding his head, your sweet laughter muting all negative thoughts instantly.

You slowly stood over him, smiling down at him as a perfectly manicured finger traced the air right about at his pants.

“Off.”

You spoke simply, fingers then hooking onto your panties. You watched as Choso — not so gracefully — practically rushed to push his bottoms down, revealing sculpted thighs and his hard length. Residue of his previous orgasm was present, coating his angry red tip and dripping down his entire shaft.

What a mess. You thought to yourself, a sense of pride escaping you that only seemed to worsen the moment you noticed Choso’s gaze completely fixated between your legs. He was practically salivating, fingers twitching right in his lap— probably desperate to touch.

You would gift him that right later, for now..

You descended back down, sitting onto his thighs with his length brushing up against you. With a gentle hand you were grasping him, eyes flicking to his face the moment a sharp hiss escaped him.

“So excited.. you want to be inside me so bad, don’t you— Choso?” Your head tilted to the side, lazy strokes being delivered to his weeping cock. He couldn’t help the pitiful thrusts up into your hand, fingers practically scratching as his thighs, as desperation resided right on his features.

“Ye..yes please.. I wan— fuck I want yo—you so bad—!”

You felt your own arousal trickle, deciding to end both of your sufferings right then and there. You grasped his length more firmly, scooting closer and lifting yourself. Lining him up with your entrance you slowly slid down, moaning out as your walls swallowed him carefully.

Choso would have burst right then and there if he wasn’t practically screaming at himself to hold it in. The last thing he wanted was to interrupt your fun. So with a tight lipped groan he felt all of you, struggling to keep his eyes from rolling back at the feeling.

His imagination didn’t compare, not one bit.

Soon enough he was fully inside, your arms finding his neck to tug him even closer. You smiled the moment his hands gripped your hips, leaning forward as the sweetest words were pushed right against his lips;

“I love you, Choso.”

Yeah, he was practically begging his body to keep it in at this point.

Through a shaky breath he uttered the same words, fingers digging right into you the moment he felt your hips move. If Choso thought dry humping felt good, the man could only describe this as downright euphoric. With each lift, his length only seemed to leave your cunt for a moment before you quickly dropped back down; enveloping him once again.

Soon enough that pattern, hard and fast; took over his entire body, his lips pulling away from your own to release the loudest moan. His head was lolling to the side, hushed swears escaping his throat. The man couldn’t focus on anything but you; your pretty moans, how you moved those hips so well, your slick walls squeezing him in deeper and deeper— shit you were driving him crazy in the perfect way.

You leaned forward, face digging right into his neck as you struggled to breathe. “Ha..h you feel so good, Choso— fuck!” You whined out, thighs slapping against his own in the most noisy melody. Your nails turned to dig right into his shoulders, holding on desperately like a much needed anchor.

Every so often you felt him meet your drop with his own thrusts, causing your mind to spiral and the sweet moans to release without a second thought. You couldn’t help the way your head was tilting back, thighs squeezing his body so desperately as the pleasure consumed you. You could feel your brain turning into utter mush, center pulsing desperately with an itch for release.

In the midst of the haze Choso could somehow focus, awestruck with the sight before him. He never thought he would reach the day where he laid with a woman, let alone someone as perfect as you. Your golden skin glistened with sweat amongst the illumination of his bedroom, your lips pursed as moans escaped you. It took a full moment for the man to realize it was all because of him; he was the one gifting you such pleasure. No one else, just Choso.

He couldn’t exactly help the joy thrumming throughout his entire body. So much so that the man wanted to give you even more.

Your eyes widened the moment you felt his hands fall from your hips and instead grip your thighs. You went to speak, only for a surprised yelp to escape you instead the moment Choso stood with you his arms. Still snug inside you, the man found the closest surface to lay you upon — his bed — all while sinking deeper into your wet snatch.

“Ch—choso..!” You gasped the moment he went deeper, feeling the bed sink on either side of you from his hands. With your legs hanging on his hips, Choso began to buck; pulling his hips back and forth experimentally for a moment— only for the uncertainty to wash away the moment you began to cry out.

“Sh..shit you feel.. so good!” Little tears began to build up in your eyes, hand turning and scratching at his bedsheets; curling them into your fists so tightly you would surely rip a hole.

Choso panted above you, black strands hanging in his face. Though the moment they invaded his vision the man was lifting his hand, running his fingers through them to push to the back. Finally your pretty features came back into view, causing his dick to swell even more if possible.

“Does that feel good, [Name]? So fucking wet.. you’re making a mess.”

You whined at his words, lips fixated into a pout as you couldn’t even think to respond. You could only wrap your legs tight around his waist, chasing that itch deep inside.

And as that bubble deep in your lower stomach seemed to swell, moans, expletives, and his name came out in a drawn out fashion; tongue wicked and loose from the pleasure. You wondered if people next door could hear, probably annoyed by all the sound.

Even so, you didn’t care at the moment to apologize.

Choso brought himself to lay on his forearms, driving his cock deeper and stirring you up; tip brushing right against your g-spot— stars dancing in your vision. His heavy breaths fanned against your already hot skin, your hands rising to claw at his covered back.

“G—gonna cum, gonna cum— hm!”

With furrowed eyebrows Choso seemed to slam himself even deeper, chasing your voice and ever so desperate to make you finish.

“All over me.. please, make a mess all over me [Name].. fuck— you feel so good, I can’t think!”

Whimpers etched into his speech, his eyes rolled back the moment your cunt clenched, obeying his wish and making a complete mess of his cock. Shortly after Choso was driving himself forward, flooding you with his own orgasm— a deep groan escaping his abused throat.

Heavy pants were passed between the two of you, Choso coming to lay his face between your breasts, trying to relax from his high.

You breathed deeply through your nose, hands sliding to his hair and raking your fingers between the pretty, slick strands.

“I don’t wanna go back.” You mumbled softly, eyes flicking down to Choso who was already staring at you.

“Then don’t.. stay here, with me. Please.”

Your lips curled into a smile, sliding your fingers against his scalp.

“Of course, Choso. You’re mine and I’m yours— forever and always.”

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ranhaitanisbitch · 3 months ago

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Mammon has nightmares after lesson 16

Spoilers for obey me lesson 16

- mammon x gn!reader

warning: angst with comfort (i think, i'm not good at this T_T), shirtless Mammon in a non-suggestive way

synopsis: mammon can't sleep because he keeps having nightmares about seeing mc die, he decides to pay them a nightly visit.

author's note: this is my first piece of creative writing ever, so please don't be too harsh on me hehe. hope you enjoy it! also would love more suggestions and ideas to write about, so i can practice some more ^_^ (also english isn't my native language, so i apologize for any mistakes)

word count: about 1.1k

3:24 AM. Mammon sighed. It was already the third time he had woken up from his sleep tonight. He had had another nightmare. Nothing unusual for the demon lately. Ever since that one particular day he had had trouble falling asleep. Whenever he laid back and closed his eyes the one memory, he tried so desperetealy to forget, kept replaying in his mind. On nights he was able to miraculously fall asleep he would be plagued by nightmares, being forced to relive that traumatic memory again and again. The demon would wake up from those nightmares drenched in sweat and repeat that process until he'd decide keeping trying would be a waste of time. Then he'd start with his daily duties, extremely sleep deprived, but at least he would have a distraction from the scenes that haunted him whenever there was a moment of quiet.

Mammon sighed again. He could feel his wet shirt clinging to his skin. He could tell he wouldn't get another second of sleep tonight, but the lack of sleep from the previous days were starting to catch up to him. During the past week he kept falling asleep in class (very much to Lucifer's disapproval) and even the photographer at his modeling gig sent him home, lecturing him about the importance of beauty sleep for models. The man told Mammon to come back when his eye bags, which were so dark they were impossible to cover, were gone. One week later the eye bags were still there if not even worse. "I can't go on like this", Mammon thought. He moved his blanket off of himself and left his room. He didn't even think about what he was doing or where he was going, but his own feet seemed to have a plan.

When he arrived in front of a door he knew too well, the demon stopped. "What am I doing? It's almost four in the morning. I shouldn't wake them up.", Mammon scolded himself as his hand was already reaching for the door handle and pushing it down. "This is so inappropriate!", "I shouldn't be here", "(M/C)'s gonna get so mad if they wake up.". Mammon's heart was pounding like crazy and suddenly stopped when he saw your sleeping face with your brows furrowed. The demon had seen you sleep once before, when he barged into your room a few months ago, in the middle of the night, to get you to sneak out with him. You looked so peaceful sleeping back then, but now your face looked all scrunched up, not peaceful at all. And now Mammon even noticed the small lamp, that was still turned on, on your bedside table. Where you having a nightmare? Were you being plagued by nightmares too? Were they the same ones he had? Were they worse? As traumatic as that day was for Mammon he couldn't even imagine how bad it must've been for you. You had literally... died. The thought alone was enough to make goosebumps rise on the demon's skin and the urge to touch and embrace you was getting stronger. He just wanted to make sure you were still there. Really there. His feet slowly approached the bed. Without thinking Mammon's hand moved to your face, softly caressing the crease between your eyebrows with one finger as if to smooth the lines. You suddenly opened your eyes and Mammon's hand shot back. Your face softened as you recognized Mammon's face and gave him a small smile, "You scared me". "Sorry", was all that the demon could come up with as he stared at your face like he couldn't believe you were real. "What are you doing here?", you asked softly. Mammon was acting unlike his usual self and that seemed to concern you. "I don't know". Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing here, but he would never admit that. Even if he wanted to, the words seemed to be stuck in his throat. You lifted your blanket up and gestured for him to slip in. Mammon immediately complied and laid down beside you. The blanket was too small for two people, so you two were practically smooshed against each other. "Mammon your shirt is drenched", you whispered feeling the damp shirt now cling to you too. "Sorry". You sighed, "Take it off. You'll get sick...". The demon blushed, but pulled his shirt over his head and let it fall down on the floor beside the bed, "is that really okay?". You just giggled softly at his shy demeanor. The skin of his cheeks turned an even darker shade of red and the demon quickly turned off the small bed side lamp, thankful you wouldn't be able to see the embarrassing color his face had taken on.

With his shirt off Mammon could feel even more of your warm skin. The feeling made him calm down. The anxious feeling he had when he first stepped through the door completely gone. You were real. You were still here. Suddenly Mammon had the strongest urge to hug you and never let go, so he carefully turned his body in your direction and put an experimental hand on your right arm. When you didn't protest he put his whole arm around your waist loosely. He felt a sensation on his arm and expected you to move his arm away. Feeling dejected he got ready to pull his hand away, but only felt your own hand caress his arm softly. Mammon let out a small sigh of relief and boldly put his head in the crook of your neck. Your free arm sneaked under Mammon's neck and started playing with his head. The demon relaxed completely. This was probably the most relaxed he had been in the past weeks since the incident. He could feel himself become more tired and was slowly starting to fall asleep. He muttered a last "good night" and drifted off to sleep.

#mammon x reader #obey me #obey me shall we date #mammon #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me x y/n #mammon x mc #mammon x y/n #obey me imagines #obey me oneshot #orangewriting

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mysicklove · 2 years ago

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𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄

DAY 10: SOMINOPHILIA

With: Levi Ackerman

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: gn! reader, sub! levi, nightmares + insomnia mentioned, oral (m! receiving), handjob in dreams, implied age gap, set in around season 2 timeline? im kinda forgetting which season erwin was in... kissing..lots of kissing, reader being puppy coded and levi is sick in love

A/N: sorry this is late!!!! i hope this also isnt too confusing considering it switches back and forth between his dream and irl. idk. also title is named after a song by The Mamas and The Papas that i LOVEEEE

Levi Ackerman finds himself plagued with nightmares. It was always like that though, since he could remember at least. Three to four nights a week he awakes in the middle of night dripping with sweat with his heart nearly beating out of his chest. He has grown used to the lack of sleep by now, it barely bugs him anymore.

That is, until he found someone to share his bed with.

You were his light, as dramatic and sappy as it sounds, and something he will never admit out loud. But it was true, finally in this dim world he finds himself in, you came crashing in, brighter than the sun. He had fallen for you in record time, and you, drawn to his stoic and feisty aura, came tumbling down after him.

It's been a year now since you've gotten together, and Levi swears the nightmares are getting less frequent.

Well, at least in the nights where you lay beside him. The nights where you hold him, and he has easier access to your heartbeat. The steady rhythm of your chest rising and falling. Alive.

He doesn't go into too much depth about the nightmares, but you know the general scene of them, usually relating back to his comrades deaths. He has mentioned that the recent ones involve you, and it makes your heart crumble for your beloved each time his voice cracks through the explanation. You don’t press too much on the matter – the nights he wakes up in a cold sweat, you are there to ease him back to sleep, reassuring that you and he are safe. He almost gets a full night of sleep with you around.

But alas, you aren’t all sunshine and rainbows, and neither is he. Nope, you happen to be one of the most erotic people have ever met (though, he hasn’t met many). A sick brat is what he calls you, or sometimes a disgusting pervert, if he’s feeling extra grumpy. The nicknames fly past your head, as you pepper his face with kisses. It was all in good spirit, is what you remind yourself at least.

“Soooo, Hange recommended–”

“No.”

You pout at the man, pulling away from his chest to glare at him. “You didnt even let me finish my sentence.”

His cold face doesnt let up, even if his eyes hold a playful light to them. “I am smart enough to recognize that anything having to do with Hange is a bad idea.”

You playfully hit his chest, and the man raises his eyebrows at you. A smile pulls at your lips, and Levi cant help but stare whimsically at you. It was unfair, really. “Fine, get on with it, brat.”

“How would you feel if I woke you up with a blow job?” His reaction is immediate, first shock, and then as a couple seconds go by he seems to be much more inclined to agree, but then finally settles on an scowl.

“Why were you talking to Hange about these things?”

You cock your head to the side, tapping on your chin. “Well, I mentioned that your nightmares have started again, and they told me that oral sex helps stop them. Something neurologically with your dick and brain? I don't know.”

He stares at you for a couple of seconds, bewildered at your explanation. But, he realizes quickly what is up, and he immediately pinches the bridge of his nose with a long sigh. “They are fucking with you, idiot. Just trying to get me laid. Hange has always been like that.”

Your face falls at the words, and Levi swears you managed to master the kicked puppy look. He grabs your hands and pulls you back onto his chest, rolling his eyes when you hum into his skin. The warmth brought him comfort, and he finds himself more at peace. “I mean…It won't help with the nightmares, but who would turn down waking up to a blowjob?” Levi mumbles into your hair, while rubbing his hands up and down your arms.

You twist to look up at him, the familiar grin back on your face. “Yeah?”

He scoffs at you, an embaressed blush coating his cheeks. “Just dont wake me up early, alright. Just gonna piss me off.”

He swears he can see you wagging a tail. “Of course, Captain!”

Two weeks have gone by, and Levi has not woken up to your face anywhere near his dick. He has awoke to kisses along his cheeks, and neck, but that wasnt new, you were always disgustingly affectionate in your half awake state. He holds a content (half) smile for about ten seconds as he shuts the door of your room, only for it to drop when he sees Hange.

He wasnt the one to complain though, maybe you were just teasing him. You always did like to press his buttons. He wasn't going to give you the satisfaction of knowing he wants it. So, the dark haired man continues on, nightmares and all, through the weeks.

By the time a month came passing by, he knows that you forgot all about your stupid little promise – your stupid naive words that only worked to piss him off. He glared at you from across the halls for a whole week – never daring to actually show you real signs that he was upset. But after you accidentally caught him frowning at you from across the training grounds, he was immediately dragged back your shared rooms, and fucked lovingly, as you apolgized for everything you could think of that would piss the man off.

You didnt mention the blowjob, but Levi was content with the disheveled hair, and the hickeys and bite marks littering his body, so he forgives you.

He forgets about the blowjob after two months. You were more horny than usual, so the two of you were at it multiple times a week. He would end up too exhausted to hold any real dreams, including his nightmares.

Levi was okay with it.

9 am. Levi, for the first time ever, was oversleeping. Of course when you woke up at 8 am, on your day off from training, and found your lover by your side, you couldnt help but be shocked. He was usually gone by 5 am to get to training.

But you heard him woke up multiple times in the middle of the night. The nightmares were back. His shaky hands wrapped around you, and he panted into your neck, trembling like you've never seen before. You don't know what triggered it, but Levi seemed to have a really bad night.

He deserves to sleep in. So, at fifteen past 8, you scamper to Erwins office and beg the commander for Levi to have a day off. He always did have a soft spot for you. For one, you brought happiness to humanities strongest, and also because his friend silently threatened him death if he was to mistreat you. Erwin agreed without much hesitation.

You crawl into bed next to your lover, and begin to trace his content face. At least the nightmares were gone for the night.

Then, the realization hits you. This was the perfect time for you to finally do as promised.

You waited months because you wanted Levi to forget about your words. Of course, you assumed he forgot them after a couple of days, paying no attention to your promise, but you waited it out just in case.

And now, the both of you dont have any plans today. A once in a lifetime experience, it has got to be.

So with one more glance at your lover, you kiss his cheek, hold back a small giggle, and slowly remove the blanket from his lap. Then, you slide yourself down on the bed, and carefully manevuer yourself in between his legs. He doesnt sleep with much attire, growing hot in the night. Plus with the addition of the cold sweat he often finds himself in, he learns that going next to bare was easier.

You pull down his boxers, and are immediately exposed to a dark patch of hair. It's trimmed properly, but he prefers to have a little hair down their over being completely shaven. Something on the lines of protecting his dick from germs or whatnot. You dont listen to the details, only thinking about how hot it is.

The boxers make it past his thighs, and you glance back up at the man. He doesn't even seem to flinch when the cool air comes into contact with his skin. He snoozes peacefully into the pillow, his dark hair covering his eyes.

His dick lays limp against his leg, and you pick it up slowly, careful to not wake him up. You run your fingers over it a couple of times, and then, holding the back of it with your fingers to support it, you run your tongue from bottom to top of the length.

Levi doesn't move. You take that as a sigh to continue.

Another stripe of the tongue, and then two more, and nothing happens. You grow bolder by the moment. You place his still soft cock into your mouth, and this time you do hear a reaction. Its a quiet sigh, but it was something. His eyes still remain shut.

Slowly, you begin to suckle on the tip, finding it easier to fit it in your mouth while soft. Your tongue roams the shaft, and you press sloppy, wet kisses to his veins. Blood rushes to his cock unconsciously, and Levi still has not stirred, even with his cock now hard. You chuckle with amusement, but dont stop your movements, now dragging your hands along his thighs to appreciate his body.

Levi was having a good dream. It wasnt like the past couple of nightmares, no, this one seemed to have a light hue. It was just the two of you, laying with your backs against grass. A open field, far away from everyone, and not a threat in sight. Titans were gone.

A peaceful world for the two of you. A world Levi craved.

His hands trace your face, and he stares at you, admiring every crease and divot of your skin. You slide your way over toward him, leaning forward to kiss him. “I love you.”

He hums, eyes falling shut, as he wraps his arms around your body. “Yeah, yeah. Love ya too, brat.”

You giggle at him, and suddenly the smile on your face shifts. It turns soft, the tips of your mouth curling up in an almost feline way, while you eyes become hooded. He watches you lean forward and press your lips to his. The man doesnt stop you, gently kissing you back while your tongue slips into his mouth. Levi gulps when your hands trace down to his pants, and he quickly looks around the meadow, afraid to discover an unwelcomed guest. Of course there was nobody, it was a dream, not a nightmare. Your hand slips into his pants, and Levi’s back arches in the grass.

He twitches in his sleep and you smile fondly at the man. The tip of his cock rest against your cheek, as you admire him for a second too long, only to be rewarded with jolt of his hips from the source unknown, sending it slapping across your face. You hold back a laugh, and then grab at it again, mumbling out a, “Even a brat in your sleep, huh Captain?”

You lean forward and wrap your lips around him again.

“D-Don't stop!” Levi groans out, hands clutching at your shirt while he squeezes his eyes shut. It doesn't stop the sun from getting past his eyelids, so he moves closer to you to hopefully block it out. You press your lips to his neck, nibbling at the space just beneath his ears.

“Would never,” You purr, and the man glances at your hand. His pants are pulled down completely now, and your pace was rutheless in its up and down motions. It sends him shivering, and covering his face with the back of his arm. He breathes through clenched teeth, and tries his best not to let out a whimper. The man hears your giggle, and before he could stop himself, the whine slips out.

The first noise of the morning was a low whimper. Not much, but definitely there, and unbelievably cute. You grip at his hips and try to take him deeper, but his hips thrusts back into your mouth with another paired whine. Your eyes widen, and you gag out at the unexpected movement, having to pull away to catch your breath. His dark hair whips back and forth, and he continues to make low mewling noises. “Huh, and you call me the pervert. What are you dreaming about, pretty?”

Levi moans into your mouth, wrapping his arms around your neck. His hips buck up into your hands, and you playfully bite his lip, earning a dramatic grunt in complaint. He grips your hair and pulls you back to his lips before you try and let out another teasing remark. Precum leaks onto your hand, and he swears that it provides more of the makeshift lube then usual. Your hand feels better than normal, strangely damp, and so warm. Did handjobs always feel this good?

He can feel his high approaching and his breaths come out quicker. “Gonna..cum. Fuck!”

You detach yourself from his lips. “No, no, no! Not yet!” You tease, voice light and almost giggly. It wasn't the first time you denied him of his release, but it was rare. You always di did pamper him.

The man scowls at you, borderline on the cusp of baring his teeth. “Why?” He demands, short and simple, but shows exactly how peeved he is. Levi is more than surprised to feel that you didn't squeeze his cock in warning. No, still the warm, tight feeling, that does not make any sense to him.

“Can you do something for me first?”

A demand from you? Unheard of. “Get on with it, I-Im close”

Your hand movements become louder and louder, and it shouldn't sound like that. It's so lewd, and the squelching noise are never that loud.

You press you lips to his ear, and a shiver runs down his spine at your breath, which is strangely cooler than usual. “Wake up, Captain.”

His eyes snap open immediately and he pants into the dark room. Levi hears it first, before he feels it. A loud slurping sort of noise, and the man feels his cock trapped between something warm, wet.

A throat. Not a hand.

He is quick to manevour himself to hold his weight on his elbows, and glances down at you, breaths coming out shallow and quick. You smile when you catch his eye, and for a second you pull away from him. You pepper his length down with kisses. “Well, well, good morning, sleepy head,” You mumble, letting another swipe of your tongue graze his thick blue vein. Then, with little hesitation, you dive back onto his cock, taking it as far as you can into your mouth.

“What are you–Fuck!” His legs instinctually bend outward, and his back arches. His head was still foggy in his half sleepen state. Was that all a dream? Was this real? He grips onto your hair, and does his best not to force you deeper onto his cock.

Levi could feel his orgasm approaching and rapidly, same as the dream. But this time it was real, and by god did it feel that way. His hips buck into your mouth and he lets out loud moans, tucking his face into the pillow to try and muffle them.

He tries to ask for permission again to cum again, hoping that this time real you wouldnt lead him on. It comes out more as a command, but you just roll your eyes with a smile, the giggle in the back of your throat sending him spiral.

“Cumming. Oh god. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He chants, and your eyes widen in shock, but you don't pull away from his cock. He was never the one to be polite in bed, the little brat was always barking commands and half hearted complaints. He must be really enjoying this treat if he was to thank you.

You dont have time to dwell on it much, because he forces your head lower onto his cock and cums into your mouth. You wince at the taste, but bear no mind to it as you watch your lover unravel. His back still continues to arch (which you will never get over) while his eyes are shut. The noises he lets out are soft, more of a mewl and a groan, but adorable nonetheless. His whole body trembles and his legs lay out wide, shaking under the force of the orgasm.

You pull away when he is done, and wipe your lips with the back of your hand. “Taste perfect as usual. Always so good on your diet!”

He rolls his eye at you, but it doesn't hold much bite considering that the man seemed to be basking in the post orgasm glow. “You are gross. I know that shit tastes bad.”

“Nope! Anything that the Captian makes is amazing”

He throws a pillow at your face, and you pout at him, a dramatic whine slipping past your lips. “Don't call me that, I am not even your Captain anymore, brat. And stop pouting!” He demands, pulling up his boxers before letting out a big stretch.

“Why are you so mean to me?” You complain, crawling forward to lay on his chest. “After I gave you head too!”

The frown does not drop from his face, but he does trace his fingers along your face. A silent token of affection that you purr into. “Took ya long enough. Thought you forgot about it.”

You fake hurt, taking in a dramatic breath. “Of course not! I would never lie to you.” The words are light, and holds a smile in them. “And hey, dont you think you are a little spoiled? Complaining that you got a blowjob too late.”

Levi doesnt even seem to react, his facial expression remaining neutral, and his words flat. “No ‘m not. Said thank you and everything.”

To this, you do nod, practically vibrating with affection to give. It was too hard to really be upset with him. “Super polite of you! I was so impressed!”

This does make him roll his eyes. “You really think low of me, huh?”

You poke at his cheek with a smile plastered on your face. “Aww cmon dont be dramatic again. You know I dont. Oh! Also, did it help with the nightmares?” You tease, knowing exactly what type of dream he really was having. “You sounded very….Scared in your dream.”

He seems to flush red, but alas, Levi was never the one to be on the losing foot. “....Yes. Seems like you are going to have to do this for me everyday. To stop the nightmares.”

You burst out laughing, and fail to see the small grin that creeps up the dark haired man's face.

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#mello.writes #Barkforme!#Kinktober 2023 #dom! reader #dom reader #sub! levi #sub levi #sub levi ackerman #sub! levi ackerman #levi ackerman smut #levi smut #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x reader smut #aot smut #aot x reader #sub aot #sub! aot

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driedposies · 3 months ago

Text

“My little Nepenthe,”

Series synopsis: The looming threat of the Death God Koschei and the High Lord of Autumn allying has those of the Inner Circle fretting about the consequences on Prythian. However, the heir of the Autumn Court, Eris Vanserra, proposes a deadly machination of deceit to bypass laws and suspicions to remove his father from the board—a show of wooing and manipulating a reason for murder. You, the second eldest Archeron sister, still dealing with the repercussions of your mortal changes and manifesting gifts, agree to play the partner in Eris’s wicked schemes of usurpation. As you pretend to fall for the heir who always manages to get under your skin, you uncover more than just a male of arrogance and entitlement. Sometimes, even the best playwrights change the script in the production's final moments. And nothing makes a performance more exhilarating than a little behind-the-scenes romance.

Current word count: 35.8k

CHAPTER ONE: And The Dark Awaits Us All Around The Corner

⋆｡°✩ Nightmares plague your every night, even after a year after your mortal changes. Grappling with new instincts and powers threatening to escape, you wallow in silence, until you were presented an opportunity to leave your glamoured cage. A ball in the Court of Nightmares appeared an exciting change of fleeting liberty—and, a chance meeting.

CHAPTER TWO: Let Your Branches Fork My Veins

⋆｡°✩ You receive a letter after a gift exchange that sends you on a witch hunt.

CHAPTER THREE: I Feel Them Drown My Name

⋆｡°✩ A prophecy has been dreamed, and a plan has been made. Trust the fox and kill a King.

CHAPTER FOUR: I Would Die Inside If You Ever Stopped Nurturing Me

⋆｡°✩ As you settle into Autumn, another secret is torn from you. But after a breakfast with the Lady Autumn, you realise Eris is not all thorns and callouses.

CHAPTER FIVE: The World Was On Fire (And No One Could Save Me But You)

⋆｡°✩ A week has already passed since your arrival at Autumn, when your scheme is challenged in the form of a revel.

CHAPTER SIX: You're Lost At Sea, Then I'll Command Your Boat To Me

⋆｡°✩ The High Lord of the Autumn Court calls for a family dinner. Eris learns the art of vulnerability.

CHAPTER SEVEN: Have You No Idea That You're In Deep?

⋆｡°✩ With the Summer Solstice on the horizon, you're made to confront more than your worries about this coup. Instead of running away from what you are now, you begin to accept the things you once feared—including the bond that's made a home in your soul.

#acosf #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #eris x reader #eris acotar #eris vanserra #archeron sisters #elain archeron #elain x lucien #vanserra family #vanserra brothers #beron vanserra #lucien vanserra

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blackmoonowl · 4 months ago

Note

Hear me out escaped 049 with a normal reader who has no idea of the foundation

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚘𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛

ꨄ Pairing: SCP-049 x reader

ꨄ Summary: Based on an older oneshot I made years ago. We are so fucking back.

ꨄ Word Count: 1110 words

People had been going missing.

Some that you know, some that you didn't. It all happened suddenly in the span of a few weeks in the small, sleepy town you were staying in. Normal everyday people were disappearing on their way to work, after a night out, some even vanishing from their homes. Unfortunately, that didn't mean they stayed missing. The hairs were standing up on the back of your neck as you walked past yet another crime scene. Another missing person that came back disfigured and completely crazed. The local police surrounded the homeless man, ushering people away, locals and news reporters aside.

Deciding to indulge your morbid curiosity, you decided to halt. You pried your way through the small crowd to get a closer look at the newest victim. The first responders were already covering the victims body with a tarp, but you could vaguely make out the stitching done on his bare torso. One of his arms was missing and his eyes were wide open, coloured a milky white.

That was about all you got to see, as a police officer walked over to you and a few other bystanders.

"Got enough of a look? This is a private crime scene, get out of here!" A few people scoffed at the officer's harsh tone. You didn't take it too personally, though. Lord knows the poor woman had seen enough already.

You decided to just move on, not bothering to look back at the remaining crowd. Most of them would go home eventually, given the curfew. It was a vain attempt to prevent more people from getting claimed by whatever serial killer was out there. Well, you couldn't really call whoever it was a serial killer, given everyone who returned was technically alive. You kept your eyes ahead of you, trying to focus on the dark road ahead. You knew you were taking a risk being out here at all. Your eyes trailed to the trees that surrounded the outskirts as you lost yourself in thought.

And that's when you saw it.

If it weren't for the figure's white mask, you wouldn't have noticed them at all. Their black robes did a great job hiding them among the shadows. It looked like someone wearing a plague doctors costume. It was likely some sort of sick joke, thought up by some guy without a life, you tried to reason. But there was something about the situation that made your stomach turn. The figure was shamelessly staring at you, almost as if they were observing your actions. You were frozen in place, staring right back at them. Every instinct was screaming at you to run, but it was like you were glued to the ground. The tall figure remained still as well, though seemed far more composed than you. The figure raised a gloved hand, beckoning for you to come closer.

You weren't falling for that, you shook your head before taking your eyes off the figure, powerwalking down the path. The sooner you got home, the sooner you were away from whoever this was. When you glanced back, the figure was gone, only making your blood feel colder in your veins. Picking up the pace, you rounded as many corners as you could. You wanted to run home but leading that creep straight to your front door wasn't the best choice. You took refuge under a streetlamp, your surroundings eerily empty. The silence was deafening as you slowly regained your composure.

"I assure you, there is no need to be frightened."

You had no idea how you didn't hear the figure coming. The strange sounding, masculine voice sounded a few meters away from you. There the plague doctor stood, hands clasped behind his back. The figure tilted their head slightly.

"I understand you may not feel at ease. Worry not, for I am a doctor." The figure approached you once more, causing you to step back.

"You did all this, didn't you?" The distinct sound of disdain inevitably crept up in your voice. "What the hell did you even do to them?"

"Yes... what had to be done was... unfortunate. I have been kept from furthering my research for so long, the pestilence has been able to spread freely. I truly am sorry I was not able to aid sooner."

"What do you mean by that?" Your voice was a mere hiss through your teeth. The plague doctor let out an almost disappointed sigh.

"I have made peace with the unfortunate fact no one else understands the insidious nature of the pestilence. But fear not, I am here to cure you of this affliction. If you truly knew what horrors the disease spreads... you would thank me for my work." The figure reached out for you, but you were quick in stepping away. The doctor let out a sigh, slowly lowering his hand.

"You killed those people... because of an imaginary disease. That's all their life was worth to you!" You snapped. You didn't care if anyone heard you, at least then someone could bail you out of this situation. Your words seemed to offend the plague doctor.

"Every life is worth something to me." His voice was stern as he visibly tensed. "I have spent countless years dedicating my life to curing this ailment while my fellow men of science mock my work, while people like you call me a monster. Yet I persist, because I care!" His outburst left you speechless, and the doctor took a few deep breaths, calming himself down.

"I... apologize... that was uncalled for. Refrain from such comments in the future, if you will, however." His shoulders relaxed as he peered at you from behind the eye holes in his mask.

"Future? What the hell do you mean by that?" You asked, taking another step back.

"I shall need to keep you close. Although the pestilence hasn't spread throughout you entirely just yet, I will need to monitor for your own well being. I trust you have no qualms about this?" The way he was so casual about it would have been comical if your entire way of life wasn't being threatened.

"I'm going home," you firmly replied, backing away further. You saw his eyes narrow at that comment. Footsteps sounded behind you, before your back met a solid surface. It was a small group of people, distorted faces you vaguely recognized from the poster. With nowhere left for you to run, the doctor approached you. He stopped right in front of you, the beak of his mask was centimeters away from your nose.

"I fear you have very little choice, doctors orders."

𓅓 Masterpost

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#scp #scp x reader #scp 049 #scp 049 x reader #scp foundation #scp fandom #scps x reader #scp 049 x you

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ladykailitha · 2 months ago

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Heartbreak in Overdrive Part 5

I'm hoping that last week as glitch, but it seemed like the numbers were down on most of my fics last week. I hope this week will be better.

There is just this disparity from just six to eight months ago until now. I had 200-300 notes a post and now I'm lucky to get over 100.

In this we have their first meeting and we find out why Steve pushed so hard to for it be Eddie in this shoot.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Eddie tried to look into the photographer but he appeared to be a ghost the last three years. All his stuff prior to that were all Nat Geo stuff and he didn’t mean pretty pictures of animals and nature. It was hard core stuff.

Wars, famines, plagues. The worst humanity had to offer and he made it beautiful. The man had awards. Plural. Why would the guy be interested in a makeup brand? And how on earth would Ravenscroft have even heard of him to hire him in the first place?

It made no sense.

So since he had to use this guy’s ‘team’ he was going to make life as miserable for them as possible. He deliberately didn’t set his alarm, didn’t shower, and even stopped at Starbucks for a latte. He didn’t even like Starbucks.

He arrived about about an hour late wearing sweats and flipflops and a faded band t-shirt. He slurped loudly on his iced latte as strolled through the doors to the studio. His feet petered to a stop as he took in the scene before him.

The equipment had been setup with a large bed with red satin sheets in the middle of the room. The lights were soft and a warm yellow. Sitting on a simple folding chair just a few feet from the bed was a man setting up his camera.

Eddie looked around. “Aw... did I miss it? Where did everyone go?”

Then the man looked up at him with the most blinding smile. Eddie’s mouth went dry and he was out of drink. He gulped heavily.

The man chuckled and shook his head. He stood up and walked over to Eddie. “I was told that you might be trouble so I booked the studio for two days.”

The cloying nature of the latte seemed to have stuck to his throat because Eddie couldn’t breathe. He swallowed harshly. “You seem to have the advantage, as I don’t know jack shit about you.”

“Steve Harrington,” he said brightly, sticking out his hand to shake, but Eddie just stared at him. Steve shrugged and put the hand in his pocket. “This is my first major fashion shoot and I am super thrilled that you ultimately agreed to my terms.”

Eddie glared at him. “Something I am very much not happy about, by the way. My hair and scalp is very sensitive and the smallest thing can throw it out of wack.”

“So Vickie has been telling Robin and Max,” Steve said, nodding in agreement. “When we found out that you liked to have your own hair and makeup artist, we looked into why. So Vickie has been telling my crew everything they need to make sure everything will go well.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment as he tried to process that information. “Speaking of your team where are they? I expected this place to be teaming with people.”

“They aren’t here right now,” Steve said softly. “I sent them off for breakfast and they should be back in about twenty minutes. Which will give us plenty of time for us to get to know each other so you can be comfortable doing the shoot. You were told we were doing a couple of nudes, right?”

Eddie nodded. He looked around for a place to sit that wasn’t the bed or the folding chair and spotted a large lounge chair in black velvet. He looked over at Steve suddenly reassessing the other man.

Steve followed his line of sight and smirked. “You can sit there, but I’ve got a better idea. If you’ll just follow me. There’ll even be a garbage to toss your cup.” Eddie stared at him in awe. “Unless you’re planning on using it in the shoot. Which I wouldn’t recommend hawking another brand.” He winked at Eddie.

“Yeah, no,” Eddie said breathlessly. He had been completely turned around and now he was the one off balance.

Steve led him into a side room that had all his changes of clothes and was completely decked out to do hair and makeup, including a sink and yes a small garbage can. Which he used immediately to toss the cup. But there were also comfy seating chairs and even a couch with the beautician’s chair in front of large mirror. It was his dressing room.

Steve sat in one of the large comfy chairs and indicated that he should sit too. He flopped on the sofa and wagged his eyebrows at Steve causing him to burst out laughing. It was a nice sound.

“So I wanted to go over how the shoot will go,” Steve said, broad smile on his face. “We will start you off on the folding chair, completely clothed and in white, but the make up will be dark. Kind of like a devil’s face on angel kind of feel. Then with each change of outfit the clothes will get darker and sexier while the makeup gets lighter. About half way through the transformation we’ll move on to the lounge chair, to really highlight the changes you’re going through. Then the lightest makeup with be with the nudes. Partly to show off your body, and party so I can return those sheets and get my deposit back.”

Eddie burst out laughing himself. Not at the plan but the deposit joke. “Well if I ruin them, I’ll pay the rental fees.”

Steve grinned back. “Thanks. Also, usually I use an assistant but not on nude shoots. My models don’t need an extra pair of eyes ogling them. Ellie will lay out the outfit and then leave. You’ll get dressed and then knock twice on the door when you’re ready for hair and makeup. Then Max and Robin will come in. Max will do your hair and Robin will do your makeup. Then you’ll come out and bring that extra something that Ravenscroft hired you for and then rinse and repeat for the outfits until the nude shots.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. It all sounded too good to be true. So it must be the nude shots that were the catch. “Yeah and what happens with those?” he asked jutting his chin up.

“You’ll come out in a robe,” Steve said not rising to the bait. “And then when you feel comfortable enough to disrobe, you do so. But my team stays in the room next to us until you’re fully covered with the robe.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. “God, where have you been my life? Like how is it so easy for you but so hard for everyone else?”

Steve’s smile was tender and a little pained. “Because I’ve seen the worst of humanity and I firmly believe everyone deserves their dignity. No matter who it is. But especially you. I’ve been to a couple of your shoots and you aren’t the big brat people paint you as. You just stand up for yourself because you know your worth and it is immense.”

Maybe instead of being a brat...Eddie thought. He could flirt with this man. Make him crack this facade of civility. Because it had to be that, right?

Right?

Steve glanced over Tommy’s shoulder and frowned. There was something wrong with the lighting.

“Hey, can I look at your earlier shots?” he asked, glancing over at Eddie who was becoming more and more irritable with each passing second.

But before Carol could hand him the memory card with another camera to view them in, Eddie erupted about someone blocking the light from the disco ball. Steve winced, because he had knew something was wrong but didn’t know enough about club lighting to figure it out before Eddie blew a gasket.

Tommy turned to Steve and waved his arm the direction Eddie had fled. “Do you see what I have to put with with this guy?!”

“Well, let’s go through the other shots and see if we can’t find who he’s talking about.” Steve steadfastly ignored the comment about Eddie’s behavior because he was close to saying the same thing.

It took them about an hour, but Steve found out that one of the male models in the background was out of frame, but just enough in the way to block out the light glinting off the disco ball. And worse, he had done it on purpose. He had been trying to get Eddie into trouble for the shoot and maybe in fired.

His reason?

The dude was one of five finalists that the liquor company had looked at before deciding on Eddie. He had a friend on the production who snuck him in and with so many extras milling around it was easy to just get fitted for costume and make Eddie’s day as miserable as possible.

So not only was the guy tossed out, his friend was fired too.

After that the shoot went so smoothly that Tommy and Carol took Steve out for dinner as a thank you.

“Man,” Carol said with a sigh as they waited for their food. “Like who the fuck notices that there was someone in their light like that?”

Steve shrugged, bringing his beer to his lips. “Someone who is used to having to fight to be seen. Someone who is so dedicated to their craft that they are so in tuned with his surroundings he can sense something is wrong.”

Tommy chuckled and shook his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were describing yourself.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I guess that makes sense. Probably why he became a model in the first place. What better way to be seen then through the lens of a camera.”

“Shit, Steve,” Carol whined. “You’ve got me kinda liking Eddie!”

Steve grinned up at them. “People aren’t usually assholes for no reason. There are a few, let’s not lie. But most of the time it’s because they’ve been treated like shit and now they’re trying to be shitty first so they don’t get hurt.”

He wagged his eyebrows and Tommy flushed. Because yeah, that was exactly what his deal in high school was.

“Okay, okay,” Carol said rolling her eyes. “We’ll be a bit nicer to the little shit. But he is still a little shit.”

Steve nodded and then raised his glass. “I’ll take that.”

Steve was on his way to crafty to find a water bottle or two, when he saw Argyle outside of a dressing room on his phone.

“Hey, man,” he greeted. “What’s up?”

Argyle looked up at him and then grinned. “Steve! My man! I’m glad you made it, how are you liking the shoot so far?”

Steve laughed and hugged him. “The food is definitely better and the access to clean water, too.”

Argyle patted him on the back and then stepped back. “Always a plus for sure.”

Steve jerked his head toward the dressing room. “You waiting on someone?”

“Huh?” Argyle said and then smacked his forehead. “Yeah. His highn-ass kicked me out when I was just trying to tell him the new direction the brand wanted to go.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said jerking his head back. “Did he say why?”

“Like I just walked in and apparently he was still getting undressed or whatever,” Argyle replied with a half-shrug. “I don’t see what the deal was, like he’s doing a nude shoot.”

Steve blinked at him in wide mouthed shock. “Holy shit. You just walked in while he was changing? Because he was a dude and doing a nude shoot? Like seriously what? Would you do that to a female model?”

Argyle reared his head back. “No, of course not. I could lose my job, man.”

“But you’re attracted to men, too,” Steve said scratching his cheek. “So don’t you think the same rules should apply to men as they do with women to avoid getting shit for it?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he replied grumpily.

Steve patted him the shoulder. “Just be mindful, okay? I’d hate to see you in trouble because someone accused you of something you didn’t do.” Then he turned on his heel and went back in search of his bottle of water.

Jonathan let out a sigh and turned to Will and Steve. “Well that went as well as come be expected. And for once I’m with Eddie on this one. If I can’t bring him into the shot and have it look natural and not like he’s just tacked on somewhere, I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

Will gave his brother’s arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m struggling to figure it out, too. Like there has to be a way to have the girls in the middle without taking the focus off Henry but not forcing Eddie to the back.”

“They need height,” Steve said shaking his head. “If there was a way to get some height on everyone else then Eddie could be in the frame but still kept from tearing Henry’s throat out.”

Will tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean, Steve?”

“Like if their were tiered like an Olympic podium,” he explained. “But with five of them, and you put Henry on top and Eddie on the bottom, then you get this beautiful affect and everyone is happy.”

Jonathan stroked his chin. “That could work. I’ll send a couple of PAs out, see if they can find something like that. I mean wedding rental places might have something similar enough.”

Miraculously a nearby theatre had used something like it for a recent production and was happy to lend them to Jonathan for a small fee.

They made sure it was safe enough to take the weight of the models and set it up. Then they sent Chrissy to bring Eddie back. It worked like a dream and made for a photo spread that could win awards.

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: NO SLOTS OPEN

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @chaotic-waffle @steddieislife @oh-no-its-danger-gays @ollieolive @micheledawn1975

10- @little-birch-boy @alfhitchblonde @tartarusknight @chocolateracconlights @spookycollectorcandies

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #fashion model au #eddie is a model #steve is a photographer

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daechwitatamic · 1 year ago

Text

The Price || MYG

banner by @/itaeewon

The Price

Rating: NSWF - minors do not have my consent to interact Genre: Snow White and the Huntsman!au, angst, smut, unhappy ending WC: 8k

Summary: The Queen is responsible for everything you call yours: your home, your job, your freedom. You live without laying claim to anything else, lest the Queen leverage more in exchange for her grace. But the Queen has just named her latest price: the life of the young blacksmith, Min Yoongi.

Warnings: language, drinking, there’s a plague and it’s a problem, reader’s parents died (see the previous warning lol) and there are scenes of her grieving process, reader is a hunter so there’s mentions of animal carcasses and hides, lots of mentions of reader’s big fancy knife, a murder attempt, kissing, nip stim, groping, fingering, clit stim, penetrative sex (protection not mentioned either way), reader on top, angst, unhappy/ambiguous ending

A/N: Part of the Make Me Your Villain collab! Please give the other authors a lot of love!!! Huge huge huge thank you to @/here2bbtstrash for beta-ing!

Mirror, mirror - look and see. Who might take this throne from me? Mirror, mirror - who's the threat? Show me which boy's blood to let.

There are pros and cons to living outside the village. The pros are that you’re mostly left alone - you live by your own laws, most of the time. It’s better this way; you come and go as you please, you don’t worry about latest fashions or gossip, you aren’t under the thumb of any societal niceties or norms. You concern yourself more with what the forest tells you. Bad weather, humans who don’t belong, sickness on the horizon - the forest knows it all, and you know how to listen.

You knew about the plague - in a vague, something isn’t right here kind of way - days before the first villager fell sick. You didn’t see anything bigger than a possum for three days - you knew something was in the air. It was the baker first, then his wife. Now it’s made its way into the castle, the guards and servants falling like flies.

Another pro - you won’t pick up illness from the baker if you make your own bread in your tiny cabin in the woods.

The main con - the only con, really - is that when you make your weekly trek to the castle to present the King and Queen with your scores (deer, mostly, but usually a few fowl too) it takes so damn long to get there.

It would be faster on foot, much faster, but you have to load your kills onto a cart and take the dirt road, which winds and twists and takes its time. Today your cart is loaded: venison, fowl, a few rabbits, even a fox. That had been a good score. The Queen likes furs - she’ll pay you well for it.

But the trip into town once a week is a fair price for your freedom, you think.

A few vendors through the heart of town wave hello as you pass. You lift your hand in response but don’t stop. You’ll shop after, when your cart is empty and your purse is full. For now, you stay on the main road until it changes over from tamped-down dirt to cobblestone to, eventually, flat stone that leads to the bridge over the castle’s moat.

The usual guard, the one who knows your face and always waves you through, isn’t there. You wonder if the plague reached him, if he’ll recover or if they’ll send his body to the sea like all the others.

You show identification, the card nearly illegible due to how many times it’s been folded and stuffed into your shoe for safekeeping, and this new guard waves you on.

As usual, you stop in the courtyard just inside the first set of walls. You hop down and start undoing the straps of the fabric you have over the top of the cart. Two guards join you, and they begin moving your scores down from the cart. Each is weighed and given a quick once-over as a scribe stands to the side recording it all.

“Make sure you mention how nice that hide is,” you tell him, pointing at the fox. “I got that one special, for her.”

The scribe rolls his eyes a little, but you see him peer at the fox and scribble something on his little parchment. When they’re done, your cart empty, the scribe rolls his paper up and leads you up the steps towards the main doors to the castle. You flip one of the guards a silver coin and follow the scribe. As you head up the steps, you hear the sound of your horse’s feet moving across the stone, the cart creaking and groaning behind him, as the guard you paid takes him to be cared for.

Inside, you follow the thick, red carpet into the throne room. You’re surprised to see only the Queen present, but you school your face and drop into a bow anyway, your forehead brushing the soft carpeting.

When you rise, you see the scribe has handed her the parchment, and she reads over the report of your goods. You wait, knowing better than to speak until she has.

“A good week,” she observes.

“Yes, your Grace,” you say, eyes on the carpet. “I was pleased as well.”

“Are you well?” she asks as she signals for her Chief of Coin, who scurries close to the throne and lowers his head to hear her whispers.

“Quite well,” you say automatically, though you’re not sure what exactly she’s asking. Does she mean your health? Your home?

The Chief of Coin makes his way to you and you pull your practically-empty purse from your back pocket.

“You have need of nothing?” she asks.

This would be your opportunity to ask after anything major - repairs on your home, medicine, anything you couldn’t get during your walk back through town.

“No, your Grace,” you say. “I had need of a new blade, but the local smith took my request.”

The local smith and your new blade are one of your stops on your way home.

“I’ve heard from the citadel,” she tells you, and you pull your eyes away from the Chief of Coin to look at her. “They say your brother is doing well. He’s applying himself to his studies.”

When you’d lost your parents, you’d begged to keep your brother yourself, desperate to keep him away from the citadel’s orphanage. You were of age, could handle yourself. You could handle him, too, you’d argued.

The King had considered this. Your family was well-known in the village, and your father had hunted for the crown for many years. Your brother was only about five years out from finishing his schooling.

You were investments, you and your brother.

In the end, the deal had been struck - the crown would see to the rest of his education under the condition that when he finished he’d work for the crown, pay back his debt, begin to build his own name.

And, in the meantime, you’d take over the hunting. You could keep your family’s little cabin out in the woods, away from town. Your brother wouldn’t be apprenticed off to a stranger.

It was an easy deal to agree to.

“We’re grateful for the opportunity,” you say to the Queen. “If the report said anything less, I’d travel there to knock sense into him, myself. He’s at that age. You know.”

You try to bite back a cringe. The Queen might not know. She’d never been able to bear a child for the King.

She smiles at this, thinly. “Very well,” she says, and you take back your now-heavy purse from the Chief of Coin. “Then I shall see you next week. I wish you continued health in the upcoming days.”

You nod your head. “I wish the crown health and longevity,” you say. Head bowed, you miss the way her eyes tighten.

–

You pick up the goods you need - eggs, flour, and the like - on your way through town. You eye the tavern, tempted to stop for a pint. Alas, you are embarrassingly excited to get your new blade, so instead you carry on down the road towards the smithy.

After tying up your horse - though he’s a lazy thing and probably wouldn’t wonder anyway, not with the cart hitched up - you head inside, following the sounds of a hammer striking metal.

You wait until there’s a break in the noise and then shout a hey back towards the open door to let the team know they have a customer.

There’s the sound of a heavy instrument being dropped to the ground, and you catch yourself smoothing your hair back. Stop it, you scold yourself, scowling.

That’s the face that greets the youngest of the smithing team, Min Yoongi, as he steps into the shop, blinking as his eyes adjust to the light.

“Ah,” he says, lips curling into a smirk. “Is it Thursday already?”

“Is my blade ready?” you ask, ignoring both his self-satisfied grin and his question. “Park Jihoon said I could get it today.”

At his boss’s name, Yoongi’s smirk fades until he’s all business again. He turns to the wall, where special orders are tacked. He searches until he finds yours.

“It’s ready,” he grunts, reading the slip of parchment. “Wait here.”

He disappears into the back again, returning with a hefty-looking blade, sheathed in a leather case.

He places it on the counter between you, pulls the blade from its case and turns it over so you can see each side.

You frown. “I didn’t order engraving on the case,” you say, jutting your chin towards the delicate design at the top. It curls in and around itself, all the way around. “I’d better not have to pay extra for that.”

“Ah, but he worked so hard on it!” Park Jihoon says cheerfully, appearing out of the back and clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. You keep your eyes on the knife; Yoongi looks steadfastly at the wall with the orders, a pink flush working up his neck.

“It’s not extra,” he mutters.

“I’m heading to Bridgeport,” the senior blacksmith tells Yoongi. “I’ll be back before sundown. You’ll be okay here?”

“Of course I will,” Yoongi says, disgruntled. Jihoon nods goodbye at you both and moves through the door, leaving you in silence.

“What’s the price?” you ask, placing your purse on the counter and digging for coins. He turns the paper over so you can see what his boss wrote, and you slide him the payment. You work on attaching the blade’s sheath to your belt, ignoring how Yoongi watches you through heavy-hooded eyes.

You know that look. You are ignoring that look.

“Lovely,” you say, once you’re situated and ready to go. You swipe up your purse and toss it once, catching it deftly. “Have fun pounding on metal, or whatever.”

His grin is razor-sharp. “I’d be happy to pound something else, if you want.”

The laugh rips out of you, unbidden and unwanted. “Disgusting,” you tell him, but the laughter takes the bite out of the words. “My God, you ought to throw yourself down the well for that.”

He lifts a brow, his smile turning less dangerous and more open.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “None of that today, thanks. I’ll be off.”

“Come on,” he cajoles, coming around the counter to follow you to the door. “You know you want some. It’ll be such a long ride back here when you change your mind later.”

“Keep dreaming, blacksmith,” you tell him, lips pursing in amusement.

He lays a hand over his heart like he’s wounded. “Blacksmith? You remembered my name just fine last week when you were -.”

“Well, I seem to have forgotten it again!” you blurt before he can finish the thought, pulling the door open. Over your shoulder you call, “Good day!”

His laughter rings out onto the street, following you home.

Regretfully, you have to admit that out of everyone who lives in this village, built out from the castle’s western gate, you know the most about Min Yoongi.

You knew him in passing, of course - before. When you’d ride through this same village on this same cart, your little brother squeezed between you and your father. When you’d stand silently, peeking around your father’s side, while he took payment from the King for his scores. When you’d greet the peddlers and the shop-keepers politely before climbing back on the cart and riding all the way back home.

Yoongi was just an apprentice then. You hadn’t paid him any mind. He was quiet, a bit scruffy, stayed close to Park Jihoon. He was no more interesting to you than the apprentice for the bakery, the tannery, the copywrite. Wasn’t even the best looking out of the bunch, honestly.

He was just there, unassuming. He was there when you’d pass through town on the cart full of your father’s scores, there whenever your family had business with the blacksmith, there when the holidays rolled through and your mother dragged you into town in a dress you hated and shoes that pinched.

There the day your parents’ bodies, along with six others, were loaded onto a barge headed for the sea. There the day your brother joined four more young people from the village as they climbed into a deep blue carriage headed for the citadel.

Yoongi’s dark eyes, cool and undemanding, had been on you as you stood fully alone for the first time in your life.

You hadn’t paid him any attention then, either. You couldn’t pay mind to anything then except dragging yourself through dark day after dark day until, finally, the clouds seemed to part and your new life seemed bearable. And bearable turned into decent. And decent turned into enjoyable.

The seasons turned. The hurts faded.

And you began to pay mind to Min Yoongi.

You began to learn things about him, then - after.

In your time around town, you learned first that he was good at his work - his blades were made well, easily as well as his master’s blades. You learned that he scowled and grunted but hardly ever meant it. You learned that he had a good reputation around the village - was known for helping his neighbors without being asked, known for being polite and keeping to himself. You learned that he had no family either, that the master blacksmith who’d taken him as an apprentice had more or less raised him, too.

Alone with him, you learned that his smile could be razor sharp, one side lifting and eyes glinting in a way that made your pulse sing. You learned that when he meant it, his eyes squeezed shut and his gums showed. His shoulders shook when he laughed. He made the funniest faces when someone said anything he didn’t agree with or didn’t understand. He’d grown strong, his craft shaping his arms and roughening his hands.

You learned that he took whiskey neat at the tavern when he was done working for the day. You learned that he had a smart mouth behind his quiet demeanor, and opinions about everything. You learned what he was willing and able to do with that mouth when he pressed you against the rough wood of the tavern’s side alley, and then later, back in his rooms behind the smithy.

You learned that he fucked rough but loved soft.

And that was where it had to stop.

Because it couldn’t be - but this you knew the whole time.

When he pressed his mouth to yours sweetly, stretching to reach you, brushed one lovely finger down your cheek and whispered, I want you, you knew this: it couldn’t be.

There was no life for you in the village. There was no life for you as someone’s wife. There was no future for you as someone’s homemaker.

Even if he could somehow give you partnership and love without taking away the wildness of your lifestyle - there was no love ready to bloom and grow behind your iron ribs. You had nothing you could give him back. You knew only survival. Only killing and coin. Only the forest and its secrets.

“You can’t have me,” you’d whispered back. “I am not to be had.”

You were surprised when he didn’t fight it. He hadn’t pushed back. He hadn’t held it against you, hadn’t been wounded. He’d accepted exactly what you were willing to give him and asked for nothing more.

You know this, above all else: he’s sweet, and conscientious, and good. Yoongi is good.

You - forest-dweller, hunter, orphan, unmannered, uneducated - don’t deserve him. You aren’t enough for how good he is.

The royal physician’s face says it all.

The Queen purses her lips, her eyes on her husband’s prone form. He meets her gaze weakly, too far gone to mask any of it.

“How long?” she asks, the words clipped.

The physician spreads his hands before him. “Impossible to say, your Majesty. Days, maybe. Weeks, if he can be strong.”

She scoffs. “Days it shall be, then.” She dismisses him with the wave of a hand.

No one is surprised, she thinks. The plague would breach their walls eventually. Only the strong survive - of course it would be her husband who would succumb first, and quickly. He’d never been strong, not like her.

After all, she was the one who tried all these years. She looked and acted the part of a partner. She was faithful. She focused on the crown, on the realm.

Not like him.

He coughs as he shifts on the bed, and she looks at him again. Weak, she thinks again. She can only feel disgust for him, for everything he never gave her.

“You’ll finally get what you always wanted,” he croaks.

She turns to look out the window. The day is grey, dreary.

“It seems I shall,” she agrees. Then she turns and walks closer to her husband’s sickbed - deathbed, perhaps. She drops delicately into the chair at his side and takes his clammy hand in hers.

It might look as if she doted on him. It might look as if she mourned.

“What became of him?” she asks, voice even and unbending. “The boy.”

Her husband’s eyes crinkle with amusement, and the chuckle that rumbles from his chest is accompanied by pained coughing.

“You truly are something, my Queen,” he says, shaking his head. “The boy doesn’t even know.”

He will say nothing else.

The Queen is delivered two things at once, not a week later.

The first, a gilded mirror, promised to possess magical ability.

The second, the expected news of her husband’s passing.

The realm begins its period of mourning, flags lowering, shutters closing. The Queen begins her incantations, alone in the southernmost tower of the keep.

The frame is made of ornately twisted gold, so heavy it takes two of her men to hang it for her. When they pull the dust cover off, she steps back to appraise it.

“Pretty,” she observes, watching her own reflection in the glass - unmagical, unextraordinary.

The swirling, green-hued mist doesn’t appear before her reflection until her men are dismissed, the door closing and leaving her alone.

Your Majesty, the mirror intones, the voice coming from the depth of the mist. Your wish is my command.

The Queen pauses, considering. The throne, the throne - hers, finally, only hers.

Unless.

The King’s last words to her ring through her head - the boy doesn’t even know.

She raises her chin and chants,

“Mirror, mirror, look and see…

Who could take this throne from me?

Mirror, mirror, who’s the threat?

Show me which boy’s blood to let.”

The mist, green and growing, takes over the glass. The Queen’s fists clench tightly at her sides.

The mist clears. The Queen lets out a laugh, short and bitter.

The blacksmith’s boy smiles shyly in the glass, one hand coming up as if to hide his face.

The blacksmith’s boy. The king’s bastard. Her only threat, the only other claim to her throne.

Your next trip into town isn’t with a cart full of venison and fowl. Instead it rings more true to the holidays of old, with your mother in charge. You wear black and a scowl, just as you did then.

The funeral services for the King threaten to last the full day, maybe into the night. You wish you could abstain, but if ever there was an event you were obligated to attend - this would be it.

You’re not sure what the King’s death means for you - for your brother. Will the Queen uphold the bargain? Does she still want your brother’s counsel, someday, when he’s of age? Without the King’s affection for your father, will she continue to allow you to live freely as part of the arrangement?

You sit alone in the church pew; rather, you’re surrounded on either side by strangers. You know Yoongi’s in the crowd somewhere - you can feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your head. You don’t turn to look for him. What good would it do?

It’s well after dark when the town begins to file out into the night. Your stomach growls, and you ponder if you should stop for a hot meal at the tavern before making the trek back through the woods or if you can hold out until you’re safely back at home.

You’re stopped on your way out the door by a guard reaching across you, blocking your path.

“Her Majesty requests your audience,” he says gruffly, and you feel the hairs on your neck stand at attention. Your audience?

It can’t be good. You’re sure of it.

You don’t meet her in the throne room as you have in the past. Instead, the guard leads you to a small chamber off the chapel, a nondescript little room with no decor, only a table with a candelabra lit in the center.

She’s seated, and it’s so cramped in the room that it’s hard to properly bow, but you do your best.

“Is my brother well?” you blurt out as soon as the guard has closed the door behind you. It was the first, biggest concern you had - you couldn’t hold it in. Had something happened in the citadel?

She inclines her head, shrouded in darkness. “I asked you here because I need something done. You seem, somehow, to be my best option.”

You duck your head, flooded with relief. “I’m at your service, as always.”

And you are. You owe the crown everything - the home you were allowed to keep, your brother’s education, your income. Your freedom, as conditional as it is.

The Queen seems to think before she speaks, and when she does each word is short and deliberate.

“There’s someone I need gone,” she says, her voice giving away no emotion. No sign of grief from the widow, no sign of trepidation from the new ruler, no sign of regret from the human asking you to take a life. “A threat to my throne. I’ll pay five times our normal scale. And I’ll pay you for your discretion, as well, on an ongoing basis.”

You respond with silence. You can’t process quickly enough - you don’t know what to tell her.

The only thing you can tell her is yes. She holds your whole world in her hands.

But if you tell her yes, then you have to do it. Can you kill a person, can you pretend it’s no different from cutting a rabbit’s throat?

Could you tell her yes and then leave? Vanish into the forest? What would become of your brother, if you did? Would he be responsible for your sins?

Five times your normal price could do a lot for you. You could send finer clothes to your brother, help pay for his books, maybe even a little spending money. You could fix up the cabin - patch the roof where it leaks, reinforce the cellar the way you’ve thought about for years.

And payment for your silence - ongoing? For how long, forever?

None of it matters. You can’t say no to the Queen.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you hear yourself say. Your stomach is a block of ice, turning over and over with the tide. “I am yours to command.”

You know it. She knows it.

“The blacksmith’s boy,” she says coolly, and you aren’t even surprised. It’s like part of you knew, somehow. Part of you has been waiting for this ending all along. Isn’t this exactly why you’d never let him get too close? There was never a happy ending in the stars - not for you.

She accepts your silence as acquiescence and adds, “Tonight.”

“Tonight?” you repeat, voice coming out too wispy.

She meets your gaze, still cold. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” you say, the only correct answer. But your mind is scrambling far away, getting ahead - what weapons do you have on hand, how will you do this -

“You didn’t strike me as softhearted,” she says, full of disdain.

“I’m not,” you defend. It’s just that it’s Yoongi. Yoongi, who sees your sharp edges and smiles because he knows firsthand how much sharp edges are worth. How - how - how can you? How can you pretend it’s just a hunt, just a necessity, when you know how his mouth tastes, how he looks at you like you’re something?

Her even look turns darker, a shade closer to a frown. “I know you have the stomach and skill to kill. And I know you dally with him. He’ll follow you - take him to the woods and be done with it.”

You haven’t been as discrete as you thought you had. You wonder who else in town knows about whom you dally with.

Not that it will matter, after tonight. Not if you follow orders.

Not when you follow orders.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you say, head bowed.

There’s no other correct answer. Your freedom had always had a price.

–

There’s some poetic irony, you think, in killing Min Yoongi with the blade he made just for you.

Your mind is stuck on this, circling it, unable to let go, as you approach the smithy.

The lights are out - there’ll be no late-night projects, not during the official mourning for the King. You hope Park Jihoon, whose quarters are above the smithy, just across the yard from Yoongi’s tiny cabin, sleeps deeply.

You know Yoongi keeps a key in the eaves above his front window; you’ve seen him retrieve it no less than a half-dozen times - usually he’s reaching for it, his shirt rising and showing a slip of belly that you can’t help but run your hands across as he laughs and tells you to be patient.

You reach it on your own, tonight. You let yourself in as silently as possible, closing the door behind you, placing the key gently on his tiny, wooden table. His bed is in the far corner of the room, and although the fire in the hearth has gone out, you can see the lump of blankets through the darkness that show you his form.

You approach quietly, as you would approach a potential score, letting yourself slip into the mindset of surviving the forest.

You hesitate when you stand over him. He sleeps on his back, the light from the streetlamps outside casting flickering yellow over his delicate features. His eyelids flutter. Next to his head, his fingers twitch.

If you strike true, this could be over in an instant.

His eyes slide open, and a hazy smile drifts over his face. “Am I having a very good dream?” he murmurs. His eyes trail down your form and freeze on the knife in your hand. The smile fades, and his eyes meet yours again, a question in them. “Or perhaps a very bad one?”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. Then, you move at the same time - you lunging and plunging the blade into the spot where his heart lay, and him rolling sideways and hitting the floor with a thud.

You yank your blade free from where it pierced Yoongi’s empty mattress and wheel to follow him as he scrambles upright and towards the door.

You should’ve locked it. You shouldn’t have apologized, your voice and your regret giving him the split second to bolt.

You follow him at a sprint, panting hard, as the fool runs barefoot through the smithy’s yard, heading for the forest.

Your forest.

It’s overcast tonight, threatening rain. No moon or stars to guide you, you follow Yoongi as he zigs and zags blindly through the trees. You have the advantage. You know where you are, even in the dark.

It’s primal, as you forge deeper and deeper through the underbrush, just sinew and silence as you run. Wind whistles around you as you focus on breathing, focus on following the crunch of Yoongi’s wild path. The earth seems to rise up to meet each footfall with a jolting slap. The darkness seems to spur you on like it knows you need this, pressing you onward, telling you, hurry, hurry.

If you can herd him towards the east, you can cut him off at the ravine - he won’t be able to do it barefoot, not without stumbling, not without cutting those bare feet on the sharp rocks. You pick up the pace, emboldened by the plan, knees and elbows pumping as you close in.

Without warning, Yoongi stops short and wheels around on you, feet skidding a little on the loose needles that coat the forest floor. It’s so unexpected that the inertia carries you to him before you can tell your legs to quit. Before you can slow, before you can turn, he grabs you by the arms and slams you backwards into the thick trunk of an oak tree, hard enough to knock the wind out of you with an audible gasp.

You’re surprised enough that the knife drops from your fingers, and he wastes no time gripping you even tighter and throwing you to the ground, instantly dropping his body over yours and holding you down as best he can as you struggle. The blade lies just out of reach, taunting you, and you reach up and stretch as hard as you can to wiggle your fingers closer, but Yoongi roughly jerks your arm away.

You’re gasping for breath as you struggle beneath his weight, trying to keep your vision clear. This wasn’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to have to chase him, have to fight him. You aren’t used to this - the deer don’t fight back.

“Why?” he pants heavily, his whole body heaving with each inhale and exhale. Sweat runs down his neck from the curled, damp edges of his hair. His eyes are wild, confused above you.

“Do you know who your father is?” you respond in answer, and the question surprises him so much that he leans back, like he’s trying to get a better look at you.

It’s all you need. You use your feet and your core strength to stretch just past where you couldn’t reach with his full weight on you, and your fingers close around the blade’s handle. In a flash, you have the sharp side pressing to the pulse point on Yoongi’s neck, hard enough that you know he can feel the sting, your other hand curling in his shirt and holding him still. His eyes widen and he freezes, straining to hold himself up and away from you.

“If you move I’ll do it, and it won’t be quick,” you hiss, teeth gritted so hard you’re sure they’ll crack. Your heart slams in your chest, adrenaline sending tingles clear down to your toes. You’re dizzy with fear. You aren’t sure what’s scarier - actually doing what you’re meant to, or having to report that you didn’t.

You’re both stuck there - a tableau, an oil painting, frozen for eternity, never moving on from this moment. A million possibilities stretch on as Yoongi’s pulse beats visibly against the knife he’d sharpened for you just days ago.

You feel like you’re floating outside your body; you can’t feel any of it - not the knife’s handle against your palm, not Yoongi’s hips still pinning yours, not the sticks and stones beneath your spine, not the sticky humidity of a night on the precipice of storm. Not your own thrumming, frightened heartbeat.

You know you can’t do it - not this way. Not like this, not with his eyes on yours, steady, as if he’s not staring down his death. Not like this, looking into his face and remembering the first time you were under him this way, remembering every time after that. Your hand trembles as you will yourself not to pull the blade away.

But he knows. Yoongi’s always called your every bluff, has always been perfectly capable of shooting you a knowing half-smile and pushing right past your blustering, always able to find the person on the other side of the facade - the person who’s scared,confused, alone.

“No you won’t,” he murmurs, low, and there’s nothing accusing or mocking in it. He’s simply telling you what he knows.

Slowly, carefully, he lowers his face closer to yours, so deliberately that the knife slides harmlessly along his skin until he’s clear of it. He presses his lips to yours, uncertain at first, then with more insistence when you don’t push him away.

The fear and adrenaline crash through you in time with a not-so-distant crack of thunder, blinding you, rendering you thoughtless and animalistic. You drop the knife with a thud, barely aware that you’re doing it, your hand coming instead to tangle in his loose hair, clutching it tightly at the base of his neck and pressing his head closer to yours, kissing him deeper, needing to absolutely drown in his kiss.

He grunts at your enthusiasm, nipping at your bottom lip before diving into you again, licking deep into your mouth and pressing his hips down into yours in rhythm with the kiss. You move with him desperately, the quiet of the woods scattered by your combined gasping breaths, tiny sounds of pleasure slipping through the cracks in your armor, the wet sounds of your mouths coming apart and meeting again hungrily. Despite the earth solid beneath you, you feel like you’re spinning. You clutch him tightly, one hand in his hair and the other arm coming around his shoulders, tethering him to you.

He’s the only thing keeping you here, in the present, not skittering off to somewhere safe inside your head.

You let him hold you there, pressed between him and the unyielding ground below you, channel all the rushing adrenaline into how you meet his fiery kisses, pressing your mouth hard back against his like it’s a battle, into how you roll your hips against his, thrilling at feeling him hard and ready for you. But for all the intensity, for the dizziness sweeping over you, neither of you rushes - you kiss for so long that your lips tingle, your core throbs, the night grows blacker, the thunder tiptoes closer.

You swipe your tongue over his familiar lips, whining in your throat when he opens for you again, welcomes you in, rocks against you and closes his eyes against the sting as you unconsciously tighten your fingers in his hair.

Then he breaks the kiss, pulls himself free of your grasp, nudges his nose to the underside of your jaw until you lean your head back, breathing hard, giving him room to attach teeth and lips to the skin of your neck.

He gathers a bit of skin and worries it between his teeth, muttering, “You won’t kill me. No one else can make you come undone like I do.”

The sound that tears out of you is half laugh and half desperate groan. “Prove it, then,” you goad, fingers finding the hem of his shirt and pulling the edge towards you. He releases the spot on your neck long enough to let you pull the material over his head. Then he sits back on his knees between your legs and looks you over, one hand absently sliding down the front of his trousers, pressing relief into his waiting cock.

“Yours,” he says, tone steely. You find your own hem with shaking fingers. Distantly, there’s a flash of lightning, illuminating the canopy of tree branches above you before plunging you into darkness again. You pull your top over your head and drop it next to his, leaning back on your elbows.

All thoughts of what you’re supposed to do here have left you; there’s only hands-shaking adrenaline and instinct driving you to give in to your desires and pursue what you want - Yoongi, Yoongi, more of Yoongi.

“Trousers, too,” Yoongi tells you, voice quiet. His fingers are on the string of his own trousers, but his eyes are on your exposed chest. Hungry.

You do as he says, untying your bottoms and pushing them away with your feet and waiting for his next move. The night isn’t cold, but you shiver. The forest, your forest, feels like a sanctuary, like it’s wrapping around the two of you and keeping you safe from everything outside. Like if you stayed in here, together, you might be safe from her after all.

But you know that’s a lie.

You push the thought away by coming up on your knees and approaching Yoongi, who’s still kneeling, too. You press your chest to him with a shudder as you reach to kiss him again. He gives a quiet, happy noise low in his throat and you answer with a hum as you lick into him again.

You slip a hand between your bodies and find him heavy and leaking. He presses into your touch with a nearly-silent keen that you manage to catch, and you trace your fingertips up his length, playing in the wetness you find waiting for you at the tip, then pulling that wetness down to the base again. You repeat the motion, touch featherlight, and listen to Yoongi’s breathing hitch and catch and sigh as he closes his eyes and enjoys it. He’s silky against your fingertips, skin like satin even here.

Yoongi trails kisses down your jaw, making a clear path towards your neck, and he skims a hand up your side and past your ribs, cupping one breast and rubbing his thumb roughly over your hardening nipple. You gasp, fingers twitching against his length, which spurs him on. He runs his knuckles lightly over the bud, then takes it gently between his thumb and forefinger, giving it an experimental roll. Your gasped ah turns into a liquid moan and he does it again, harder. You keen, a note of complaint in it, as he repeats the movement that is somehow both too much and not enough.

You wrap your hand fully around him, done teasing him with barely-there strokes, and roll your wrist once, twice, three times, his low grumbling reply music to your ears. He’s still mouthing at your neck and he switches hands, igniting sparks as he gently pinches the other nipple instead. Then he reaches and bumps your wrist out of his way as he cups your sex and spears you on his middle finger.

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you whine, rocking into his hand, trying to take the digit just a little deeper.

He must hear the desperation in your tone or sense it in the way you clench around his single finger, because he takes mercy on you and presses a second finger in beside the first. You sigh, still rocking against his hand, as he fucks into the spot in your front wall that makes your eyes drift closed and your toes curl up. You abandon his cock, bringing your hands to his shoulders, hanging on to keep yourself upright. When he presses his thumb against your clit you groan, loud and long, no one to hear you, and let your head fall back.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, plunging his fingers in and out of your wet heat. You can hear it each time he pushes them back in, the sound ringing in the silent woods, the only competition the approaching rolls of gentle thunder.

He works you up until you’re panting, your forehead dropping to rest against his collarbone, your hips in constant motion as you seek more. Your arms are looped around his neck, though you don’t remember starting to hold him, and your fingers find the ends of his long hair, tugging lightly in time with his motions. Occasionally his thumb circles your clit, causing your hips to jerk, but the angle stops him from keeping it constant. He pulls his hand away, and you take a bracing breath, coming back to your senses as the sensations fade.

He drops back from his knees, one arm behind his head as he lays back. He locks his eyes on yours as he strokes himself, his teeth toying with his bottom lip.

“Come on, then,” he prompts, his hand languid and lazy on his cock. Your body buzzes as you climb over him and sink down, letting him fill you, stretch you, break you into pieces. You ride him hard, one hand splayed on his flushed chest for balance, as around you the wind picks up, the leaves on the trees fluttering.

Yoongi’s eyes screw closed and his head tips back, even as his hands continue to guide your hips through each rise and fall.

You slow, savoring the drag against your walls, savoring his pretty skin beneath your fingers, savoring the grunts and hitched breaths he’s trying to hold back.

You could have loved Yoongi. In another life, where you had chips to bargain with. In a life where you fit into place within the village, where wild wasn’t as necessary to you as air. Even if the Queen had never called for Yoongi’s head - this life never meant for you to love him.

This is what you think about as you lightly rake your nails down his chest, watching him squirm beneath you. You think about all the times he’d been on the edge of saying it.

You think about all the times the feeling had risen up in you, as warm as a patch of sunlit floor, and you’d had to blow it away like an errant dandelion seed.

Maybe you do love him. You just can’t forget - not for a second - how little it matters.

The knife sits where you’d dropped it before undressing, just past Yoongi’s head.

You could probably reach it now.

Yoongi seems to sense the change in your motions and cracks an eye open, his fingers on your hips loosening.

His gaze follows yours. A flash of lightning makes the metal shine for a split second, and then you’re surrounded by the sudden patter of falling rain.

“Guess we better hurry,” Yoongi mutters, reaching up to grip the back of your neck and pulling you down so your chest is flush with his.

All thoughts leave your mind as he hammers into you from below - the knife is forgotten. Your feelings are forgotten. The rain, starting to muddy up the ground around you, forgotten.

You cum around him in silence, jaw clenched, fingers digging into his biceps. The groan he lets out as you squeeze around him in waves is drowned out by a growl of thunder that feels like it’s right above you, all around you.

Yoongi pumps into you with abandon, suddenly losing the rhythm he’d created. He gives two more shuddery thrusts and then lets his arms flop to the ground with a contented sigh.

For a second, you both lay there, sweat-slick and panting. Another lightning splits the sky, and the rain comes harder. He slides out of you and you wiggle until you’re laying just next to him instead of on top of him.

You can’t stop looking at him. He seems determined not to look at you.

The rain washes everything away - the smell of sex, your sweat, your affection, your sadness, your pride.

“My father,” he murmurs beneath you, and you go deathly still. “Yes, I knew.”

You swallow, brush rainwater from your brow. “So does the Queen,” you say back. An explanation, and an answer to the why he’d leveled at you an hour ago.

He nods slowly, expression clearing with understanding.

You feel no absolution for it.

Finally, he leans his head back again, his bangs flopping heavily now that they’re saturated with rainwater, and eyes the knife.

You sit up. He brings his eyes to you and watches silently - as if he accepts whatever move you make. As if, should you reach for the metal, he wouldn’t fight you this time.

“Go.” The word tumbles roughly onto the inch of mud between you. You don’t remember making the decision to say it.

He sits up, elbows and shoulders caked with mud. But all he does is watch you, wait for you to change your mind.

“Go,” you repeat, meaning it. Now that you’ve said it once, now that the decision was made, you know it’s the right one. “I’ll tell her it’s done.”

You could never kill him. You both knew it all along.

He dresses wordlessly, and you do the same, pulling your top back over your head and tying up your trouser string. When you look up, he’s standing in the rain, watching you.

You stoop and grab the knife he’d made you. You grip it tightly in your hand, refuse to meet his eyes.

He’s not challenging you, not questioning you - and that, in itself, feels like a slap.

“You can’t come back,” you say, as evenly as you can muster. When he just looks at you, infuriatingly silent, you add, “You can’t. Okay? If she - she can never know.”

“I know,” he says, and then he gives you a long, searching look. He’s drenched now, and your hands itch to push his set hair away from his face, to use your thumbs to chase raindrops - you think - away from his lashline.

Then, choked, he offers, “You could -”

“Don’t,” you bite out, stopping him before he can make you any kind of offer. You can’t. You can’t go with him. You can’t disappear into the night. Your brother is counting on you. You won’t let him pay for your sins.

Yoongi shakes his head. He takes another step closer. Your fingers tighten on the knife’s handle.

“Y/N, I -”

You raise the knife above your head in a flash, eyes going wide in fury.

“Fucking go!” you bark.

He holds up his hands, takes a few steps backwards, giving up his quest to make this harder than it needs to be. Lightning illuminates him and above your head, the blade shines for a split second before everything is cast into inky darkness again.

When your eyes adjust to the darkness, trees around you forming a shape again, he’s gone.

You don’t follow him, and you don’t return to your cabin. You sink to your knees in the mud, dropping the knife onto the ground, and sob into your hands, the noise swallowed by the flurry of rain and the intermittent cracks of thunder.

—

You sleep. You hunt. When the time comes, you bring your scores to the Queen atop your wagon.

She doesn’t ask you about Yoongi. You don’t offer her anything, just thank her for her grace routinely when she orders your purse to be filled.

You don’t stop at the tavern on the way back home. You don’t stop at any of the shops - not this time. You don’t trust yourself to act right if Yoongi’s disappearance gets brought up. You don’t trust that no one will do the math that he vanished four nights ago, and now you’re a hollowed shell who can’t form words.

The townspeople have seen you grieve before. They’d know what they were seeing.

The next trip is easier, and the one after that even more. The Queen never thanks you, not that you expected it, but you start finding an extra purse of coins in your wagon each time you return to it after bringing in your kills.

The price for your silence. The price for what she thinks you’ve done.

It hurts the most when your wagon passes the smithy, but you keep your eyes on the cobblestones and your hands on the reins and eventually the hurt fades along with the village as you get farther and farther away.

The seasons turn. The hurts fade. You send extra money to your brother. You sleep. You hunt.

Eventually, you stop waking up from nightmares that feature the glint of metal. You stop waking up trying desperately to cling to your dreams as fruitlessly as clinging to smoke, left with only damp places on your pillow and the memory of a low, throaty chuckle ringing in your ears.

Eventually, you can ride past the smithy without the pang in your chest. You can stop for a pint without watching the shadows for the appearance of a gummy smile. You can laugh when the bartender cracks a joke, can sound like yourself when you ask the baker’s daughter how she’s been faring.

It is after one of these trips, deep into color-saturated autumn, that you return to your cabin with wagon empty and purses full.

Something isn’t right. You freeze, casting your eyes around the forest, but it holds its secrets tight.

On the ground in front of your door, illuminated by the late afternoon sunlight, is a brand new, shining blade.

thank you so much for reading!!! i really really like this one and i hope you do too!! <3

#bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #min yoongi fic #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi smut #min yoongi angst #fairy tale au #fic: the price

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jiuxyzx · 2 months ago

Text

Trauma heart code 💌

word count: 3,417

genre: medical drama, angst, romance, suggestive

⚠️ bomb accident, mention of dead, bottled up emotion, miscommunication, make-out scene! (omg, who said that?), doctor!au, doctor!reader

☆ finish it last night and today because my brain still works?? and i have this written on my draft for a while. need a good week to finally ends it

"What crime have I committed that you treat me like this?” Your voice is shaky. People seem to disappear as you say the words out of your mouth.

He remained still, his back facing you, the tension in his body evident in the way his fists clenched tightly at his sides. For a moment, he stood there in silence before slowly turning around, his expression unreadable.

He turns his back on you and walks away without a single word, his silence cutting deeper than any argument could. The weight of unspoken emotions lingers in the air, thick and suffocating, pressing down on you as you watch him walk out of the room.

The tears that had gathered on your eyes started to pour down your cheeks.

Your relationship wasn't supposed to be like this. In the past, he always cared about you, searching for you, doing things together with you.

But ever since you met him again, he acts cold towards you, only acknowledging your words when you speak about patients, and other than that, he acts like you're not even there.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

Kang-hyuk asks you to go to the roof with him, saying that he wants to watch the sunset because he doesn't have any scheduled operation.

He has been your mentor from the time he joined the team. Everything he does always amazes you, whether it's in the OR or just his ordinary life.

You liked him from the start. You always asked yourself if your feelings were reciprocated by him or if you were just a junior on his team.

Your questions are soon answered when Kang-hyuk corners you by the rooftop door, his gaze intense as he says, “I’ve liked you for a while now, and I can’t keep carrying the weight of these feelings. Every time I see you, every time our hands touch, and every time you say my name in that sweet voice of yours, I get these stupid butterflies—and I don’t want to keep them bottled up anymore.”

He said that so fast that you could barely catch it.

Then, a soft smile forms on your face, your heart thumping loudly against your ribcage, butterflies erupt from your stomach, and your cheeks are as red as a tomato.

You told him that you liked him too, and you feel the same about him every time he does something with you.

His face is inching closer than before, head tilting slightly, and in this distance, you can feel his hot breath against your face.

You lean in and then press your lips on his for a second.

When you start to pull away, Kang-hyuk moves his hands to your neck, stopping you from getting away from him. He deepens the kiss.

It’s not rushed or desperate—it’s slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. His lips press against yours with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you just close enough for you to feel the steady beat of his heart against yours.

You respond instinctively, your hands gripping his shirt as you kiss him back, pouring all your emotions into the moment. The world fades away—no rooftop, no sky, no city below. Just the warmth of his touch, the way his fingers tangle in your hair, the way he breathes your name between kisses like it’s something precious.

“I have been waiting for this for a long time. Can you believe that?” A giggle left your mouth with ease. The first kiss happens on the hospital's rooftop, where both of you first met.

And with that, Baek Kang-hyuk finally confessed his undying feelings for you after you two met 2 years ago.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

Your words repeatedly played on his head. The way your red eyes stared at him plagued his mind. He can still imagine your expression when you tell him that.

You look angry, confused, and sad. He never sees you like this. Hell, he doesn’t even think that he ever saw you get angry before.

All the words you threw at him are true, but there's a reason for him doing it. But he likes to keep it to himself, because he doesn't think that it matters to you.

You left him anyway.

Meanwhile, the others seem to be intrigued by the tension created by both medical doctors. They can hear the way you shout at Kang-hyuk, demanding but also asking for an explanation of his behavior towards you.

They're not dumb or blind, they can see the way Kang-hyuk treated you poorly, ignoring every time you make attempts to talk to him, and maybe– just maybe, his action this morning is your last straw.

You were running along the corridor, and your heels stamped the floor with loud echoes. There's been another patient injured in the safety post that had been dragged to the hospital.

You know you're not capable of handling this case. Hence, you want to talk to Kang-hyuk to handle them. But as soon as you speak, not even 2 words in, he ushered you to get out of his office.

You're a stubborn person. He knows that, but even when he did, he didn't give you any chance to explain a situation. He just wanted to rest, especially from you.

And vice versa, you're now the one handling the patient forcefully though you hesitate a little, but you will always try your best for the patient you manage throughout your whole life.

That's until the monitor starts to beep, the straight line appearing as your face goes pale.

You rush to do CPR and order the nurse to take the defibrillator and prepare it ready for her.

But despite the fact that you had been doing CPR for almost half an hour, there's still no sign of him regaining his breath. The nurse practically has to detach you from the patient's bed.

The patient then announced to be dead by you, 14th february at 17.28 PM.

You can control your anger and resentment towards the doctor that had filled your mind the entire time you're here, if he chose not to have a casual-friendly talk with you then so be it, but when it comes to patience, professional feelings shouldn't be the one who's holding him back, because he needs to separate his private lives matter and his professional life.

So you walk, heels thumping loudly full of anger, everyone can see the tension in your posture, the way your eyes darkened, and indicates there's only one focus you had in mind.

You open his office door with force, vengeful expression on your eyes, but nonetheless, you still look like an angel in his eyes, and he hates his mind when he thinks of that.

“I don't know what's your problem with me, Dr. Baek Kang-hyuk,” she gulps, restraining her tears to fall down, “but you always ignore me when i attempts any interaction to you, i don't mind, i am certainly not, but when,”

Your words hang in the air, Kang-hyuk feels like he was suffocated by the lack of air he has breath and the fact that his heart is going to start to feel guilty if he looks you in the eyes.

So he keeps them to himself, “I barge through your door this morning, wanting to inform you about a huge trauma patient, i can't handle him but i know you can, so i ran to you, wanting you to take care of them”

Silence, then “But when i opened my mouth, there were only 2 words that i had let out before you fussed me to go away”

Kang-hyuk raised his eyebrows, but still not wanting to look at you, hearing the news you got him, “They died, 30 minutes ago, and they could survive, if only you hadn't be selfish earlier”

His head shoots up, looking at your face that's still full of rage. He can remember how you were always scared not to let your patient die, so this is new news.

Kang-hyuk got up from his seat, ready to go to patch the emergency patient.

And you let out those words that clenched his heart so hard, and he can't even breathe right.

But he knew that if he turned his back, he would go back to his past when the future wanted him to have a future filled with happiness and love.

So he walked away, just like always after the incident you had 3 years ago.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

The tension is unbearable for everyone. When both doctors are in the same room, they feel uncomfortable.

You, the doctor who always has a smile on your face, now just look like the worn shell you used to be. Your smile to patients feels forced, and they always find you in the canteen, not eating your food. When someone asks, you claim that you have lost your appetite since yesterday.

At the same time, Kang-hyuk's demeanor also seems to be very different from yesterday, he only replies curtly to everyone’s questions, and he always steals a glance at you anytime he could, but your eyes are always focusing on something else, never once they landed on him too.

Jae-won sighs for the thousand times today, looking at his mentor and you back and forth, “We just want it to be over. Why is he still acting like that towards her? literally everybody can see he still wants her”

Jang-mi nodded at her coworker's words. If you could just communicate with each other without the other one being too quiet and the other being too emotional, the problem would be solved by now.

Or at least, that's what she thought.

But in reality, the truth beneath is more complicated than everyone's thought. Your past is more important to make things happen in the present.

Gradually, the days passed, and still, no signs of you both had taken care of the problem between the two of you.

Doctor Han says that he will buy drinks for the trauma team tonight to relieve some stress that was caused by lots of cases this past week.

He's like your own father, and you always adore him and look up on him like he's the father figure you never had. Doctor Han will always hold a special place in your heart, filling the empty and dark void in the cracks of it.

Bottle by bottle of Soju keeps coming to your table. The kimchi plate is never empty. One of you always refills it before the kimchi runs out.

You can feel yourself getting worked up, 80% drunk, and your consciousness level is as low as 20%.

Kang-hyuk always watches your moves. How could he not? you're sitting right in front of him, only the tables separate the two of you.

His hands twitch beside him or on the table every time you laugh at someone's joke, a little too loud to his liking, or when you lean too close for him towards a person.

an hour later, though, he can see you get more drunk based on the shot glass you drank, not that he counts on it– 3 shots + 2 with beer, a total of 5 shots.

He knows you're not the best drinker, so he puts your glasses down when you try to drink again.

You look at him with a frown that starts to turn into a pout, which he definitely didn't find cute– lies. You ask him for your glasses, trying to grab it by yourself from his hand.

before you could do so, he drank your glass filled Soju in one shot. And after that, looking at you dead in the eye, as if to warn you not to drink anymore.

You gave up after another try, so you just ate the meat that was grilled in front of you with kimchi and the perilla leaves that were placed on the table.

Jae-won nudged at Jang-mi and Gyeong-won, signaling them to look over where the two of you were seated.

A smile broke on Doctor Han's face. He likes to see you getting happy with Kang-hyuk, well finally your cold war is over, for now.

A few moments later, all of them decided to finish the night by going to their own house, not the hospital's on-call room.

The director agrees to give you all a break for one day, his tone is dismissive as he answers their question, but he knows that the moment he calls them, they will rush to the hospital.

Others are already in a taxi, Gyeong-won asking if you would like to join him since you both live in the same apartment building, but you refused his offer with a drunk smile on your face.

When you tried to stop one, Kang-hyuk hand lowered yours.

You turn your head to him, brow furrowed, confused by his action. Before the words could leave you, he opens his mouth, “You're going home with me” and he doesn't seem to take a no as an answer, so you stay quiet.

You are clearly still so drunk, you can't even walk straight, and this makes Kang-hyuk sigh before he kneels slightly and carries you like a sack.

He puts you on the passenger seats, sliding a safety belt, and when he's done, then he goes to the driver seat.

The tension between both of you is still there, but now you can ease a little, mainly because you're intoxicated.

You murmur something about him, you start rambling about something, and that's when he catches his own name coming out of you, along with the words about you missing him.

“Then why did you leave? No phone calls, no text for a year straight” he chokes out, eyes still fixating on the roads ahead of him.

Your breath hitched. You may be drunk, but you can't deny that your heart still holds his name dearly. “There's another bomb accident after you left, i quickly got to that place as fast as I could. I don't know if it's not over yet,”

You paused, the memory brings you a nightmare, but you want to straighten things up, “When i patch a kid in the medical tent they had built, another bomb explodes, and it's placed near the tent, only a few meters away. The ground beneath us shakes, and the bomb effect reaches us after 3 seconds of exploding, that's why I got this” You pull your clothes up, and Kang-hyuk can see a scar that has not been healed.

Now you feel that you regained your consciousness, “My friend said it's a miracle that I'm still alive, I've been in a coma for almost 10 months. The last 2 months are when I got into a stressful depression that led me to go to a psychiatrist every day. Every time I close my eyes, the sound of the bomb, kids crying and the adults screaming filled my ears and head, I can still perfectly picture the scene” There is a slightly different tone in your voice, this one is shaky.

Your eyes trained to the road, but there's nothing behind those iris, only emptiness.

“You hate me that much?” The question caught Kang-hyuk off guard. He doesn’t respond immediately, and it looks like you have found your answer about it.

“Drop me off at the convenience store, i'll order a taxi myself” Your hands flew to open the safety belt, but Kang-hyuk hand came to your sight, stopping your movements any further.

Instead, he brought your right hand to his, holding it tightly, and soon enough, bringing your knuckles to his mouth, kissing it.

You were startled by his gesture, “Don't go again. You gave me something that i can't leave without, and i only share it with you”

“I'm sorry for the way i treated you since you got here, my heart is hurt and i don't want to lose anything again to you, so I decided to ignore you until you give up and eventually ignore me too” His grip on your hand tightened, sincere in his voice is evident.

Without thinking, you lean to him, peck his cheek, and then go back to your seat as quickly as possible and start looking out the window.

Kang-hyuk looks at you lovingly. He chuckles before the car comes to a stop. It's not your apartment building.

You called him, asking what he was doing.

He doesn't answer. He just got out of the car and went to your door and opened it with ease, “my apartment, let's go”

You were in awe upon entering the building. It's the expensive one, The Eterno Cheongdam.

The air in the elevator it's not awkward, instead it's calming, with Kang-hyuk holding your hand the entire lift ride, and you can see his small smile on the elevator door that he's facing.

And you also can't contain your smile. The love you've been searching and yearning for is already in front of you.

When the two of you get inside, Kang-hyuk tells you to sit on his couch while he gets some water for you.

He came back with a glass of water, which you drank after thanking him with a smile.

Both of you look into each other's eyes, the unspoken words said to each other, the feelings that have bottled up in your chest can be freely seen by the others through the eyes.

Kang-hyuk leans in, inching your face closer to him, his hand lifted up to cradle your face.

You can feel his warm breath in your face. His eyes looked into yours as if asking for permission, and you gave him a light nod.

The gap between the two of you closed, as you can feel his lips on top of yours.

At first, it's sweet, so vanilla, and then after a few seconds, his hand lowered to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss.

The kiss is now filled with frustration and passion. It's getting heated, You tangled your hand on his hair.

His hands leave yours for a second to open his suit because the air circulating you is getting hot. You also help him to take off his tie with one smooth motion.

Your hands traveled to his side, feeling his well-made biceps on both of your hands.

You pull away breathlessly, trying to catch your breath, but Kang-hyuk doesn't let you go that long.

He clashes his lips again to yours, fierce and demanding, his teeth grazing your lower lip that made you let out a gasp.

A shiver runs down your spine as you start to open the upper button of your blouse that Kang-hyuk also helps open up.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

Kang-hyuk wakes up first, feeling the weight of someone on his body

He smiles when he sees you sleeping peacefully on his naked chest, letting out a soft sound of your steady breath in your sleep.

Last night feels like a dream, each passing moment pictured perfectly on his head, the way your body clashes with his, your lips that he would kill to taste again.

His thoughts are disturbed by a ruffled sound coming from you as you open your eyes.

“Hi” He brushes your hair to keep it off your face. He smiles at you before replying to your word.

You go downstairs to make breakfast while Kang-hyuk hops into the shower.

The way his body feels on yours is unbearable, and you want to experience it again oh so badly.

And, the ‘i love you’ he lets out making your heart thumping loudly against your ribcage.

The breakfast goes well, the conversation flows smoothly from your lips, and a laugh is shared when you find something funny.

Kang-hyuk helps you wash the dishes and dry your hair after you get out of the bathroom.

His hand slipped right into your hand like it always belonged there.

You wear his clothes that he gave you, because you both will only go to your apartment.

When you finished changing your clothes in your bedroom after arriving at your apartment a few minutes ago.

Right on time, Kang-hyuk's phone rings, and it's from the ER.

The two of you run towards his car, hoping there's no traffic at this hour.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

Jang-mi, Jae-won, and Gyeong-won looked at each other when the doctors that seemed to hate each other a few days prior burst into the ER door together.

#baek kang hyuk x reader #the trauma code : hoc #the trauma code: heroes on call #baek kang hyuk #cheon jang mi #park gyeong won #yang jae won #han yurim #jiu writes ⚕

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