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loved-reid · 1 month ago

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You’re Cute…Yet Irritating [s.r]

Post prison!Spencer Reid x sunshine!fem!reader

Summary: She’s always humming a tune, dancing, or tapping her fingers. And Spencer can’t stand it.

Warnings: Angst with happy ending, irritated Spencer, crying, self doubt, rude comments, self hatred, etc.

Note: I always fidget and I thought this would be cute! Let me know what y’all think!!

Sorry for any errors! I didn’t re-read it! :)

Tap.

2,745 times

And yes, he was unfortunately counting.

He bet she didn’t even know she was doing it, the repetitive rhythm of her finger nails on the desk. Files piled it, almost all the time, and Spencer always had to walk by with his fist in his mouth to prevent himself from organizing it the way he liked.

He was going to be honest, he kind of missed having that feeling, the urge to clean or organize. It told him, in a way, that his old self was still with him, and that little thing gave him hope that he so tightly held onto.

But his old self was able to focus. His old self was able to dig himself into file folders and never be able to leave, yet the tapping.

Spencer couldn’t take it.

His eye twitched every time she breathed particularly loud, his lips pursed when her foot started tapping on the floor, and, worst of all, his head shuttered when her dang finger nails tapped on the desk’s top.

He hated the noise.

And it surprised him that he did, it was such a little thing that was apparently going unnoticed by everyone else. But he just couldn’t focus on his work with the practical racket that was doing on next to him.

He wasn’t gonna lie, he almost got up just then to go ask Hotch for a desk rearrangement. But he knew that his boss would suspect something and either tease him about it or shake his head about how ridiculous it was.

Spencer agreed as well. He couldn’t change seats just because the woman next to him was tapping her fingers.

Gosh, even thinking it sounded absurd.

But he couldn’t help but imagine silence.

Silence while his brain could process things.

Spencer could’ve lost it when she started humming a soft tune. She seemed to have a new one in her head every day, each time she sat down, tea in hand, she hummed a different song than yesterday.

He couldn’t quite pin point which one it was, but he didn’t dare to continue thinking to figure it out.

His head turned toward her, hoping she’d notice his glare but she didn’t, she’s still stuck on the file she was looking at.

“Quit that, will ya?”

Her head snapped up at the sudden outburst, surprise reflecting in her eyes yet he spotted confusion.

How was she confused to the constant annoying tapping she was doing? And the humming? Spencer was slowly loosing his mind.

He took a deep breath to prevent from lashing out, his hand coming out and wiggling his fingers toward hers.

“T-the tapping, it’s irritating. Quit it please.”

Her face dropped from surprised to hurt, and Spencer somehow hated that it was quiet as soon as he said something.

“Right. Sorry,” she whispered so softly Spencer almost couldn’t hear her. She tried to add a little chuckle at the end of her murmur, yet her voice cracked against her own accord.

He watched her fingers stop, instead clenching them in a fist tightly.

Spencer should’ve been glad that the silence he so wanted was granted, but something unsettling brewed in his chest at her facial expression, her now glossy eyes staring at her computer screen. He also noticed her other hand that wasn’t holding the folder was digging into her thigh to prevent it from bouncing out of anxiety.

He didn’t know the feeling, regret, maybe, but all Spencer knew was that he wished he hadn’t said those words.

But he didn’t want to say sorry, something inside him prevented him from doing it. Maybe he was selfish because he ignored the regret in him and took the opportunity to have the ability to focus once more.

“I can’t help, falling in love with you,” she hummed softly, just under her breath as she stirred her favorite tea in the mug the next morning.

Spencer had to admit, he missed her singing in the morning. It reminded him that through all the terrible cases they’ve experienced, there was still happiness in the world, still hope, and she clearly found it through music.

But the pounding headache that didn’t go away that day prevented him from being kind.

So he couldn’t dare to show his wishes of her singing more often, heck no. And the more he thought about it the more irritating it became. He became hyper focused on the breath before each sentence she sang, the cinnamon toothpaste blaring his nose. She was also slightly off pitch every couple seconds, and she sang a couple words wrong.

It got worse when she took forever to mix her tea, blocking his path towards the coffee machine.

He huffed, ignoring the way she flinched. “Move, will ya? There’s people who actually want to do their job and not sing songs about sunshine and rainbows; just please let me get some coffee.”

Her once upwards lips turned down, the light in her eyes going out. She cleared her throat. “Right, s-sorry.”

Spencer couldn’t help it. The comment spat out before he could control it. “S-sorry,” he mimicked. “You do know confidence is a key to this job, right? Quit the childish stuttering it’s infuriating.”

He didn’t see her reaction, but if he did he would see glossy eyes and a facial expression that represented a shattered heart.

She raced out of the room, tea discarded on the counter and beelined towards the bathrooms. She quickly fumbled with the lock. It echoed throughout the bathroom, somehow making her emotions worsen. The tears went full force, a sob covered by her hands surrounding her.

His words kept repeating themselves in her head, telling her that she wasn’t good enough for the job.

Why even apply? He was clearly smarter than her and took things more seriously. What was she thinking? Coming into a field like this and humming and singing all the time? Who does that?

She could feel her makeup smearing, and her black fingers rubbing her cheeks confirmed her suspicions.

She never knew Spencer’s problem with her. Every moment she recalled every encounter, hoping not to come across a moment where she offended him. And she never did.

But now she knew. It was her humming, her tapping, her singing, her stuttering.

She wasn’t good enough to be here.

The thought made her cry harder, the type of sob where your breath catches in your throat, your vision blurry as your chest aches.

A soft knock on the stall door made her both flinch hardly and gasp at the same time.

A throat was cleared, an awkward moment of silence shoving its way between them.

“Can I come in?”

The voice on the other side wasn’t one she expected. Her heart started going on its own path, thumping quickly within her chest.

Her hand moved on its own accord, though hesitantly, and opened the lock.

Spencer’s hand came into view, opening the door and entering himself, closing and locking the door behind him.

Something about him being so close, the door locked, and them being in a place just for one person made her already beating heart pound harder.

His features, no doubt, were beautiful. His nose was like a button, eyes like chocolate in fresh cookies, lips soft and full like a blooming flower.

His hair, oh his hair. It was like a soft blanket she wanted to nestle her fingers onto, pulling at the roots until he let out a satisfying noise-

No.

He hurt her. The words he said. She was upset. He doesn’t like her.

Then why was he having such an effect on her?

Him clearing his throat once more caught her out of her thoughts, eyes meeting his.

“I wanted to say sorry. For what I said,” he whispered, and she noticed his fingers playing with each other. “It wasn’t nice nor professional. And I don’t mean any of it.”

His apology was simple and sincere, eyes somehow widening while gazing at her. (Or were his eyes always like that? Full and desperate?)

“And in case you were wondering, you’re lovely at your job,” he sounded like he was rambling again, but he also seemed desperate to get the words out. “Your singing brings happiness to the place. You’re more than good enough to be here. And I’m sorry I made you doubt your amazing abilities.”

She felt a soft smile come to her lips, cheeks reddening at his complements. She wiped her nose. “Really?”

He nodded, leaning down and grabbing some toilet paper to wipe her cheeks.

Instead of simply giving it to her, he wiped them himself, wiping the damage he did to her away on his own. “I mean it with my whole heart.”

Her heart warmed.

“Thank you Spencer,” she whispered shyly.

He gave her a toothless smile, opening his arms for a hug from her.

Her heart pounded, knowing he barely let anyone touch him, but stepped towards him nonetheless.

Her arms went underneath his blazer, on top of his dress shirt (causing him to shiver) and laying her head on his chest.

He embraced her back, far too tall to be over her shoulder so he rested his chin on her head, shampoo filling his nose.

They stayed like that for a couple moments before pulling back to look at each other.

His eyes met hers, emotions swirling around, like they were trying to tell him something.

If it was a warning or an invitation Spencer didn’t know, but he leaned forward to find out, nose brushing hers.

Her lips parted, causing his eyes to shoot downward at the movement.

He gave her a moment to push away, to shove him out of the stall for even thinking she had any interest on him.

The rejection never came.

He finally planted his mouth on hers, her hands shooting to his hair to pull at his roots, a small groan leaving his lips.

His lips tasted like coffee and something truly Spencer.

Whatever it was pulled her in more, craving the taste of his mouth.

They finally pulled away, breath fanning each other’s faces. She was the one who laughed first against his lips, and he copied her before kissing her once again.

Sure, she was irritating at times, but she was cute, he’d give her that.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagines #angst with a happy ending #spencer reid x fem!reader #Spencer x reader #post prison reid #x reader #criminal minds characters x reader

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milkloafy · 6 months ago

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STUCK WITH YOU — BLADE

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: in which you get sick and blade is wondering how the hell he got stuck having to take care of you. ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: sickfic, fluff, swearing, gn!reader, stellaron hunter!reader, reader doesn’t like room temp water LMAO only ice cold, blade’s kinda mean but a softie trust me u.u ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.8k+ ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: i haven’t written for blade in ages so i am very rusty but i hope u enjoy <3 this is a self-indulgent fic i wrote while sick and bed-ridden yesterday :c if any of y’all got the summer cold/flu too i hope u feel better !! :>

You felt like shit and the last thing you needed was someone threatening you to get better.

It would have been one thing if those threats worked in scaring your illness away. But you were certain that it did the opposite of help— It simply gave you an unwanted headache instead.

“Can you stop glaring at me whenever I blow my nose?” you demanded with a sniffle, tossing your tissue into the trashcan Blade so graciously placed next to your head.

“Can you stop blowing your nose so loudly?”

You glared at him, responding by grabbing another tissue and blowing your nose even louder. You winced at the force, feeling a slight throb in your head from the overexertion.

With an ever-present scowl on his annoyingly handsome face, Blade shook his head at you. You could practically sense the disappointment and annoyance radiating from him. “Don’t make yourself feel worse.”

“I’m not trying to,” you said, choosing to lay back down on your bed rather than arguing with him.

Your throat was sore, your nose was both runny and stuffy with no in-between, your muscles were achy, and your body was tired. There wasn’t much fighting spirit left for you to spare in your current state. Hence, the reason the Stellaron Hunters had Blade stay behind on the mission until you recovered enough to join everyone. Why they didn’t leave someone more personable and caring like Sam behind was beyond you. But you supposed you should be grateful Elio let anyone stay behind instead of having you recover alone.

Coughing, you reached for a glass of water to moisten your throat only to find it already empty. You groaned to yourself, the thought of having to get up from your warm and cozy bed to fill up your water in the cold, cold kitchen made you shiver.

With a sigh, Blade exited your room while muttering a quick, “Stay put.”

You blinked blearily, eyes barely able to follow his quick-moving figure out the door.

In a flash, Blade returned with two separate cups—one filled with clear water, and the other with warm tea. He set them both down on your nightshade, collecting your empty glass to clean in the sink.

“Thank you,” you murmured, touched that he brought you drinks without you having to ask. You grabbed the glass of water first, letting out a giggle when you saw the single ice cube floating on the top. With a smile, you questioned, “One ice cube?”

Blade shrugged, a nonchalant look on his face that one could easily mistake as uncaring. “You don’t like room temperature water. If I brought warm water to you, you would rather die of dehydration than drink it.”

A nodded sheepishly, unable to deny what came out of his mouth.

“Still, you need fluids to feel better. I figured one ice cube might be enough to satiate you.”

Staring at the melting ice cube, you assumed it didn’t do much to help the temperature of the drink, but the thoughtfulness of your fellow Stellaron Hunter was enough to coax you into drinking it regardless.

“That’s…surprisingly sweet of you,” you said, taking a sip of water. It was, in fact, not cold enough for you, but you still pushed onwards. “Thanks, Bladie.”

The scowl on his face deepended. “Don’t call me that. And drink the tea. I put honey in it since its anti-inflammatory.”

“Your frown lines are forming prematurely,” you jested, setting the glass of water aside to pick up the steaming cup of tea. The warm mug felt hot against your skin and you felt a droplet of sweat forming on the side of your head. In the blink of an eye, you threw the blankets off your body and fanned yourself dramatically with one hand. You shared a look with Blade. “It’s too hot for tea.”

“It’s not too hot, you just have a fever,” he said with annoyance, walking over to the thermostat and turning down the temperature regardless of his words. “But you can wait for it to cool down then—”

Before he finished his sentence, you had already taken a sip of the drink. Immediately, you felt a burning sensation on the tip of your tongue and jumped. “Ow!” you yelped, placing the mug down and glaring at it. “That’s hot!”

Blade glared at you. “Tea is typically made from hot water. I just told you to wait for it to cool down.”

“But you said that after you told me to drink it!” you sniffed, nursing your tongue by dipping it into the lukewarm glass of water. “You can’t give a sick person mixed signals like that.”

“You’re sick, not incompetent.” He paused. “Not more than normal, at least.”

“Hey!” you protested. At the sudden overuse of your voice, you felt your throat growing more irritated. You coughed and coughed, taking in deep breaths of air to stop yourself.

He folded his arms as he scolded you, “Don’t overexert yourself. Get some rest.”

With tears forming around your eyes from coughing, you matched his haughty expression. You croaked out, “You’re naggy. Did you know that?”

“Only to those who don’t listen.”

“You tell me like a million different instructions! How can I listen?” you retorted, your headache coming back as your shoulders tensed in irritation.

When he noticed your slight wince of pain, Blade sighed and relented. He walked over to the side of your bed and picked up the cup of hot tea. With a blank expression, he blew the surface of the drink, cooling it down until the steam went away.

“Here,” he said as he held out the cup to you. “Now drink.”

Your stared open-mouthed at the drink. You felt as if he was giving you whiplash with his crass words and caring actions. You didn’t quite know how to feel, but you knew you were at least a bit grateful.

Carefully, you sipped the cup of tea Blade gently (and begrudgingly) placed in your hands. This time, you did not feel the scalding heat burn your tongue.

“Thank you,” you said, chugging as much of the tea as you could. “It wasn’t hot that time.”

He nodded in response, stepping away from the side of your bed once he confirmed you finished your drink. Blade studied you as you laid back in bed, closing your eyes to try to soothe all your ailments. It didn’t work, but you would certainly keep trying.

Without the blankets covering you, you felt cold again despite the sweat you felt gathering on your forehead. You heard rustling and the clanging of glasses next to you.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Blade walking away with the dirty cups in hand, muttering something about how he wasn’t your maid. You smiled weakly, knowing he was doing his best to take care of you regardless of his bitching and moaning.

Blade returned with a slightly damp washcloth in hand, folded perfectly into a compact rectangle. You sniffled through your stuffy nose, watching as he held out the washcloth to you, before taking it back last minute. Confused, you pulled your hand back as well.

“I’ll just do it. Before you mess up somehow,” he said, leaning down by your side and placing the damp washcloth on your forehead.

The instant he placed the towel on you, cool relief coursed through your body. You shivered at the sensation, letting out a noise of satisfaction.

You peeked one eye open, looking at Blade with another sheepish expression. “Thank you. Again…”

“You don’t need to keep thanking me.”

“I do!” you insisted, staying as still as a board despite the passion in your voice. “I know you would rather be out on a mission right now, following Elio’s script with the others. But instead you got stuck here taking care of me.”

He folded his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “It’s not your fault. Kafka forcibly volunteered me.”

You chuckled lightly at that. It certainly seemed like something Kafka would do. Either to annoy Blade, tease you, or irritate the both of you just for fun.

“You just need to get better soon,” he said as if it were that simple. “Then we can both get back on the field.”

“Is that why you’ve been such a good little nurse, Bladie?” you teased, touching your fingertips to the cool washcloth on your forehead.

He glared at you, but there was no anger behind the expression. “Call me that one more time and you will see what happens.”

“Will you bring me more hot tea to burn my tongue on?” you asked in mock horror. Despite his menacing-sounding threats, you knew Blade would never hurt you.

“I’ll bring you room temperature water with no ice,” he promised blankly.

Your mouth dropped in surprise and you shook your head fervently, the small towel falling off your face. “No, please! I won’t call you Bladie again.”

Blade rolled his eyes at your dramatics but immediately went to pick up the fallen washcloth. “Stop moving around like that. You’re going to make your headache worse.”

“Sorry, mother.”

He scowled and plopped the washcloth back on your forehead, less gently this time than the first. You stuck your tongue out at him in response before feeling another fit of coughs come your way.

Once you managed to soothe your throat and gather your breath, you sighed. “I hate being sick.”

“Then drink more fluids and go to sleep.” Blade grabbed the glass of water from your nightstand and began to walk out with it. “I’ll get you some more before you try to rest.”

Closing your eyes shut, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself despite your discomfort. He had a rough exterior, but he surprised you with how much effort he put into helping your sick self out.

His hidden thoughtfulness was enough to stir something in your stomach—butterflies, you hoped, and not an unwanted stomach bug to add to your list of ailments. It was unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome.

Blade entered your room one last time for the night, bringing you a new glass of water with a single ice cube, and a fresh new washcloth folded to perfection.

You giggled, noticing his attentiveness to detail. “Thank you, Bladie. I really appreciate all of this.”

He sighed but didn’t argue when he heard that nickname. Thankfully, he did not take the ice cube out of your water and hand the glass to you lukewarm.

“You are so… You’re welcome,” he relented, replacing the damp towel on your forehead with a fresh and cold one. “Now, hurry up and recover.”

“I’m trying,” you laughed, no longer annoyed by his impatience. “I’m sure I will, with you doting on me like this.”

“I don’t dote.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bladie,” you sang softly, your eyes finally feeling heavy after drinking more water and relaxing your muscles with the help of the cool washcloth. “I’m finally getting sleepy…”

He nodded. “That’s good.”

“Mhm,” you murmured, your voice drifting into a sleepy mumble. “‘M tired. Goodnight… Blade.”

There was a long pause before you heard Blade’s response while you drifted off into a deep slumber. “Get well soon, Y/N.”

#blade x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr blade #blade x you #blade x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #honkai star rail #hsr fluff #blade fluff #sickfic #hsr imagines #honkai imagines #honkai x reader

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newtkive · 11 months ago

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shift shenanigans - social media au (pt. 2)

note: yes there’s the main work chat w carmy, the secret coworker chat w/o carmy, and the secret secret bestie chat w syd, marcus, and yourself. it would be canon.

warnings: crude humor, slightly offensive jokes

part one

liked by carmyberzatto, marcus.brooks11 and 40 others

chefboyardee: life lately

see all 9 comments

syd_adamu: that pho was life changing

↳ chefboyardee: i think it was the best i’ve ever had

marcus.brooks11: feet off the table @syd_adamu

↳ chefboyardee: leave my girl alone

↳ richietheking: I knew you guys were lez

↳ syd_adamu: we aren’t and you can’t say that

↳ chefboyardee: oh.. we aren’t? ☹️😔

↳ syd_adamu: 😑

carmyberzatto: 🍲🔥

THE GOLDEN TRIO

[ 7:45 AM ]

y/n: did you see

did you see

did

you

see

ogmgokggkowkfofsk

syd: pardon??

what did richie do oh my god

did he post another picture of him with the gun from that one day

fuckkkk carmys gonna be so mad

marcus: nope i wish

y/n: he commented on my post 😭😭😭😭

syd: who

marcus: think about it

who else would cause this reaction

y/n: carmy!!!!!!!

i woke up to him commenting 🍲🔥 😍😍😍😍

syd: woah and the heart eyes?

y/n: no that’s my addition

syd: the bar is in hell

HES YOUR BOSS

y/n: AND I WANT HIS BABIES??

marcus: y’all so hype to be pregnant THEN BOOOMMM ‼️ THE BABY’S UGLY AND BALD WITH ECZEMA 😩🤨

syd: LMFAOOOOO WHOS YALL THO????

y/n: bye im done

im leaving for work.

don’t talk to me ever again

done.

marcus: bye 👋

why do you leave so early fool

syd: so she can be teachers pet

marcus: smh always there before everyone

y/n: not true.

syd: i thought you weren’t talking to us

y/n: 😒

marcus: want me to bring y’all an iced latte again

y/n: …. 😁

WORK

[ 8:15 AM ]

y/n: AYOOOO

great job cleaning up after work yesterday 😊👍

richie: Is this a joke?

y/n: why would i joke about such a thing

carmy: Y/n what are you doing

y/n: u said to tell everyone their housekeeping is shitty

carmy: No I said I was going to tell them that, and you said no I’ll do it

This is not what I meant

y/n: well you yell too much

marcus: ouch

that’s my station 😔

carmy: Well clean it better

y/n: im using reverse psychology and positive reinforcement

carmy: Not what that means

y/n: well notice how no one’s mad at me

im making alliances day by day

richie: You’ve worked here for two years and we are already friends

y/n: so you’re saying you aren’t my ally

richie: No

We are definitley in an alliance

y/n: love u richie

richie: Don’t go that far

chefboyardee’s instagram stories

WE HAVE THE BEEF 🥩

[ 3:25 PM ]

y/n:

he so fine im bouta cermmmmm

syd: …..

marcus: :O

y/n: why are you acting shocked

like i haven’t said this daily

tina: Woah girl who?

y/n: HUH

richie: I’m not in the picture I don’t get it

syd: let’s just keep working before carmy notices

tina: I don’t care I’m on smoke break. Who are you talking about girl? Spill the tea..

marcus: she was talking about me you guys

y/n: the guy in the back

oh i mean yeah marcus

tina: The meat delivery guy? He has a wife..

y/n: we are having an affair

marcus: no it’s about me

richie: I didn’t know Marcus and Y/n were a thing..

tina: Something ain’t right. No way they are.

marcus: we aren’t it’s just our sense of humor

y/n: i was just being funny!

tina: What did Jeff just yell inside?

syd: came out of the office and said “just cuz we’re slow doesn’t mean you can play on your phones” 👍💯

tina: Whatever. No chance Y/n meant Marcus. You got the hots for Jeffrey?

y/n: what no

tina: Well I wouldn’t blame you. He’s cute

y/n: OMG RIGHTTTTTTT

its the tattoos isn’t it

richie: You have to be fucking joking

tina: I was playing..

y/n: im confused

syd: that was cruel

marcus: who cares it’s not a big deal

y/n: so you don’t think he’s cute tina?? ☹️☹️

tina: No he is cute… for you 😝

y/n: this is humiliating

richie: I’ll tell him

y/n: NO

stop

sSTOP THATS NOT FUNNY

richie im not joking i’ll put a bomb in your floorboards

richie: I’m just fucking with you kid

tina: This isn’t over.

THE GOLDEN TRIO:

[ 3:40 PM ]

syd: y/n….

marcus: you look like a ghost y/n

y/n: i cannot believe i sent that to the wrong gc

i’m done im so done

marcus: stop looking so sad it’s making me feel bad

syd: it’s okay! just be thankful it wasn’t to the work groupchat with him in it..

marcus: true it could be worse

y/n: i guess so

thank you for trying to cover for me marcus

marcus: anytime you know i got you

syd: let’s get back to work before we start looking obvious

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pretending-ican-write · 9 months ago

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Cowboy Up - Pt.6

A/n: It's here y'all! After this part we'll be getting into the show and I can't wait to start incorporating my own character into the episodes!

I need your input! I'm currently going through the show episode by episode to pull out what I want to use for this fic and I've reached ep5 when Travis first turns up and I am seriously undecided about his relationship with the reader. It is more than likely that they would have interacted on the circuit but I'm split between him having a flirty relationship or a older-brother-protective vibe. Let me know your thoughts!

Pairing: Ryan (Yellowstone) x Dutton!reader

WC: 1649

Previous part - Next part

---

That summer was one of the hottest y/n could ever recall having in Montana. Unfortunately hot weather didn’t negate the fact that there was always work to do on the ranch. Yesterday one of the freshly backed colts had thrown a fit in the corral resulting in kicking the fence hard enough to break it. So the job for the day was to put a new log into the fence so they could use the corral again.

Y/n had abandoned jeans in favour of shorts out in the sun, a tank top and she had opted to swap her cowboy hat for the cap Kayce had given her for her birthday despite having claimed she’d never wear it around the wranglers. Lloyd was holding the log up whilst she worked to secure it to the post.

Around the corral the other hands were doing their own work and a small group of them were hiding from the sun in the shade of the barn. They were mostly busy watching y/n do her own work, more specifically how she looked in her shorts.

“God damn that girl has an ass,” one of them commented.

Another one agreed, “you just know that she’d give you a good time.”

Colby and Ryan were a little way off cleaning tack getting more annoyed at every comment the men were making. Ryan was getting more frustrated by what they were saying and how oblivious she was to how they were treating her. His friend was less concerned about that and more occupied trying to stop the hand from doing something he would regret.

Rip emerged from the barn to say something to them when Ryan snapped at them, “will you shut the fuck up? It’s disgusting to hear you talk about her like that. She’s your boss’ daughter for fuck sake have some damn respect. Someone’ll rip your tongues out for saying that next time.”

Y/n overheard his shouting from across the corral and couldn’t help but smile to herself at his defence of her. Ever since Rip had threatened him (and the rest of the bunkhouse but they clearly hadn’t taken those threats to heart) after finding her asleep in Ryan’s bunk years ago, he’d been very careful with his interactions with the younger woman. They’d remained close friends, and he’d been instrumental in her integration with the wranglers, but it had never gone further than that despite what both of them not-so-secretly wanted to happen.

Lloyd looked at the smile on her face and rolled his eyes, “y’all have been pining after each other for years. When will it end?”

“If I had a say in it it would’ve been over before anyone noticed but if he has it his way it seems like never,” y/n sighed, “I think Rip’s threat from forever ago ruined it.”

He watched Ryan whose eyes were on her, “might go insane if I have to watch y’all making eyes at each other for much longer. You and I can both handle Rip if needs be.”

She laughed at the idea of someone ‘handling’ Rip. The only people she believed were able to handle the foreman were her father and Beth, no matter how poorly her sister treated the man. In reality, Rip had a soft spot for the youngest Dutton and Lloyd was the only wrangler on the ranch that would stand a chance arguing against Rip. He left her to go and deal with something else, leaving Colby to help with the other side of the fence.

“Swear he woulda murdered them if it had gone on much longer,” her friend joked, “practically fire in his eyes when he saw how they were looking at you.”

Y/n shook her head, “I’ve been trying to get him to make a move since I was 18, Colby. I don’t think he’s gonna start now.”

“I love both of you but I will help Lloyd lock you in the tack room if this goes on any longer. Feel sorry for the poor bastard watching this for years. I’m done with it after a few months,” Colby laughed, “just make a move for everyone’s benefit.”

-/-/-

That evening the temperature had cooled down from the scorcher of the afternoon but it was still uncomfortable, hot enough that y/n was still wearing shorts. Most of the hands were sitting around the table playing cards but she had chosen to sit the game out in favour of reading the book she’d been waiting weeks for. Every once in a while some of the conversation would break through her reading bubble and y/n would laugh at the insults that got thrown around half-heartedly.

After a little while the focus of their conversation moved away from their game of poker to their romance lives, or more accurately their struggles with romance being wranglers. They were complaining about how difficult it was with their work schedules to meet girls. Y/n shook her head slightly at their trivial problems.

“Reckon we’d all be better off if Dutton over there gave a piece of ass up,” a hand commented nonchalantly.

As soon as the words had come out of his mouth, Ryan was out of his chair as was Colby to stop his friend doing something. Colby grabbed his shoulder and arm, keeping him firmly away from the other hand.

“Hit a nerve have I? Thought she was supposed to be off limits to the bunkhouse? Just you getting at or you sharing it with your friend? Care to let us join in on-”

Before he was able to finish his sentence, Lloyd had punched him, “you don’t speak about her like that, ever. Anyone thinks that’s okay and there’s more than just me to answer for. Rip will know about this.”

The tension in the room was broken by the sound of the door slamming shut and they looked up to see that y/n was no longer sitting on the sofa.

Lloyd looked over at Ryan, “I think you best follow her. Now or never, son.”

-/-/-

Ryan exited the bunkhouse and saw her sat on the corral fence in the fading light, cigarette smoke drifting into the sky. He headed across the drive to join her and leant against the fence beside her, letting her finish the cigarette before starting the conversation. When she was done, y/n threw the stub into the sand and watched silently as it smoked on the ground. Her eyes remained fixed on the mountains as if she could pretend he wasn’t there if she didn’t look at him despite the fact his arm was practically touching her thigh.

“You gonna say anything?” She asked.

Ryan sighed, “was kinda waiting for you to start the conversation this time, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know what you expect me to say. I really don’t need you jumping to protect me the moment one of them says something about me. Can’t be a ranch hand and not expect someone to say something about it. I’m a big girl. Plus Rip has it handled, something you haven’t seemed to forget,” y/n added bitterly.

“You can’t seriously expect me to just sit there and let them say that shit about you y/n? No one should say that,” he argued.

Y/n looked at him, “that’s exactly what I expect. You got no right to be that overprotective with the people we fuckin’ work with when you’re just as bad as them sitting staring at me like that.”

“The fuck are you tryna say,” Ryan growled.

She sighed and turned around, getting off the fence to move away from him. Y/n turned away to take another cigarette from her pocket to avoid answering his question. He watched her for a moment as she took a long inhale before turning back to look at him.

“It’s all good and well you tryna fight anyone who has something to say about me but we both know you ain’t gonna do anything about it except just sit there and stare because you’re fuckin afraid! I’m so over it Ryan either make the move I’ve been waiting for you to make for 10 years or stop acting like you get a say in my life,” she ranted at him.

Ryan took her in in front of him, cigarette between her lips and frustration in her eyes before making his decision. Within one step he was in front of her, taking a moment to see if she would stop him before taking the cigarette out of her mouth and putting it out under his boot. Y/n inhaled sharply when he placed his hands gently on her hips, using them to walk her backwards until her back hit the barn wall.

Ryan kept one hand on her hip and moved the other to her cheek, “last chance to change your mind, sweetheart.”

“Been waiting for you since I was 18 don’t make me wait any longer,” she whispered into the space between them.

With no more hesitation he kissed her. Y/n responded by fisting her hands in the front of his shirt. After a moment, he pulled away and rested his forehead against her. Y/n allowed her eyes to fall shut as she reveled in the moment she’d been imagining for so long.

Ryan kissed her again, “do I live up to expectations sweetheart?”

“Better than I could have hoped,” y/n smiled, “we’re gonna have to be careful though. I reckon I can handle Rip if I need to but if dad finds out he won’t hesitate to fire you and I won’t let you leave here.”

He nodded, “I’ll follow your lead. Colby won’t say anything and Lloyd’ll just be happy that he no longer has to deal with me staring at you longingly.”

“Gonna be fun sneaking round. Never got to do it in high school,” she teased.

Ryan laughed, “you’ll be worth it sweetheart.”

#ryan yellowstone #ryan yellowstone x reader #yellowstone #yellowstone imagine #yellowstone tv #dutton ranch #dutton!reader #ian bohen

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zepskies · 1 year ago

Text

Smoke Eater - Part 2

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: I was overwhelmed by the response on Part 1 (in the BEST way). 🥹 Thank you so much for everyone who read and sent me your lovely amazing comments! Here's Part 2 a bit early for ya. 😘

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 6,400 Tags/Warnings: Idiots flirting, with a side of sexual harassment. 😪

Part 2: "Lieutenant Winchester"

Firehouse 25 was just as much a house as it was a home.

Especially for Dean Winchester.

In the common room, he sat down at his preferred corner of the sofa with a cup of coffee. By now, the guys knew this was his spot, perfectly angled toward the new flatscreen TV someone donated last month.

Up until then, they’d had to hotwire the same tank from 1995, which had only got basic cable. Now at least the newer smart TV came with a subscription to Netflix, courtesy of the donor.

Dean raised his favorite Batman mug to his face, expecting to imbibe some rich dark roast. What he got was a travesty.

Spitting out the brown soil water back into the mug, he coughed and grimaced.

“Jack!” he called out.

Jack Kline, the newest addition to the house, raised his head from where he was trying to scramble eggs in the open kitchen directly behind the couch.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” he replied.

“Why does this coffee taste like ass?” Dean asked. His voice was still gruff with sleep, as he depended on his morning coffee to wake him up, not assault his tongue.

Behind him, Jack blinked in confusion. “Uh…”

Dean finally turned around and gave the younger man a raised brow.

“What brand did you buy, Candidate?” he asked.

A candidate was a freshly graduated firefighter on probation. They were the rookie, the bottom rung of the totem pole, and Jack was that proverbial whipping post.

“Um…” Jack went to find the coffee canister he’d put away in the cupboards. He showed Dean the red plastic jug. “Folgers. It was on sale.”

“Fuck me,” Dean muttered. “Never Folgers, Candidate. Anything but fucking Folgers. The one thing we don’t skimp out on is quality joe.”

“That ain’t nothin’ but dirt water, son,” Benny remarked, as he and Gordon entered the common room. Benny held a to-go mug he’d brought from home. After he’d seen what Jack brought for groceries yesterday, he’d taken no chances.

“What you wanna get is Gevalia,” Benny added.

“That European crap?” said Gordon. He took his usual spot at the dining table, leaning back in his chair. It left Benny to sit at the other end of the couch with Dean.

“Better than that piss water you drink,” Benny said with a smirk. Gordon raised a brow at him.

“Tea is medicinal, jackass.” The Black man raised a finger to punctuate his point. “It’s good for you. Unlike that carburetor fluid y’all drink.”

“Whatever, man,” Dean said, even though a grin edged at his lips. “All I know is, we need premium coffee, stat. Or it’s gonna be a cranky shift.”

“I can go to the store real quick,” Jack offered.

Say what you want about the kid’s poor taste in grocery buying, he was always willing to jump in when you needed him.

“Nah, stay on breakfast,” said Dean. “I’ll go afterwards. But remember, today you’re practicing rappelling drills.”

Jack nodded. “And lunch duty. And helping clean the truck, and all the bathrooms…did I miss anything?”

Dean shared a look with Gordon. Not only did he drive the truck, but he was one of the men Dean relied on most, as he had the next highest seniority on the job out of the whole firehouse.

Well, except for Benny Lafitte, Captain of the Rescue Squad. Squad members were considered specialists in complex rescue situations. They were highly trained on more sophisticated technical rescue equipment and rappelling, even scuba diving.

It took long years for a firefighter to make it onto Squad; something that Dean used to have ambitions for. But ever since he got promoted to Lieutenant on Truck 79, he realized that his role in this house was best served on the Truck, not on Squad.

“If he gets through all that, Meg might have something for him too,” Gordon said.

“Oh, don’t bring me into this,” remarked a droll voice. “I’ve already got one pound puppy to look after.”

Their Paramedic in Charge strode in with Chuck on her heels. They’d just pulled into the firehouse driveway on Ambulance 7.

“Nice. That’s how you talk about your partner of three years?” Chuck said with a frown. Meg turned to him with a wry grin.

“Only the ones who can hack it on my Ambo,” she replied. “What can I say. You’re special, Shurley. Either that, or a glutton for punishment.”

Gordon shook his head and looked over at Jack.

“Careful with that one. She chewed and hacked out her last partner in under a month.”

“Poor guy didn’t even transfer,” Dean added, making a “flatlining” motion with his hand. “He just quit. Dropped out of the Fire Academy that same day.”

Not all firefighters were made through Meg’s department, but it was a common route, working as a paramedic while getting put through your paces in the Fire Academy. Dean himself had gone straight to the Academy after getting his EMT certification.

But at Dean’s words, Jack’s eyes widened a fraction. Meg turned to him with an almost feline smile.

“How was the call?” Benny asked her, speaking of the job they’d just returned from. Meg’s expression dimmed a little, as did Chuck’s as they both sat down at the table.

“Ah, just Henry again,” she said. “Overdosed on his insulin.”

Benny frowned, while Dean shook his head. Jack’s brows furrowed.

“Who’s Henry?” he asked.

Meg sat back in her chair with a subtle sigh. Knowing his work partner’s mood, Chuck answered the young man’s question.

“He’s homeless, lives by the river,” he said. “He’s one of our ‘regulars,’ you could say. When we get the call, usually he’s passed out. Dehydration. But sometimes it’s more serious.”

“You can’t take him to the hospital?” Jack asked in concern.

“Today we did,” Meg said. Her brown eyes met Jack’s, her mouth in a thin line. “But without health insurance, there’s only so much they can do after they get him stable.”

That fell a bit heavily into the room. It wasn’t a pleasant fact, but it was the reality. Jack was learning more and more about that aspect of this job, and learning if he could handle the darker shades of what it could bring.

“Well, breakfast is ready,” he said, bringing a large plate of eggs and toast onto the counter. Dean tossed him an appreciative half-smile and got up from the couch.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, walking over along with everyone else. He took a moment to pat Jack on the shoulder.

“What do you want to do first: run drills, or help me and Gordon wash the truck?” Dean asked.

Jack looked up with a smile. “Can we run drills first?”

Dean nodded, grinning back at him. “Good answer.”

The rest of the Truck and Squad crews ambled in at both the announcement and the smell of food. And before long, the common room was filled with conversation, good-natured teasing, and shitty coffee all around.

From his vantage point facing the open door to the driveway, Benny caught sight of a young woman heading towards the double doors with a large tupperware bin in hand. Bonnie the receptionist happened to be coming in at the same time. You asked her a question Benny couldn’t quite hear.

“Dean… Oh, you’re looking for Lieutenant Winchester?” Bonnie asked. Her voice tended to carry. “Right in there, hun.”

“Well, that sure is interesting,” Benny murmured with a smile. He glanced over slyly at his friend. “Heads up, brother.”

Dean looked up from his plate of eggs expectantly. Benny gestured over with his eyes, just as you walked into the firehouse, both cautious and unsure of where you were going.

Dean’s brows raised. He found himself setting down his plate and getting up from the couch before he really knew what he was doing.

You looked exactly how he remembered. Though this time, you weren’t coffee stained in your professional blouse and black pencil skirt. His attention drew briefly downwards to your heels, this time solid black (and even taller than the last pair, damn).

He noticed all the same things he had last time: the shade of your hair, pinned up again with a clip as stray pieces framed your face. The way you carried yourself when you finally saw him, straightening with a subtle confidence in your shoulders, even though you looked a bit nervous. And the pretty curve of your lips when your eyes found his.

“Hey, there,” Dean said. He gave you one of his trademark smiles. “Good to see you again.”

“Uh, hi,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you remember me.”

Dean nodded. “‘Course I do. What can I do for you?”

Your face seemed to freeze up a bit as you looked up at him.

“Oh, um, nothing really. I just wanted to say thank you, again,” you said. And you glanced past him, where the rest of the firehouse members were discreetly watching. “All of you, actually. And my friend told me that firefighters really like food…but, I mean, doesn’t everyone?”

You laughed a little, in a nervous way that made Dean struggle not to smile too much.

“Anyway, I like to bake,” you twittered on, “and I had some time this week after…well, you know what happened. So…I brought this!”

You raised up your tupperware with a smile.

And you were damn adorable, Dean thought. His own smile deepened as he glanced down at the offering, then at you. He took the container and opened the lid, and was honestly surprised at what he saw.

He could’ve sworn these were Bonafede, just-poured-out-of-the-box Girl Scout cookies. Dozens of them. He saw shortbreads (complete with the little wavy lines), Samoa cookies with the coconut flakes, and even what looked like chocolate covered Thin Mints. They also smelled delicious.

“Wow. Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, with genuine warmth. “I’m pretty sure the guys are gonna tear these apart the second I put ‘em down.”

Your face brightened, and Dean noticed how it reached your eyes with a bit of a blush.

“Well, I hope you guys enjoy,” you said. Your hands fiddled with your purse next.

“Heading off to work now?” he asked.

“Yep,” you nodded, with a certain glint in your eye. “I plan on taking the stairs this time.”

Dean raised a brow. “All 22 floors?”

“Gotta get my steps in somehow,” you joked. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to become a repeat offender, make you guys come all the way back across town again.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t mind,” he said, meeting your eyes. And he found that he meant it. In fact, he didn’t think he’d mind if your building’s elevator broke down every damn week.

Your expression shifted towards amusement. “Well, you must be very dedicated to your job.”

“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”

“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.

He chuckled. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”

Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you. He had half a mind to heed his instincts, to take advantage of the signals he thought you were sending him, and ask if he could take you out sometime.

But it was unprofessional here at the firehouse (not that that had stopped him before). He’d been making efforts to curb that kind of behavior for the past few months.

He also remembered the 30 floors of your massive, fancy office building. He considered the price tags that probably came with the admittedly sexy, high-powered corporate look you had going on. Those were probably a lot more zeros than he was used to seeing on his paycheck.

So for once, he didn’t pull the trigger.

“Well, thanks. I really do appreciate that,” Dean replied. His smile then was more sincere, if also more professional. He gestured at the container in his hand. “And on behalf of all the guys, thanks for this too.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “I have to go, but…thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester.”

“Ah,” he shook his head, “just call me Dean.”

You agreed by smiling, just a little bit more.

“Dean.”

He nodded back, sending you off with a smile of his own. He forced himself to taper it down after you left, and he had to turn around to meet his friends. Their grins reminded him of piranhas.

“All right. Out with it, you freakin’ jackals.” He waved his free hand in a “bring it on” gesture.

Meg was the first one to burst out laughing. It spearheaded the rest of them, whooping and catcalling and generally being menaces. Even Jack was grinning at his lieutenant’s expense.

Meg got up from her seat and bumped Dean’s shoulder on her way to the kitchen, where she dumped her dishes.

“Thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester,” she mocked in a saccharine sweet voice. Then she lowered it into an exaggerated mimic of his deeper one, “Call me Dean, baby girl. Fucking priceless. You should get your own Hallmark movie.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He’d been prepared for this, but his face was still getting warm.

“Shut up, Meg,” he tossed back. They all had an ongoing Family Guy joke that never failed to make their PIC narrow her eyes. And she did so now, giving him a fake grimace as she left the kitchen.

“All right, kiddos. If you need me, don’t,” she said. “Chuck! Let’s sort the ambo’s inventory.”

“Got it,” her partner nodded. He too got up and placed his dishes in the sink before he took off after Meg.

This left Dean with the rest of the guys, who still gave him knowing smiles as he set your bin of cookies down on the table. He blew out a breath before he returned to the couch and sat down heavily across from Benny and Gordon.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Dean Winchester bitched out,” Gordon remarked.

Once again, Dean rolled his eyes.

“Truly incredible,” Benny added. He shook his head when Dean just crossed his arms. “She was eying you like a pork cutlet, and you just let her walk outta here.”

“We’re in the house, guys. What was I supposed to do?” Dean groused.

Benny and Gordon looked at him like he’d just denounced Led Zeppelin (his favorite band of all time).

“Get her goddamn number, Winchester,” said Gordon. The man’s lips curved. “Or at least, introduce her to a brother.”

Dean shot him a glance. Gordon Walker was damn good at driving the truck, but he was also known for being a hunter of the ladies himself.

“She seemed nice,” Jack put his two cents in with a smile. He was standing behind the couch, leaning his elbows on it. Gordon scoffed, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah, with a fat ass too,” he said, sipping his tea.

Benny reached over and hit his shoulder to shut him up.

“That’s a lady, Gordon,” he said. Though a suspect smile graced his lips as he glanced at Dean. “A lady with a nice ass.”

Dean shook his head, but he couldn’t disagree. The first time he met you, he’d been impressed by the way you stood your ground with your asshole boss. Dean thought you were going to chuck that lethal looking heel at the guy. But behind that steely exterior was a kind little softie.

Today, he got your sweet side. It was equal parts sexy and adorable.

And damn if you didn’t have a nice ass, nice curves, and a nice mouth.

But your eyes, he thought. Those were nothing short of beautiful.

About twenty minutes across town, an apartment building was swarmed by police cars. One unit in particular was sealed off with yellow caution tape as a team of officers drifted in and out.

What a fucked way to die.

Detective John Winchester observed the unnatural angle that the victim—Jerry Stillwell, a certified public accountant—had his throat cut with a jagged weapon.

It hadn’t been clean in the least. And he’d bled out across his work desk and a stack of papers, as well as his desktop computer. He was 45, unmarried, and murdered in his own home in the middle of a Friday afternoon.

The computer wouldn’t turn on, and not because of the blood. It had been wiped with magnetized technology, most likely by the intruder. Though there was no sign of forced entry, according to John’s partner. The murder weapon was missing as well, though it looked like a knife wound.

John leaned over the on-site medical examiner’s shoulder to peer closer at the man’s wounds. Stillwell had most likely been grabbed from behind. So far, the signs pointed to the culprit being someone the victim knew.

They probably took Stillwell by surprise, but he was a large man. If John had to guess, over 250 pounds, unathletic, but still, not easy to overpower. Likely the suspect was a man over 6 feet; strong, and efficient. Though the messiness of the kill made John think this guy took "pride" his work, so to speak.

“Signs of struggle,” said the M.E. “Skin under the fingernails. He fought back, and…huh.”

John’s interest piqued at the man’s shift in tone. “What?”

“Take a look at this.” The M.E. was holding Stillwell’s right hand, palm-up, revealing a small burn on the inside of the wrist. John’s gaze sharpened on the mark.

“Cas, come here,” he said. Across the room, Detective Cas Novak paused in his task of examining the entry points of the apartment to join John at his side. His blue eyes widened a fraction at seeing the burn. It was a symbol of a snake eating its own tail.

“That makes four,” Cas said.

“Yep. We’ve got ourselves a murder cluster,” John said. Cas nodded. He beckoned John to the side, making sure the M.E. was out of earshot before he spoke. “Isn’t it time we brought Sam up to speed on this, at least?”

John’s brows furrowed.

“No,” he said. “Sam’s an ADA. We don’t go to him until we have someone to indict.”

He walked away from Cas, who frowned. John knew damn well that wasn’t what he meant. This was the fourth murder within six months of this nature. The fourth to be branded with the mark of Azazel…a criminal who supposedly disappeared decades ago.

Shortly after November 2, 1983, the day of Mary Winchester’s death.

Seeing Dean again had gone better than you thought it would. It left you feeling light and downright cheerful when you left the firehouse this morning. Unfortunately, the great start to your morning only crumbled when you reached your office.

Now, even at the end of your day, finally back at home and in the familiarity of your kitchen, the tension headache was back.

“Dre, I’m tired. Can’t we do this another night?” you asked.

Your cell phone was balanced between your ear and your shoulder as you counted out your grandfather’s pills, and placed them in each “Monday through Sunday” box in the blue container.

“No, we absolutely cannot. Because today was horrific,” Andréa said. “For me, because my coworker decided to play hookie on the day our top account needed the mockups of their new website. Never mind that she hadn’t even started.”

Pause for an aggravated breath, through which you frowned in sympathy. She’d told you the entire story over lunch today.

“And for you, because Nick once again displayed why he’s a subhuman neanderthal, in spectacular fashion,” she added.

Your grimace deepened at the reminder.

Earlier today, just before a sales meeting you were set to lead, you’d turned away from the conference table to set up the projector. Nick was early for once, making it just him and you in the room.

He’d sat back in his chair and uttered a remark that set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“I’ll tell you what, babe. You sure know how to wear a skirt.”

Your back straightened, and slowly you turned. Your face was set in stone, save for a solitary raise of your brow.

“Excuse me?”

Nick’s smirk was lazy as he kicked his feet up on the table. His hand held a tumbler of whiskey. You noted the half empty carafe, which just yesterday had been full and untouched.

“Fucking fantastic legs,” he said, vaguely outlining your shape with his hand. “I applaud you. It’s all very…sexy secretary. Oooh! Sexcretary. Fucking brilliant.”

You gaped, trying to put a clamp on the furious spike in your blood.

“Are you drunk?” you asked incredulously.

He raised his fingers an inch or so apart, scrunching up his face and trying not to laugh.

“Actually nah, not at all,” he bluffed.

He let his hand fall back into his lap. You shook your head and set down your papers in order to cross your arms.

“Good. Then you’ll hear me clearly when I say, I’m filing a formal complaint with Billie in HR,” you said.

“Whaaat? Why?” he complained. You huffed incredulously.

“For your little comments, which are getting more and more heinous. Not to mention your excessive drinking during company hours.”

Nick pursed his lips. “Christ on a stick. Can’t you take a fucking compliment?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “What I refuse to take is any further sexual harassment. This isn’t the first incident I could disclose, but I’m damn sure you’ll want it to be the last.”

He kicked his feet off the table and slowly stood. You didn’t want to be afraid of this sloppy, frat boy drunken attitude, but a tendril of trepidation still laced down your spine as you took a step back.

“You could do that,” he nodded, tilting his head. “Or, I’ll give your Zimmerman account to Josh, along with your commission.”

You frowned, and shock made your entire body tense.

“You…you can’t do that!” you exclaimed. Your insides fairly shook with frustration tinged with anger. “I’ll sue you.”

“With what money?” Nick scoffed.

Your brows knitted together then. How the hell would he know anything about your finances?

The man noted your reaction with a nod.

“Yeah, I know all about grammy and gramps. Surgeries, funerals, treatments…” he said. He leaned against the table with one hand, and still he fairly loomed over you.

He wasn't as broad as someone like Dean, but he was tall and lean. His dirty blonde hair was swept to the side, his blue eyes bearing down on you.

“I am this company. If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out, sweetheart,” he said.

His gaze lowered, roaming your glowering face.

“And good luck getting anywhere else without a reference from one of the biggest corporations in Lawrence, Kansas.”

You sighed. Yeah, you might’ve shed some frankly embarrassing tears in the women’s bathroom after that. You hadn’t even told Andréa the full story, which included the details of his comments, along with his threats.

You didn’t want her to worry. And maybe, more selfishly, you were embarrassed at having to deal with it at all.

Truth be told, you still didn’t know what the hell you were going to do. About Nick, or your job…but somehow, getting drunk at a bar seemed about the last thing you should be doing.

“I need a drink,” Andréa insisted. “Which means you definitely need a drink. And I know exactly where we’re going.”

After a long moment, you leaned your elbows on the kitchen counter and rubbed through the persistent ache in your forehead. Maybe, just this once, you deserved to forget about reality. Just for a little while.

“Fine. Where?” you asked.

“It’s this great bar Meg told me about. The Roadhouse.”

“Ah, the usual suspects,” Ellen drawled at the men who managed to find seats at her bar, next to the rest of their party. The Roadhouse was packed on a Friday night, but she always had room for these two.

Benny and Dean wore similar tired, but pleasant smiles as they greeted their esteemed barkeep.

“What’s it been, Ellen, a whole shift since I’ve seen your delightful face?” Dean said.

Ellen gave him a mocking smile as she poured him his favorite beer on tap. Dean grinned and clapped his younger brother on the shoulder as he sat down. He and Cas had been waiting for a little while.

…Well, maybe longer than a little.

“Hey, dude,” Dean said. Sam perked up from his second beer with pursed lips.

“You know we’ve been waiting on you for like an hour, right?” he said.

“Aw, don’t get your panties in a twist, Sammy,” Dean teased. He nodded his thanks at Ellen when she set his beer in front of him, and a glass of whiskey for Benny. “We had a last-minute call. Some guy just couldn’t wait to start his Happy Hour. Drove his car into the company fountain.”

Sam’s brows raised incredulously. He looked over at Benny for confirmation, and the other man gave a resigned nod.

“Apparently it set the ducks into a tizzy,” he said. “The guy’s fine. Probably gonna get slapped with a DUI.”

Dean smirked and raised a finger at both Sam and Cas. “Duck Guy’s your problem now.”

Cas shook his head and raised his beer to his lips.

“Not my department.”

“Mine either,” Sam scoffed. Both of them worked in homicide cases, just from the differing sides of law and order. In fact, they worked together more often than Dean and Cas did.

Dean looked over at his friend Cas for a moment. He looked like more of a hot mess than usual, with his tie half undone, and a scruffy half-beard covering his face.

“Geez, man. You look like shit,” Dean remarked. “You and Meg fighting again?”

“No,” Cas replied, his brows furrowing. “…Well, yes. But nothing more than her usual insanity. Something about the cat preferring to sleep next to me than to her.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Benny said. “My dog don’t like her either.”

“Maybe they can smell that she’s feral,” Dean quipped. Cas sent him a dry look at that.

“She threatened to move out,” he revealed. “Even packed a bag at 3:00 in the morning. I spent two hours unpacking what she was re-packing, all while we argued in our underwear, not sleeping.”

Sam and Dean shared bemused looks, while Benny shook his head into his whiskey.

“So how’d it end up?” Sam asked. Cas sighed and took another long sip of his beer.

“Like it always ends, Sam,” he said, his lips quirking. “With our neighbors calling the precinct to complain, and me, somehow ending up sleeping on the couch for a crime I didn’t commit. If she wants to blame someone, blame the goddamn cat.”

Dean chortled. He brought his beer to his lips, but couldn’t resist a light jab at his best friend first.

“Dude, I love her like a sister, but your girlfriend’s unhinged,” he said.

Cas could only nod. “Most are, I’ve come to find.”

Sam scoffed and shook his head. “Not mine.”

“Yeah, that’s because Eileen doesn’t have to see you more than two minutes at a time,” Dean teased. He and his brother still shared an apartment, and Sam’s job as an Assistant District Attorney wrought demanding hours.

Sam shot his brother a flat look.

“Oh, I’m not taking that from the serial playboy,” he said.

Dean’s brows knitted together.

“All right, calm down,” he said. “I’m not Hugh Hefner.”

“Mr. Hit and Run,” Cas added, a smirk gracing his features.

“Chief ‘No Daddy Issues,’” Benny tipped in, giving his annoyed, green-eyed friend a sly glance. “With a side helping of the Clap.”

Dean’s lips pressed into a line. He leveled a finger at Benny.

“That girl was clean, okay? False alarm,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward as he sipped his beer. Thank Christ for that one. “The rash was just carpet burn.”

Sam shook his head and turned to his brother more seriously.

“Bottom line: until you date a woman for more than two weeks—hell, two days at a time—you don’t get to comment on the happily committed,” he said.

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew his track record with relationships. As in, he didn’t really have a record…but it wasn’t for lack of trying. At least, not for the past few months.

Sam managed to break Dean out of his thoughts by clearing his throat, pushing his empty bottle across the counter.

“All right, speaking of. I gotta go,” he said.

“Aw, why? We just got here. Let me buy you another,” Dean offered.

Sam shot his brother another knowing look. Dean knew it well; it said, if he’d been here on time, they would’ve shared the first two drinks.

“I’m picking up Eileen,” Sam said, grabbing his blazer and fixing the collar when he put it on. “There’s this Latin club she wants to go to.”

Dean raised incredulous brows.

“My brother’s going salsa dancing?”

Sam sighed in exasperation, despite his smile. “Bye, Dean.”

He shot his other two friends a nod.

“See you guys.”

Cas and Benny both saw him off with a subtle raise of their drinks, while Dean just shook his head.

“All right, Samantha,” he called out. Sam didn’t bother to turn around as he raised up a choice finger behind him.

Dean snorted into his drink. “Very mature.”

Benny and Cas shared a wry look. They were relieved when Ellen’s daughter Jo came by, picking up the slack for her mom, who was serving a rowdy group of college kids at a nearby table.

“Hey, guys. Need another round?” Jo asked. She gave them all a familiar smile, but her eyes lingered on Dean. He gave her a more reserved smile back.

“Hey, Jo,” he nodded. “I uh…actually think I’m good right now.”

“Me too,” Cas said. He even stood up and grabbed his trenchcoat in similar fashion as Sam had. The two had paid for their beers before Benny and Dean even got there.

“Aw, not you too,” Dean groused.

“If I don’t make dinner, we run the risk of the apartment going up in flames,” Cas informed him. Dean could only assume he was talking about Meg. “Despite working with the Fire Department for ten years, the woman can’t manage to boil an egg without supervision.”

Jo raised a brow, but her smile was bemused as she turned to Benny. “Anything for you?”

“Nah, darlin’. I’m good,” he said. But sensing the unspoken request in her eyes when she glanced at Dean, Benny straightened and raised from his seat. “But I’ll be back. Need’a hit the head.”

Dean internally sighed as Benny left him alone at the bar. Or, well, relatively alone. Jo lingered in front of him to wash and dry out a few glasses. The air between them was stiff, and a little awkward.

Dean’s thoughts shifted back to his brother then; while he still couldn’t believe Eileen had wrangled his gangly Sasquatch of a brother into going dancing, Dean was happy for him. Truly and sincerely. Sam deserved having someone who softened him, made him break away from his endless cases and have some fun.

Dean could also admit, if only to himself, that he was maybe a little jealous. Sam had something good with his girl. Something real.

Dean had carpet burn.

“So, how’s studying going?” he asked Jo. He couldn’t stand awkward silences. “Still planning on giving your mom a heart attack when you get into the Police Academy?”

Jo’s blue eyes flicked up to his. She brushed a coil of blond hair behind her ear after she finished drying a glass, and a smile raised the corner of her lips.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I gave her something to yell about,” she quipped. “But since you asked…my exam is in three months.”

“Good,” Dean nodded. “You’ve got time. Study your ass off. Keep up the conditioning routine I gave you, and you’ll be set. Just don’t forget the strength training. Very important.”

“I got it,” she said, this time with a brighter smile. “Some old firefighter gave me some pointers.”

Dean tilted his beer at her accusingly.

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. Benny’s got more mileage than I do…”

He considered her then, after briefly looking down at the counter.

“What?” she said.

He kept his lips tight. “Nothin’.”

“No, Dean. What?” Jo pressed. “You want to say something. Say it.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head.

“Ellen’s not the only one who’s gonna worry about you on the job, that’s all,” he said. Jo flickered at a rueful frown.

“That’s ironic,” she said. “I can handle myself, Dean. Something you so often seem to forget.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” he shot back. His hand tightened around his beer.

Jo’s face fell into irritation, mostly to cover up the hurt he saw buried deep behind her eyes. She gave him some relief by glancing away from him.

“And this is why we didn’t work out,” she muttered. Sighing through her nose, her eyes met his again. “You know what I hate, more than anything? People worrying.”

Dean carded his fingers through his hair, his brows knitting together in aggravation.

“Yeah, well, maybe they have good reason to,” he said. He could’ve predicted the way she tightened up. “And if I remember right, you did your fair share of hand-wringing the next time I responded to a fire on the job.”

He knew it was a low blow. But his point was made, and he fully expected the anger in Jo’s tight frown. They’d dated for a few weeks, mostly in secret.

That had been enough for Ellen to blow her top. Not because she had anything against Dean…just his job: at the very same firehouse her late husband had once served.

So Dean had backed off. He’d ultimately felt he had to end it. And clearly, Jo still resented him for it.

Slowly, however, the fire in her eyes dimmed. Her finger tapped on her side of the bar counter.

“You think I don’t worry anymore just because we’re not together?” she asked him.

Dean didn’t have a good answer for her. So his gaze fell to his nearly empty beer.

But he was even more relieved when Benny finally got back from the bathroom, or wherever he’d fucked off to for the past few minutes.

He did seem to know that he was interrupting a rather tense moment. Seeing as neither Dean nor Jo wanted to break the silence, Benny supposed it fell on him.

He reclaimed his seat and raised a smile up at Jo.

“I think I’m ready for the next round,” he said, glancing at Dean’s soured mood. “Two whiskeys, please, Joanna.”

Jo treated Benny with a half-smile. He was the only one besides her mother who called her Joanna (and got away with it). After one last look at Dean, she reached over for the Jim Beam.

You met Andréa at the bar in your own car, just in case you needed to dip out early to check on Grandpa George. He was happy to see you going out.

“You’re pretty as a doll, sweetheart,” he’d said, patting your cheek after you kissed his goodbye.

The thought made you smile, even though you thought you were dressed casually in your dark wash jeans and blouse. When Andréa met you outside the bar, she nodded in approval.

“Good. I like the hint of sexy,” she said, plucking at the sweetheart neckline of your top. You rolled your eyes and tried to cover up the cleavage a little, but she batted at your hand.

“No, no. Leave your professionalism at work,” she said. “Tonight, you’re going to relax and have some fun.”

It was hard to think about loosening up when you were literally getting belittled and threatened at work…but you supposed she had a point. You always had to be put together. You had to be sharp, because this world wouldn’t hand you anything on a silver platter.

And not to mention, you couldn’t just think about yourself. You also had to provide and take care of your grandfather too. He was the only family you had left, and you were it for him too…

But you took in a slow, deep breath. Tonight, you could have a couple of drinks with your friend. You could just be yourself, with no responsibilities other than not getting too drunk to drive yourself home later.

So with a sigh, you smiled and linked your arm with Andréa as you headed inside the Roadhouse.

It looked kind of divey from the outside, a worn-looking brown building with a faded red sign. But inside it was all dark wood and leather barstools and rows of soft lighting overhead.

There were records displayed on the wall; Prince’s Purple Rain, the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper, and David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, among others. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” played on the wall speakers.

There were several tables, both high top and regular four-seaters, as well as a long bar that spanned the far wall, where rows and rows of liquor were showcased. You followed Andréa’s lead to the bar, where you took a seat at the far end and tried to feel like you belonged here. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out to a place like this.

“This is nice,” she leaned over into your ear to say. “Next time my cousin should meet us here. She’s a handful, but I think you’d like her.”

You agreed with a smile. “If she’s anything like you, I think I’m well trained to handle your brand of insanity.”

Andréa leveled you with a playfully mocking look.

“Ah, you’ve got jokes tonight. Okay.” She waved over the blonde bartender.

“Hi, ladies,” she greeted. “I’m Jo. What’re we starting off with tonight?”

Before you could order for yourself, Andréa grabbed your arm and spoke over you.

“Do you have absinthe?” she asked.

Your eyes widened. “What?! I’m not drinking that—”

“Sure do,” Jo replied in amusement.

“Great,” said Andréa. You didn’t like her sly grin. “She’ll have an Aunt Roberta. I’ll have a vodka cranberry.”

“What the hell is an Aunt Roberta?” you asked.

Jo listed the ingredients on her fingers. “A nice molotov of brandy, vodka, gin, blackberry liqueur, and of course, absinthe.”

Jesus Christ. You shot Andréa a glare, even though you were trying to dim your smile.

“Are you trying to chill me out or fucking end me?” you asked.

Andréa smirked. “Whatever it takes.”

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded your agreement. Jo’s smile remained as she went to prepare your drinks. Meanwhile, your eyes wandered as you once again took in your surroundings.

Really is a cool place, you thought. And it was busy without being overbearingly crowded. There were even a few seats between you and the rest of the patrons at the bar. Your gaze drew a path onwards, eventually reaching the other end of the bar.

There you caught sight of red flannel over a black undershirt, familiar broad shoulders, and an even more familiar face. Your eyes widened a fraction as his met yours, gleaming with recognition…and interest.

That slow smile of his was familiar too. It made a lance of heat run down your spine. You gripped the counter, mostly to steady yourself as you let out a breath.

Lieutenant Winchester.

AN: *rubs hands together* It begins. 😏

Lol how'd you like Dean's little moment with the reader at the firehouse? Plus the introduction of the rest of our cast!

(And a possible serial killer on the loose?) Though sorry about Nick. He's a douchecanoe.

Next Time:

Anticipation and nerves coiled together in your lower belly. You turned to your friend, who was already sipping at her vodka cranberry.

“Dre, help me,” you pleaded.

Andréa discreetly followed the path of your gaze, and her brows raised. A smirk curved her lips.

“Oh, babe. You need to help yourself,” she replied.

“I haven’t done that in a while,” you admitted. Your dating life had been sorely lacking, between the demands of your job and taking care of things at home. “I’m gonna say something demented.”

Andréa huffed in amusement.

“So? That’s half the fun,” she said.

Keep Reading: PART 3

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

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midnighthazee · 2 months ago

Text

Greenridge ABO Series

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Warnings: Torture, mentions of abuse, mentions of blood, explicit language, name calling, fear, near death experiences....

WC: 1757

Chapter 1

“I have business to handle with the Harlow pack tomorrow. Frankie and Triston are going with me to meet with our allies. I need you here to be in charge of the house while I’m gone.” Alpha Lewis says to Hayes.

“You got it. I will keep you updated.” Hayes nodded his head.

“I know nothing will really be going on around here but I will be gone for a few days. Maids should be here to clean at 9 am… Oh and uh, make sure they feed the omegas. I think they forgot yesterday.” Lewis rolled his eyes as if it was silly for them to have forgotten.

“Surprised I can’t hear their stomachs growling from up here.” Milo chuckled, walking into the room.

“Y’all two stay out of trouble this time. Last time you burned down my shed.” Lewis pointed a finger at Milo.

“Hey…it was old anyways. We built you a nicer one.” Milo said.

“Yeah so I don’t want to lose this one either.” Lewis said, leaving the room.

Lewis is Alpha to the Nyko pack. A pack known for its ruthless leader, large numbers, and murderous ways. Alpha Lewis took over two of the neighboring packs, making them all submit to his rule. Anyone who refused, he slaughtered in front of their family. In doing so, he grew vastly in territory and numbers, now having nearly fifty members loyal to him. No one dares cross him, for a war could break out - most of the surrounding packs don’t even come close to the numbers he has.

For the most part, any remaining packs that neighbor his territory live in harmony with him. They stay on their land and out of his way and he doesn’t overtake their land.

Alpha Lewis’s immediate pack consists of a lesser alpha, five betas and three omegas. The lesser alpha is his younger brother as well as one of the betas. The rest of the people under his rule live in their own dwellings and not in his house like the immediate pack. A few members of the pack share rooms but the omegas are kept locked up in the basement.

Nightfall was approaching as Hayes and Milo unlocked the padlock on the basement door. Alpha Lewis had left late morning and should be in Harlow territory by now. Which means he’s far away and off-the grid for the rest of the night. He will probably check in tomorrow morning but for now, the boys were home with just the omegas. The two other betas left behind decided to go see a movie in town.

The basement was half finished. The unfinished part had prison looking cells - one for each omega and an extra. Cement walls and flooring with reinforced steel bars in the front. The walls and floors were damp from leaks, the air smelling of piss and mildew. Each cell had a metal cot with a thin mat on a wire frame, a hole in the ground for them to relieve themselves, and a chain embedded into the wall and connected at the ankle of the omega inside.

The omegas were filthy, hair matted, and covered in injuries and bruises both old and new. They cowered into the back corner as the young alpha and beta appeared. They stopped at one of the female’s door. It was their favorite omega - YOU. You whined, pushing yourself further into the back wall, but they just laughed.

“C’mon bitch….we wanna play.” Milo taunted.

Hayes opened your door and stepped inside. You cowered in the corner, shaking and shying away as he unlocked the cuff on your ankle. Then he snatched you up and guided you out. You winced in pain as he forced you to walk. You knew Alpha Lewis must be gone if they decided to “play” with you. They only took you out to play when he wasn’t home to boss them around and keep them busy. So they use you to stay entertained.

You endured whatever game they came up with, knowing no one would take your side or care what they did to you. Their latest interest is a game of hunting. And it seemed like it would be the same game again tonight as they led you through the living room towards the back door.

Wincing at the bright lights, you looked down and tried not to trip over your own feet as you walked. Your limbs hurt, you were tired and hungry, and you were not in the mood to entertain them. Not that you ever were, but most nights they bring you out, you use it to your advantage and study the terrain. One day you will escape, and when you do, you will know how to get away. But tonight, you didn’t have it in you.

“Alright bitch… run.” Milo commanded with an eager smile.

Your feet were heavy and you felt like doing anything but running. All the walking made you lightheaded honestly and you wanted to just curl up and die. You drop to the floor, sitting as your hands support you from fully laying on the floor.

They both sigh dramatically.

“I think she needs some motivation..” Hayes says.

Milo pulls a gun from the back of his pants. It was a BB gun, modified to have a stronger shot and shoot bigger pellets. He aims it at you, touching the side of your head. Your breath catches in your throat as you slowly turn to see the barrel of the gun aimed at you. Hayes flashed his BB gun too.

“I got new pellets…” Milo wiggles his eyebrows. “They are silver.”

Hayes whips his head to his brother, brows furrowed.

“So… run.” Milo growls.

You scramble to your feet and take off, knowing too much silver will kill you. You hear the pop of the gun and hear the whoosh of a pellet go by your ear. He just missed you. You run into the treeline, heading for cover in the woods.

“Silver?! Are you nuts? We aren’t out here to kill her.” Hayes speaks lowly.

“Relax… I won't hit her much. I just want to use these special ones here.” Milo holds out a gloved hand with pellets in it.

“Why are they blue?” Hayes reaches for one.

“Don’t touch without gloves. Each one contains a small dose of cobalt.”

Hayes steps back quickly. “What the hell?”

“I have an antidote. I’m not gonna kill her.” Milo rolls his eyes.

“Silver is one thing Milo, but cobalt?” Hayes lectures. “Lewis can’t find out we do this when he’s away…remember?”

“She’s getting away, c’mon.” Milo says, running into the woods after you.

This went on for over an hour. They would get too close when you stopped to catch your breath, which was often, and you would feel the pellets pierce your skin. The pain kept the adrenaline pumping, pushing you to get up from behind whatever tree or bush you were using to hide and keep running. This was the first time they used silver pellets. Most of the time the regular pellets hurt enough to keep you running away, especially when they got too close. But this pain was much worse.

One of the first times they decided to play their little hunting game with you, you decided that the pain wasn’t worth all the running. You refused to play along and in turn you were badly beaten - worse than the pellets would have been. They threatened to tell Alpha Lewis and when that didn’t scare you enough (because you knew he wasn’t home), they took to beating you. They broke three ribs and your leg. The healing was excruciating and took longer than it should have thanks to the terrible living conditions and lack of food.

They must have explained to Alpha Lewis what happened when he was gone because he didn’t say anything about your injuries and was more irritated with you than usual. He also withheld a few meals from you and kept you locked in the basement and used the other omegas for his fun for a while. From that day forward, she knew not to underestimate the brothers, or the absence of their alpha.

You ran as fast as your legs would go, the ground beneath your bare feet feeling like glass shards with every step. You huffed as you weaved between the trees and bushes. You could feel the branches slashing at your skin as you ran past but you didn’t let it stop you. Plus the cover of night made it nearly impossible to see anything or where you were going.

As you ran, the world felt as if it began to tilt. You blinked and shook your head trying to focus. It didn’t work and you lost your footing, stumbling forward. You hit the ground with a thud, knocking the air from your lungs. You cough, trying to breathe in air as your heart pounded.

“We can smell your blood.” Hayes taunted.

Forcing yourself to stand, your limbs feel heavy. Wincing as you stand, you stumble as you try to stand straight. What was happening? Was this because you hadn’t eaten in like two days? You heard a branch snap behind you. Whipping your head around, you don’t see anything. They sounded close so you took off again.

As you run, you begin to slow. It feels as if you're trudging through mud. You push with all your might but you don’t feel right. Looking around, you realize you’re not on your usual path. These trees haven’t been marked by you from the previous nights. There’s no dirt path beneath you either - at least that you can see in the darkness of the woods. Looking around, you were definitely lost. Fear creeped up as your stomach churned.

You run, hoping you can circle back to the path, afraid to run into any neighboring territories. Alpha warned you of the awful things they would do if they found you unwelcomed on their land. Shivering at the thought, your eyes feel heavy. You push through your head as it spins but it’s no use. You stumble over a tree root and tumble forward.

You reach a hill and manage to tumble down the ferns and ivy. Your body hits the ground with a thud and you feel yourself slipping into darkness, your whole body screaming at you in pain. When the brothers do find you, you are definitely going to pay for this.

TAGLIST:

@its-the-solar-system @estella-novella

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uchu-no-bashira · 5 months ago

Text

𝔅𝔢𝔶𝔬𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔬𝔯 - Gyomei x Fem!BlackReader

Authors Note: I’m fixating. Send help.

TW: Minors Do Not Interact. Consensual sex between two business adults.

Maybe it was the way that his shirt squeezed his deltoids, or the way the thin fabric cradled the biceps on his arms. You stopped making excuses for why you’d go in his office to see him a long time ago, bringing him his nth coffee that you both knew he wasn’t going to drink. You picked up that… Maybe he just wanted you around, since he never complained despite the x amount of full cups on his desk, but that’s just y’all’s little secret.

For him, it was your pencil skirt, the way it hugged your curvy thighs almost majestically. It’s not like he couldn’t envision your robust outline - one he’d grown accustom to around the office since you were the “Vice President’s little helper.”

Or, Maybe it was the tone of your honeyed voice when you offered him things. “Here’s your coffee with no creamer, Himejima-san.”

God how he loved that sound. So much so, that today was the day he took a particular interest in why and how you sounded as divine as you did. One thing led to another, and he politely told you;

“Don’t ever stop speaking to me. You sound so beautiful.”

As if you could speak.

How could you? What with the bearable stretch tearing the formulation of words clean from your throat.

Heavy, stifled breaths dwindles the amount of time you have before hypoxia kicks in, or maybe you were just giddy from the pang of your g-spot being imposed on over and over as your nails grip the fabric of his dress shirt.

Your mind is spinning, apparent from the way your body leans back against the wooden shelves rocking behind you, your gasps and moans bouncing off the walls of the broom closet as the clatter of metal cans on the polished flooring warrants a shared gasp.

Gyomei slowed his pace for half a second, his finger pressing against your thick kissers while listening to the sound of determined heels clicking outside of the door. He sheathes himself deeper, pushing the air out of your lungs while pulling your knee up and away from the cleaning supplies.

“Has anyone seen Himejima? What about that new intern?! Where the hell is everyone?! I needed my iced latte and newly trained staff members yesterday!”

Shinobu shouts, veins rippling around the side of her forehead before she lets out a frustrated groan and continues past the solid wood door with the “Please use other closet” sign swaying slowly.

Once the footsteps fade, Gyomei removes his finger from your maw, chuckling softly at the way you sucked and hummed against it desperately. He tucks his forearm behind your other knee, pulling your legs further apart and angling his hips enough to make you whine in pleasure.

“Shhh.. We’ll get in trouble if you’re too loud.” He teases, squeezing your thighs tighter the closer you get to your limit.

Soon, the sound of panting fills the room as shelves beat in cadence with desperate moans, your left high heel dangles from the tip of your toes as composure slips free, you give in to your body’s carnal need for pleasure and allow him as deep as he can go.

The pit of your stomach flutters, sending a heat through each muscle, each tendon, each nerve. A high pitched squeal squeezes through your voice box, the back of your legs clench his forearms as your thighs vibrate against him.

A deep, guttural moan vibrates against your ear and the sensation of heat pooling in your stomach makes you shudder. Trails of white trickle between the two of you and drip onto the marble floor, leaving a mess for the janitorial crew to clean later…

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alexa-fika · 8 months ago

Note

Hey, can you do a niffty reader with whitebeard pirates?

basicly niffty is a housekeeper who quote on quote "likes killing mother bugs in front of baby bugs as a warning to the others" is very much a probem child in the mentaly unstable way, likes punishing bad boys(whatever that means) and likes stabing people, Multiple times.

She is from hazbin hotel

Menace Ahoy( Whitebeard pirates x male!child!reader)

A/N, y’all I had this one ready yesterday but I forgot to post it 🤭 And then forgot to do it this morning too,oops. If you know Hazbin Hotel you know what you can expect on a character based on nifty, if not expect references to blood killing and overall red flags in a child 😂

Update: (Female Version)

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha as a placeholder which stands for Reader in japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

“You lost him?!”

“The hell do you mean me?! You were also supposed to keep an eye on him!”

“That’s enough the both of you! Right now, we need to focus on finding him before he sneaks into the kitchen or the training areas.” The first-mad yelled, scolding his crewmates

“I swear I had him by my side a few seconds ago. I just I blinked, and just like that, gone! It’s like he just up and vanished!” Ace said desperately, looking around

“That’s why you can’t take your eyes off him; he is quick like that,” mutters Vista, thinking of where the little menace could have run off to now

“He wouldn’t get off the ship, would he?” He questions

“Unlikely, he will only get down once he sees one of us has deboarded, and despite looking for trouble, he won’t leave our side unless we tell him he can,” Izou pipes in

Their discussion is quickly cut short as two voices join their conversation

“What have I told you about sneaking into the kitchen?” Thatch grumbles, holding the child by the scruff of his shirt walking closer to the men

“But it was a mess! I needed to clean the mess up!” He fusses, looking up at the chef

“No, uh, Kitchen is a big No, No, don’t trust you not to steal one of my knives again.”

“But it was a mess; I need to go back and clean it; I need to make sure it’s clean, so much mess, I need to clean it,” he rambled on as he began to spiral on the thought of the kitchen and all the tools and areas that needed to be cleaned up

“Hey, Hey, I get you want to clean, but you can’t just barge in and start cleaning; you could get badly hurt if you touched one of the hot surfaces. Please don’t go back in there without one of us,” He said, lowering the kid to the ground

“Just don’t sneak in there again, got it?”

“Sorrey”

“It’s okay; I'm not mad at you. I'm just worried you could get badly hurt. How about you come to ask me first, and I‘ll let you know if I help clean?”

He grins, nodding excitedly

“Okay!”

“Hey, Dokucha, are you coming with us?” Called Vista; Marco and Izou already waiting for the pair at the port

“Yeah!” The exclaimed, running his way but skidding to a stop and looking at the two behind him

“Are you not coming?” He asked, looking at Thatch and Ace

“I’ll stay here; I have some things to attend to in the kitchen,” Thatch replies; he takes a moment to sigh and rub his head

“Someone has to keep this idiot some company,” quips Ace with a grin, only to groan as his comment was received with a hit on the back of the head

“What the hell, Thatch?!”

He snickers at his brothers' antics and resumes running his way to Vista, joining him as they go down the gangway

“Where are we going?”

Marco looks back at the two

“I need to refill some of the medical supplies; after that, we need to stack up on drinks,” Marco answered, looking down at the list he held in his hands

He jumps his way to Marco, hanging from his shoulder to take a look at the note

“What’s gunpowder? And what the hell is whetstone?” the boy asked, squinting at the words in the note

“Language,” muttered Marco, giving a side eye to the child on his shoulder

“Whetstones are used to sharpen swords, Dokucha; I need it to sharpen my swords; the one we have has grown dull,” Vista answered

“Hehehehe, Can I have the swords when you sharpen them?”

“Certainly not.”

“Just for a little bit, just want to test them; how do you know if they go through the skin if you don’t try it?” He grinned, a maniacal look growing in his eyes

“Who are you trying this on?!”

“I can find people to stab real quick; you won’t miss them.”

“No”

“I can use the blood of our enemies.”

“Still no.”

“Bah, what about gunpowder?”

“It’s used for firing weapons like my pistols,” Izou replied, showing the kid his pistols as he said that

“No.”

“Din’t even ask!”

“Don’t need to; you wouldn’t be allowed.”

“Ugh, party poopers,” he whined, sticking his tongue at the two

They roll their eyes at his antics, a chuckle escaping Vista as he shakes his head

“You’re quite something, Dokucha,” Marco stated, putting the note away and beginning to make his way into town

“I wouldn’t trust you with a wea- Agh!” His words were cut off as one of the locals knocked into him, causing him to stumble slightly in surprise

“Watch where you’re walking, dumbass,” they growl, continuing their way deeper into town

“…”

“Stab, Stab?” He said, not taking his eyes off the person as they walked away, an ominous-looking smile growing on his face

“Leave them,” Marco groaned, brushing himself off

“But they deserve it to have their blood splattered!”

“They are not worth it,” Vista sighed, shaking his head

“It’s fine. Let them have their rude ways; they hardly deserve any of you’re attention,” Izou added

“Don’t let people like that bother you, Dokucha; people like that enjoy pushing people around. It’s best not to waste your time with them,” Vista finished

“They were rude; come on, just one stab! I’ll make the prettiest painting with their blood.”

“No”

“No one will mis-

“Absolutely not”

Everyone would be hap-

“Just drop it.”

“Come o-

The three stated their answers firmly, all three sharing a similar tone that told him there was no room for discussion

“Party poopers”

So how was that? I tried to keep Dokucha an unhinged child, in a comedic way and make sure not to pass that line where you’re like bro this kid is a psychopath and no one should be near him. Im not sure if I was able to establish that balance here

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

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ab4eva · 1 year ago

Text

‘Ain’t That Loving You Baby’

Summary: Reader is out of sorts all day - grumpy, petulant, rude and just plain bitchy. Elvis takes it upon himself to set her straight.

Warnings: NFSW 18+, spanking, non-con spanking, established relationship, time period related ideas about marriage/relationships, copious use of pet names, use of the term “daddy”, fingering, aftercare, fluff. Please let me know if I missed anything.

Authors note: Y’all, sometimes inspiration for a fic strikes in the most unexpected of ways, as with this one. I know this isn’t everyone’s cuppa, so if I’ve tagged you and you aren’t into it, apologies and please just keep right on scrolling. Now please enjoy one of my top Elvis fantasies that I will write in as many different ways as humanly possible until the day I die.

Word count: 3.6k

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it - why you were so out of sorts today. One minute you were close to tears, feeling sensitive and tender if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way or seemed the least bit careless with you. The next minute you were blowing up at some poor member of the Memphis Mafia, Vernon or even Elvis himself. You were grumpy, combative, and just generally in a very bad mood. It was as if a black cloud were hanging over your head, following your every step, raining on your own personal parade just to piss you off. The worst part was you knew you were being a brat but you were powerless to stop it. You felt itchy and irritated, on edge from the moment you stepped out the front doors of Graceland that morning to run your errands.

It didn’t help that when you returned, Elvis and the boys were lounging in the living room, making a right mess of things - beer bottles littering every surface, ash trays full to the brim with cigar ash, dirty plates covering the floor - it looked like a literal bomb had gone off. You’d just cleaned the entire house yesterday from top to bottom. Elvis had begged you to hire a housekeeper after you’d gotten married, but you were old fashioned, you saw it as the wife’s job to keep a clean house. And so you did…until all of these beastly men came and messed it up again. You surveyed the mess, a look of displeasure coloring your pretty face, your hands clenched into tight fists. Your heart pounded as you dug your fingernails into the soft flesh of your palm and tried very hard not to scream.

“Oh hey Y/N,” Red said lazily, the first of them to notice you standing in the doorway. “These cookies are damn delicious.” Your eyes zeroed in on his hand and you saw he held one of your freshly baked chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, the ones you’d painstakingly made dozens of last night. They were meant for the cookie exchange your book club was having tomorrow. Your eyes slowly surveyed the rest of the men in the living room, all of them perched here and there on the furniture or the floor… and all of them with cookies in their hands. The big platter heaped with cookies you had carefully placed on top of the fridge now sat almost empty in the middle of the coffee table. Your eyes found Elvis’s as you inhaled sharply and gave him a look that could kill. He had the good grace to look abashed as he quickly dropped the cookie he was holding, standing up slowly from where he sat on the couch as he moved towards you, holding both hands in front of him in a gesture meant to placate you but it only enraged you further.

“Now baby, we didn’t mean to eat all these here cookies, but you know they’re my favorite and I-I-I couldn’t resist. And I had to share with the guys, otherwise what kind of host would I be?” His blue eyes were sparkling with something close to amusement and his voice dripped honey, soft and low, soothing. He knew the look you were giving him, knew he had to tread carefully.

“Elvis…baby,” you said in a dangerous and mocking whisper, “those cookies were for my book club.” You spat the words out through gritted teeth, barely containing your rage. The thing is, you were usually so easygoing, so even-keeled, the very definition of hospitable to guests in your home. Normally, this wouldn’t even phase you. But today? It made you so angry you could barely speak. Poor Jerry had the unfortunate thought at that moment to try and smooth the situation over by offering to clean up the mess they’d made only to have you snap at him (“Don’t bother! None of you had the bright idea to even think before turning my living room into a pigsty!”) as you stomped out of the room.

Things didn’t end there as your rampage continued for the rest of the day, cutting down anyone and anything daring to cross your path. Vernon made the mistake of asking you about a shopping bill for some new dresses you purchased last week, innocently wanting to know the total so he could add it to the monthly expense account. You almost wrung his neck - the sheer audacity of the man! The Colonel came sweeping in cheerily in the late afternoon, trying to pull one of his old carney tricks on you, thinking it would lighten your mood. It had the opposite effect and you told him off so completely that even Elvis had to chuckle at it with a bemused smile. But the final straw came that evening, as you and Elvis sat peacefully (for his part, at least) in the living room, quietly reading after a rather tense dinner. You made some snide, off the cuff remark aimed at the way your husband’s business was being run and in an instant, you knew you’d stepped over the line, pushed Elvis past the limit of what he’s willing to take.

As soon as the words fly out of your mouth you wish you could pull them back in, gather the broken pieces of them and keep them inside. You suck in a gasp, your eyes flying to his face, realizing your mistake too late, realizing your bad mood has landed you here, in uncharted territory. Only once before had you taken things too far - two weeks after your wedding - Elvis had stormed out of the house in a barely suppressed rage only to return the next morning, acting as if nothing had even happened. You see his body still and his blue eyes widen in surprise before they darken, anger and annoyance flashing across his face before being replaced with a look of willful determination. You know that look, it’s the one he gets when he has an idea in his head, and like a dog with a bone, won’t let go until he gets what he wants. Your heart speeds up in your chest, pounding almost painfully, you feel a little lightheaded and your mouth goes dry. You swallow thickly, opening your mouth to apologize, to take back the words you’ve already said, anything at all to stop this train from hurtling off the cliff. “Elvis, I-,” the words start to tumble from your mouth in a rush before he cuts you off angrily.

“That’s enough!” he yells, his voice booming loud and firm, your ears ringing with the force of it. “Now listen here, girl, I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but that’s. Enough.” His voice is now dangerously low as he punctuates each word with a stab of his finger in your direction, his gold rings glittering wildly in the soft light of the room. He stands abruptly and strides towards you, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly and holding you there. You struggle against him, beating his solid chest with your closed fists like a child, not wanting to be held.

“Lemme go…let me go!” you practically scream in his face. Something inside you refuses to be comforted in this moment, you feel as if he’s suffocating you. You don’t want him to touch you, don’t want him near you. And yet, it’s all you want, to be here, in his arms. His deliciously musky scent fills your nostrils as he presses your head into his shirt in an attempt to calm you. His chest is heaving with restrained emotion and his wiry chest hairs tickle your nose through his unbuttoned collar. Confusion swirls in your brain, you’re too upset to sort through the emotions that have been tormenting you all day as you thrash against him. His lip curls up in an annoyed smirk as he grabs your flailing fists, pinning them to your side as his jaw clenches, his strong arms vise-like as he clutches you tightly to his chest.

“Now, you’re gonna tell me why ya got a bee in your britches, darlin. Why ya been a goddamn brat all goddamn day… or I’m gonna make ya tell me,” he commands, his voice rough and low. His eyes search yours and his nostrils flair slightly as he breathes heavily, trying to keep you in check as you still struggle against him. You can see the vein in his neck, the one that drives you wild, popping out - which means he’s excited or angry - or both.

“I’d like to see you try,” you spit at him scornfully, your bright eyes challenging him, your lip turning up into a slight sneer as you wriggle some more.

“Don’t test me, little one. I think someone needs an attitude adjustment and I’m just the one to give it to ya.” He squeezes you tighter in his arms as you squirm, still trying to break free, and suddenly you’re having a little trouble breathing. You stop moving for a moment and his grip loosens just a little as you gulp in a breath of air. “As your husband, it’s my job to set you right when you’re misbehaving. So I’m gonna ask ya again, darlin - why are ya so outta sorts today?”

You stare at him, at a loss for words. Truthfully, you don’t know what’s gotten into you. It’s just a bad day. You remember waking up and feeling fine, maybe a little tired. Elvis was already gone, his side of the bed cold and empty. He’d been distracted with contract negotiations when you found him in the kitchen, already eating breakfast. Without you. You had wanted to tell him a story about something that happened yesterday that made you think of him. But just as you were about to he was up and out for a meeting, without ever kissing you good morning. Or goodbye. All of these little things, you suddenly realize, subconsciously added up to you feeling neglected and uncared for by him. They had curled inside your belly without you knowing, sending sad thoughts to your brain all day long. You bite your lip as it all comes rushing in and you feel yourself close to tears.

You can’t tell him these things. They’re all too silly, too small, too insignificant in the grand scheme of it all. You just stare at him, your chest heaving, your eyes silently pleading with him to understand as a tear slips down your cheek unbidden. He softens for a moment, a dozen different thoughts flashing across his readable face. He gently wipes your tear with his thumb and presses a kiss to your cheek where it fell. Then he nods once, as if making up his mind about something. He releases you, grabbing your wrist again, practically dragging you over to the big, comfy chair at the edge of the living room. You go rather willingly, unsure of what his plan is. His other hand settles on the back of your neck, gently, as he starts to push you down over the back of the chair. You suddenly understand that something you have no control over is about to happen and you start to fight him again. But he keeps a firm grasp on your wrist as he keeps pushing your head down until you are bent almost in two over the back of the chair. If his iron grip on you didn’t entirely prevent you from moving, his strong, lean body standing behind you and pressing you into the chair does.

“Stop squirming, or I’ll have to tie you down.” His voice in your ear is breathy, somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Don’t think I won’t, honey. You’ve been ornery all day and you don’t get a say in what happens now, ya hear me? Just remember, this is for your own good. And I love you.” You stop moving, knowing he’ll do whatever he deems necessary to see this through. He releases his grip on you and steps to the side, his left arm settling heavily across your back to hold you down as he rucks your short dress up around your hips. You feel him run a hand across your round ass, cupping it and squeezing softly. You hear what can only be described as a delighted breath escaping his lips behind you, the soft huff of a chuckle, his ribcage expanding against your arm as he breathes deeply. The pressure as he grips your ass gets harder and harder before he suddenly stops and his cool fingers toy with the edge of your panties around your waist before he unceremoniously yanks them down to your ankles.

“Last chance, baby,” he says through gritted teeth, his tone stern as he pins you to the chair. You start to squirm again, panic rising in your chest. He’s about to spank you. He…he’s never done that before. Not even for fun. Your body starts to tremble and you shake your head, refusing to speak. You feel him raise his right hand and a ghost of a breeze whispers across your bare bottom. You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, your heart banging painfully in your chest, preparing as best you know how. You haven’t been spanked since you were a little girl and there’s something wrong, and slightly exciting, about it.

He delivers the first slap to your bottom with a firm, open palm, the impact of it echoing throughout the living room, the only other noise that can be heard is the ticking of a clock, your gasp and Elvis’s heavy breathing. You inhale sharply at the sting of it, but it isn’t as terrible as you were expecting and it dissipates quickly. You let out the breath you’d been holding, if this is all it is you can handle it. All is quiet and still behind you, and you wonder if that’s it…until you feel him lean down to speak in your ear again.

“That was just a warm up, little girl, ain’t gonna go that easy on ya for the rest of ‘em,” he murmurs, and you hear the love in his stern voice as you try and process what he’s saying. The rest of them? That was going easy? You start to wiggle, trying to break free once again and realize the whimpering noise filling the room is coming from your mouth. Before you can get too worked up he swats you again, twice in quick succession, a little harder than before.

“Ow!” you yell, incensed by your situation, kicking your feet a little. “That hurt!” You spit out through gritted teeth, angry now. “Elvis Aaron Presley, you let me go this instant!” Your demands are met with an amused laugh, and you let out a frustrated growl, trying and failing to twist out of his grasp.

“I see I haven’t sorted you out yet, honey. Still got some of that brattiness left in ya that needs to be broken. Your choice, little girl.” Elvis lets a small laugh slip, his eyes on your body as he slowly and deliberately brings his hand down on your ass again. It’s strong and forceful, but not cruel. It leaves you breathless, speechless. Finally the stinging has permeated your skin and refuses to leave. It’s starting to be uncomfortable and you can tell that if he doesn’t quit soon you’re going to have a hard time sitting tomorrow.

“You’ve been petulant, rude, acting like a damn child all day. And that’s not the woman I know and love, the woman I married. No wife of mine is gonna act that like that and get away with it - not to my friends, not to my father, and especially not to me. Do you understand?” His hand gently cups you as he lectures, rubbing softly over what must be your quickly reddening ass. You hiss and grip the the pillow in front of you. “Answer me, girl. Do you understand?”

You’re not done pouting…if he thinks he can break you, sort you out, punish you - let him try. You stay willfully silent, refusing to speak. You hear him sigh as he removes his hand from you and you brace yourself for another round.

“Have it your way, darlin’…I’m gonna give you six more and if you’re still in a state, then we’re gonna have to have a serious talk, you and me," Elvis says, suddenly quiet and solemn and your heart drops in your chest. Maybe this isn’t some game he’s playing? You didn’t realize it was as important as he’s now letting on. You know you were a total bitch today and you do regret your words and actions… You cry out as he spanks you again without warning, his palm landing with more force than he’s given you so far. He continues and the spanking is relentless, but there's also something almost hypnotic about it. It feels like his hand is on your skin forever, but before you know it, it's almost over. And unexpectedly you realize the last couple of swats have sent lightening straight to your core, your nipples are tight buds rubbing deliciously against the coarse fabric of the chair through your thin dress and you’re surprised to feel slickness gathering on your thighs. You don’t know when your cries turned to breathy moans but he stops abruptly as he hears you, still two spankings left to give.

You’re breathing heavily, still clutching the decorative pillow adorning the chair as you clench around nothing, surprising yourself and Elvis as an obscene squelching noise echoes across the now quiet living room. You let out a breathless laugh, flushing a deep red, thankful he can’t see the embarrassment written across your face. You feel Elvis laughing silently as well, quiet little snorts as he tries and fails to keep from giggling.

“Well now, this is a development I wasn’t expecting,” he murmurs in your ear, leaning over you, his warm breath floating across your cheek. You turn your face towards his, your glassy eyes trying to focus on him as you blink slowly. “Now that it seems I’ve sorted you out, what kind of daddy would I be if I didn’t also take care of my baby?” His right hand squeezes your bottom lightly as his left arm finally releases you and his hand slips underneath your hips, his long, cool fingers gently sliding up your soaking folds. Your breath hitches at his touch, letting out a whimper as he reaches your aching clit, circling it deftly with calloused fingers, once, twice, before dipping two of them into your wet heat.

“Goddamn, mama, so needy for me? Maybe I oughta spank ya more often,” he says breathlessly, his voice taut with desire. You know your husband well - it’s the way he sounds when his cock is hard and straining against his pants, aching to be set free. He’s probably already starting to leak, you think dimly, and the thought has you fluttering around him.

“Oh…” you manage to breathe out as he starts to pump his fingers into you agonizingly slow, his thumb finding your clit and applying light pressure. You rock your hips, already so close to the edge you can almost taste it. His right hand smacks your ass hard and you jolt forward, the feeling of his fingers inside you and his punishing hand on your backside has you starting to whine, unable to stop. He speeds up the movement of his hand, curling his digits just so into that sensitive and spongy part of you just as he delivers the final slap to your ass that has you clenching tightly around his fingers nestled inside you, coming harder than you have in a while, your high-pitched whine turning silent as you stop breathing for a moment. He groans above you and you feel him shaking slightly as he bends over your body - you know it’s taking everything in him to hold it together. After a few moments, he slowly releases you, helping you stand and your legs immediately buckle underneath you. Elvis grabs you under your arms to try and keep you from falling but you’re both so weak with spent energy and desire - yours fulfilled, his aching - that you both tumble to the ground in a heap.

"There. All sorted out, sweetheart?" Elvis smiles down at you as your head rests against his shoulder, his arm encircling your waist. His voice is rough but tender as he smoothes the hair back from your face. "How did daddy do?" he asks, a smirk pulling his lush lips up into a lopsided grin. You blink dazedly, trying to form a coherent thought.

“Daddy?” you finally say, rolling the unfamiliar word around on your tongue. “Hmm, I could get used to that, I think.” You smile softly as your hand reaches up to cup his face, your thumb brushing the scratchy stubble across his jaw as your eyes turn serious. “I am sorry, Elvis. For all of it,” you whisper, blinking back tears.

“Shh, little one, I know,” he says, kissing your forehead softly and pulling you closer into himself, cradling you on his chest as your hand nestles in his chest hair, right above his heart that beats only for you.

And at book club the next day, when you’re settled on a mountain of pillows, no one even bats an eye.

Tags - I don’t have a general tag list so I’m just tagging some lovies who have enjoyed my previous fics: @jelliedonut @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @butlersxbirdy @missmaywemeetagain @headfullofpresley @powerofelvis @notstefaniepresley @amydarcimarie @prompted-wordsmith @dkayfixates @sillybookmarks @melancholicbutterflies @thatbanditqueen @eliseinmemphis @godlypresley @ccab @richardslady121 @rjmartin11 @claire-elvisgirl @literally-just-elvis-fics

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #elvis x you #elvis x y/n #elvis x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x reader #elvis imagine #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #ain’t that loving you baby #written by ab4eva

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rentenwins · 4 days ago

Text

silly little excuses (newneighbour!leehan x reader)

ch 1 • ch 2 • ch 3 • ch 4 • ch 5 • ch 6 • ch 7

synopsis: how oblivious can one get? leehan and his most favourite thing in the world… oh and his fish too, i guess.

content: NON-LINEAR TIMELINE this won’t make sense unless you read prev chapters!!, tooth-rotting domestic leehan, how does one feelings?, sungho is supportive but annoyed, f-bomb is dropped, banter, food depictions, FISH AND WATER

a/n: hi… i feel really bad for disappearing ;-; really bad writer’s block and very stressful time for me despite my uni break… but we are getting somewhere :’) hope you can all forgive me, enjoy!

wc: 2350+

taglist: @haechology @jenuinne @saintriots @badaspookie @yveol @yunextdoor @lailols @rawrbamgyu @amarecerasus @pandorahearts19 @luvvhaerin @saritahwang @bee-the-loser @secretlyseochangbin

chapter 7: testing the waters (literally)

“Temperature shouldn’t drop below 22 degrees C, nor the pH below 6.5 and— oh yes, I keep their food just underneath here, and if you see anything uneaten for a few hours just remove it gently with the net. What else…”

You stare at the drawer underneath Leehan’s fish tank as he just showed you, seeing how incredibly neat and organised it all looks. It’s the day after the beach trip with your friends, and now you’re in Leehan’s apartment as you had promised him yesterday. He had just gone through the whole process of how to read the thermometers and pH readings, as well as the quality of the filters.

(As Leehan said, “Oh, but I already cleaned them so they shouldn’t act up. But in case one of them does, just turn one off. One filter really is all they need, but I just find this more thorough…” You look at the tank fondly. He really does love his fish.)

Leehan’s a bit off today, you observe. He talks as much as he usually does, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes like they usually did. Now that you think about it, his smiles yesterday weren’t as quaint either. The boy took to wearing his glasses today, but it doesn’t do much to hide the bags under his eyes, nor to distract from the way he slurs his words a bit today out of an obvious tiredness.

“I think that’s all of it. But seriously, if you need anything, just text me.” Leehan says to you while you insist that it’s really not a problem.

This wasn’t your first time in his apartment, but Leehan was still jittery because of his crush! In his own house! Showing her a hobby that he never really opened up to a lot of people about!

Consequently, Leehan can’t help but recall a conversation from a few weeks ago, the same week when he had embarrassingly showed up to your doorstep asking for ingredients for his dinner.

——

“y/n, I think I like her.”

The line is silent, and a part of Leehan’s sanity comes back to him at the words he just blurted out. A crush. On his neighbour. Someone that he hardly knows. Mortifying to Leehan at least. The silence was almost killing him.

“Sungho? Are you still th—“

“About time you doofus!,” Sungho cuts him off with a shriek, “you and y/n’s heart eyes for each other were giving us high-blood pressure for goodness sake.”

“Us? Who’s us?”

Sungho scoffs at Leehan’s question, “Me and Taesan, duh. And probably Jaehyun too at this point. Don’t you know how hard we’ve tried to be subtle in helping you? God, I didn’t know y/n was this oblivious either, y’all really are meant for each other.”

“Helping? What on this earth have you been helping me with this whole time?”

Sungho groans, loud this time that Leehan has to remove himself from the speaker for a second. “The study session, leaving you alone with her. That ring a bell? Oh, and the chai latte. Leehan, I’ve known you for how long now, if I really wanted to get you something to eat I would’ve just gotten you those gummies you hoard.”

Leehan doesn’t even take a mild offence because he was too busy confirming his suspicions.

“So you were trying to sabotage me! Embarrass me in front of her and everything!”

“Oh good Lord, Leehan.” Sungho drags a hand down his face, “This was a plot for you to get closer to her! God, are you really that much of an idiot that I have to tell it to you like this straight up? I’ve never seen her so nervous, the way she looks at you like she’s mesmerised for some effed up reason. and the cooki— oh my god those cookies were the first fucking sign, I can’t believe yo—”

“Wait, hold on. Those cookies? I thought she made them for everyone.” Leehan leans back in his chair looking at the ceiling trying to process every interaction with you for the last few weeks.

“Well, yeah, she does,” Sungho says a little calmer, “but the last time she made those types of cookies were for Woonhak’s graduation and she wouldn’t stop complaining how time-consuming they were to make. Leehan. She likes you. So much that she’d make cute little biscuits for you and not give the rest of us. You know, like she usually does.”

Leehan is quiet, still trying to process the information Sungho just dumped on him and still staring at his ceiling. Sungho sighs and breaks the silence.

“You’re going to Busan right?”

“Yeah?” Leehan replies, more of a question and not a reply, “Not for another few weeks during study break. Why?”

“Let her take care of your Corydoras or something while you’re gone. Like house sitting.”

Leehan gets annoyed at Sungho a lot, but nothing gets him more annoyed at than when Sungho actually makes sense.

Sungho continues, “I was gonna tell you to confess to her but you can’t really do that if you’re on the other side of the country.”

Leehan slides down his chair, “I hate to say it but I think you might be getting somewhere with this.”

Leehan hears Sungho laugh. “Well, if she wonders why you asked her to take care of your fish and not us instead, just be honest.”

——

Honest.

The word reverberates in Leehan’s head throughout the current ordeal. It was reverberating all of last night when he was trying to fall asleep, the events at the beach were replaying in his mind. And it was the first time in his life he was at the beach and wasn't just thinking of the sea and swimming in it.

“Honest… trust.” he thinks.

You were both sitting on Leehan’s dining chairs that he pulled over from his small dining table to sit in front of the fish tank, showing you how he takes care of them.

“I’ll show you how I feed them, then you can try for yourself.” Leehan says as he stands and carefully opens the lid of the glass tank. He then opens the neatly organised drawer and pulls out a container of bottom feeder flakes.

“Just take a bit,” he demonstrates as he pinches a bit between his thumb and his index finger, “and you need to submerge it in the water so it sinks properly and so they don’t need to exert too much effort to swim to the surface.”

The fish food that Leehan releases into the water sinks slowly to the bottom to where the corydoras were all huddled. You watch as few of the fish start to eat and prod at the flakes.

Leehan passes the fish food in your direction to encourage you to give it a try as you stood from the chair. You take a pinch the same way Leehan did and you hesitantly let your hand hover over the water. Leehan seems to have read your hesitation and lightly grabs your wrist that was over the tank. You feel like you forgot how to breathe, yet your heart rate skyrockets and you feel your legs are wanting to give way.

Through it all, he doesn’t seem to notice any of this while gently lowers your hand until the flakes have been submerged, and you release the flakes between your fingertips. You see the fish curiously swim around the flakes like they've never seen it before, honestly you could watch them all day. Distantly, you remember Leehan’s hand that guided your fingers towards the water in the tank so you instinctively look at him, unsure of the blush on your face. But you’re met with the sight of Leehan enamoured with his fish as they ate and effortlessly glided in the tank.

He seemed to come back to his senses as he gazed at his hand still gently holding your wrist above the water. He gently lets go and clears his throat, hoping that his hair was long enough to cover his very red ears.

“Sorry I— wait here.” He manages to stutter out as he steps in long strides to his kitchen to grab a tea towel. He comes back with a tea towel adorned with cartoon corals and offers it to you to wipe your hands on, his ears still very visibly red. You mutter a ‘thanks’ and he clears his throat. Who knew a little gesture like that would’ve sent him to a frenzy? It’s silent again for a second as he takes the tea towel from you.

“How long are you away again for?” You ask to ease the awkwardness with a clear of your throat.

“Just three days, gonna visit my family and my nephew.” Leehan seems to reply easily, also trying to calm his blush down, “have you been to Busan before?”

You shake your head. “Well, did you want anything from there while I’m gone?” Leehan asks.

You shrug, “No clue.” Leehan looks like he’s deep in thought so you supply, “You really don’t have to get me anything, Leehan. Just— just come back safely, is all.”

Leehan’s eyes widen for a second before he laughs nervously, suddenly unable to meet your eyes at where you’re both standing.

“Well, I’ll think of something. I need to thank you in some way or another.” Leehan replies. He says it’s a ‘thank you’ gesture for taking care of his fish, but deep down he knows it’s also for his helpless little crush on you.

“Let’s hang out when I come back.” Leehan says to you, eyes holding yours as you couldn’t do anything but look back at him. His eyes trace your face, down to your lips where he doesn’t dare linger.

“I mean it. Just us two.” He adds.

You were taken aback, you almost laugh. There was no way he’s asking this right now. Right?

“Sure. If you’d like to,” you say with a dryness in your mouth. God, when did it get so warm?, “now you really gotta promise to come back safely.”

——

It’s Monday night, and Leehan had already left for Busan in the morning. You run some errands in the afternoon before coming back home, all with perfect timing so you could look after Leehan’s fish after lounging on your couch.

You make your way to Leehan’s apartment with his spare key, attached to it is a cute little green alien keychain. You go inside and make your way to the fish tank.

You step closer and open the drawer where all the supplies are kept and you’re met with a piece of paper that was undoubtedly Leehan’s handwriting.

Hi y/n, thank you for taking care of the Corydoras while I’m gone. And don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about your gift

Leehan ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

You can’t help but smile at the letter he had left. Putting it aside so it doesn’t get damaged, you start the routine Leehan had taught you the night prior. Checking the pH, the water temperature, then opening the tank to feed the Corydoras. You do it with care just like Leehan did, and stare at the fish as they swim around the tank, the slow hum of the filter the only thing that can be heard in the quiet apartment.

You felt happy that Leehan has trusted you with his most precious pets, knowing how much they mean to him. You sigh, not really fully knowing what he meant of ‘hanging out’. Not like you already do it with all your other friends. But he said just you two! ‘He probably just means well!’ you thought ‘to be nice, like an extra thank you. It’s not that bad.’

Before you know it, 30 minutes have passed of you just staring at the tank alone with your thoughts about Leehan, only disturbed by your onset of sudden hunger. You remembered the warmth of his hand over your wrist. You sigh and groan again as you stare at the tank and its colourfulness, then you really start to pay attention to it.

It was colourful, clean and vibrant. Leehan’s care was evident. and to you it was endearing. Who else would take so much care in caring for little creatures. You remember the sparkle in Leehan’s eyes as he looked at his pets after demonstrating to you on how to take care of them. You smile at the memory and your stomach flutters again, and not from hunger.

A sudden knock on the door startles you on the chair you were sitting on in front of the tank before the dread of Leehan’s words could haunt you again.

“Y/n? You in here?” You hear Jaehyun’s voice before the door opens as he lets himself in. He’s greeted with the sight of you in front of Leehan’s tank.

“Myungjae?” You turn around confused, “How’d you know I was here?”. Jaehyun was holding a plastic bag, clearly from food delivery, taking his slides off at the door’s entrance.

“I could ask you the same thing,” He chirps as he makes his way into Leehan’s apartment, “What? Are you missing Leehan already?” He places the delivery bag on the small dining table, smiling at himself, proud of his own little jab. The smile falters when your usual bite doesn’t come his way. He nervously looks at you, still sitting on the chair but your gaze meeting anywhere but his.

“Y/n.” Jaehyun says slowly as you look up at him, “I was just joking! I mean, I guess we all miss Leehan! Even though he… hasn’t even been gone for what? 10 hours? But seriously, who’s counting anyw—“

“Fuck, I think I like him.” You blurt before you could stop yourself. Your eyes immediately widen and you feel your heart plummet to your feet as you realise what you just said out loud. You smack your hand over your mouth as Jaehyun looks at you with mouth equally gaped wide.

The silence was palpitating, even the hum of the filter seemed too loud, and even with Jaehyun in the same room.

“Y/n.” Jaehyun tries again, and you meet his gaze again. But this time Jaehyun doesn’t look as calm as he walked in. His face looked like it was about to explode, like how he usually looked at Woonhak before he would scold him into next year.

“Y/N ARE YOU SERIOUS, YOU’RE ONLY REALISING THIS NOW? GOD YOU BOTH REALLY WERE MADE FOR EACH OTHER.”

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