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bitchlessdino · 1 year

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repeat rebound (m) Ch. 2 : repeating regrets

Chapter list

Pairing: Fem!reader x fwb!soonyoung

Genre: suggestive, kinda crack

word count: 3.4k

tags: more bestie!jeonghan, hookup!wonu, suggestive, mention of alcohol, mention of eating ass lol, sexual innuendos, insinuates sex

Summary: The best way to get over someone is to get under someone. Again and again and again.

author note: hi hehe, she’s back

tag list @nikkell @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @i-dont-give-a-fok

“FUCK YOU LEE JUNG CHAN.”

Thinking back, it was embarrassing how quickly you accepted him back in your life.

You toss books at the naked man, who rightly reclaimed his title as your shitty ex, as you clutch the duvet to cover your bare body underneath.

You thought you couldn’t take the long night alone anymore no matter how many strangers you’d sleep with. You thought you wanted and missed Lee Chan. You thought that deep down this was what you needed. You thought you needed your boyfriend back.

“You think I wouldn’t notice you moaning another person’s name while we fuck?”

“Baby—ow—it was a mistake. Honest!”

“Your mom made a mistake when she had you. Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

You were the first time around when he left you. Your ex-boyfriend was a piece of shit that didn’t even deserve to be the gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

You admit, it was satisfying to be the one to dump him, not forgetting to mention, kicking him out with no clothes on his back but the underwear he came with, and finally dumping his shit out your window. Getting back together with him was worth it for that alone. You sigh a breath of relief to have the part of your life over. Again.

No tears came this time around, just shame. Were that desperate to not want to be alone?

The answer was a fat yes.

“Yn, what are you doing here? You remembered my address?”

You stare back at a shirtless Soonyoung, body as beautiful and toned as ever, with eyes looking back at you in confusion.

It’s been roughly a few weeks since you last saw him, aka the one heavenly railing that gave you the push you needed to fucking realize you’re better off without your loser ex, even if you did cave in for a measly moment. You were done for good now. You were all about your present and forgetting the past.

You smile sheepishly back at him, “Haha, funny thing. I remembered because I know Jeonghan and you guys live in the same building, but forget that. I know what I said last time but—“

“Babe, who's at the door?”

A girl in an oversized shirt makes herself known, clinging to Soonyoung’s bicep. She peers at you curiously. “May we help you?”

By the sheer confidence of her posture, she wasn’t your average hook-up, and by the term of endearment, they were more than familiar with each other. She carried the atmosphere of a girl next door with the attitude of the perfect model citizen and the smile of a thousand lights. This girl radiated girlfriend material and was no doubt was, maybe is, Soonyoung’s girl. You had to act fast on your feet. What exit strategy can you make without exposing yourself and your relationship with Soonyoung?

“Uh,” You straight up your posture, thanking your past self for actually getting dressed normally in a muted cardigan for once, “have you found our lord and savior Jesus Christ?”

Soonyoung had to choke back on his laugh, clasping his hand to the mouth to feign a cough. “She’s one of those missionary people? I don’t know.”

Oh, you did more than missionary that night, his lying has got to be better than that.

She tightens the grip on his arm, a firm grin on her face. “Um, sorry, we’re atheists.”

You have an exaggerated shrug. “Well, worth a try. Have a blessed day.”

You don’t even let the door shut to speed walk and then sprint past them in an instant, shutting your eyes in embarrassment and not bothering to look back. There wasn’t a way you’d come back from it, but what’s done is done. You were just going to find another way to get over your predicament.

Jeonghan winces and then laughs the first time you tell him that story over the phone. “What you get for fucking one of my friends.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You collapse on top of your bed, taking in a self-care day from the self-loathing. “Let’s go out again. I need fresh dick.”

He scoffs, “Haven’t you had enough dick to go around with Soonyoung and eating ass of the last months’ leftovers you should’ve thrown away in the first place?”

“...I regret ever telling you about my sex life.”

“Yeah, well now you’re more educated and sexually woke,” you hear him smile on the other end, “you’re overdue for a break sweetheart. Too much dick can’t be good for you.”

“On the contrary, Jeonghan, this is my whore era. I will suck and eat all the ass I want because what? I’m hot and I can. You taught me that, remember?”

He sighs. “I knew taking in disciples would fuck with my free time. Okay, we can meet at the Wasted Unicorn tonight.”

“Uh, no, no. That’s where I met Soonyoung. I told you, I need a hot, new dick.” You emphasize, already doing your makeup while you listen to him on speaker.

“You said they’re back together, ergo, they won’t be there.”

“You idiot, I am not trying to look for a knockoff Soonyoung. I already associate him with that club—Let’s fuck around at that bar that opened up next to Minghao’s. I heard their drinks discounted for opening week.”

“Fine by me, Nympho. If it sucks ass, you’re paying for my Uber back.”

You knew Jeonghan was your ride-or-die the first time you met him. You crashed parties together, got drunk blackout together, and got hungover together. You love this man to death. Despite the shit he says, he made things feel okay in the moment and it feels like just the two of you. He was your platonic soulmate. He made your breakup just a bit more tolerable.

“How about skinny jeans over there?”

“He’s obviously fruity, the fuck are you on?” You slap against the marble counter, harder than anticipated, but didn’t let the pain show on the surface. “Are you sabotaging me, Yoon?”

“You can’t assume shit like that!”

You shot open your eyes. “He literally walked hand in hand with a man!”

“Besties can do that!” He shrugs nonchalantly.

“And now they’re making out.”

He rolls his eyes defeatedly, leaning against the counter. “Fine. Fine–Oh, hot Clark Kent, six o’clock.”

Your eyes were locked on that prospect and your eyes immediately shot open when you figure out what made this supposed undercover superhero hotter than the original. He was tall, lean, and built. His frame hugging in high-quality fabric, his biceps bulging out intoxicatingly, and his low neckline reveal a tasteful amount of his chest. “Fuck, he’s fine. I’m gonna be on him like butter on popcorn.”

He pats you supportively on the back. “Get ass, kid.”

You approach the unsuspecting man similarly to how you did to Soonyoung, talking him up a storm, letting your charms peak through effortlessly. You were set on charming the pants off this man, quite literally. Fortunately, your efforts were proven to be effective once again as you find yourself in the illustrious ‘Wonwoo’s’ place soon after.

“Would you like a drink?”

“What do you have?”

He scans through his collection, a hand over one bottle cap at a time. “I have something bitter like whiskey, something sweet like wine, something mild like beer.”

“Maybe something hot like you?”

He snickers, pulling away from the liquor cabinet to take you by the hand, tugging you in his direction. His hands slide over the shape of your body, comfortably settling on either of your hips, “You’re cute. I like that.”

“Really?” Your arms drape over his shoulders, pressing in a little closer to him. “Tell me what else you like about me.”

“I'd rather show you.” He smiles before pressing his lips into yours, the heat of his body flushed against yours.

He leans over, digging your back into the bar counter, but slips his hand behind you to take the pressure. They crawl down to the skin of your thighs and heave you up to place you on the counter. He stands between your legs, chuckling against your lips, digging at your hips. “You smell so nice. Jasmine?”

“You have a good nose, sir.”

“Guess I know a thing or two,” He kisses down your jaw, giggles erupting on your end, as he played with the hem of your blouse, “I’d still like to get that drink for you though.”

“Wine then. Red.”

He gives you one last kiss before reluctantly pulling away from you to retrieve the wine. You observe him as he does so, catching the quick glances he gives you, and notice the sheer elegance he holds carrying both glasses and a bottle in either hand. He pops it open in front of you with ease, filling glasses halfway, and hands one to you, all while returning back to the place he’s meant to be: between your legs.

“Mmmh,” you lick your lips, catching the spilled wine from the corner of your mouth, “you have good taste.”

Your legs hook around him strategically, glass dangling from your fingers. You let your gaze fall on him intently, seeing how his expression matches yours through his thick frames as he’s sipping the bitter red. He sets it down away from you, cupping your face, and reunites your lips tenderly, but tongue entangling with yours playfully.

Your mind fogs in the thought of this dark and handsome stranger. You hardly had much to drink, but the closeness you felt with him made you feel drunk all on its own. Your grip loses from the wine glass and you end up spilling red on his shirt, letting him go in a panicked gasp, “S-shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he starts unbuttoning his top, worrying about the stain it leaves, not minding that he was exposing his muscular torso right in front of your very eyes.

He didn’t care how he impulsively flexed getting the shirt off or the light layer of sweat on his skin.

“W-wow.”

You hover your hands over his firm chest, a smug smile appearing on Wonwoo’s face.

“I should treat this stain before it gets worse. I’ll be right back.” He plants a final kiss on you, letting it linger, before disappearing behind a bathroom door.

You giggle to yourself, thinking how lightning can’t strike twice in the same spot but you managed to catch two hot guys so soon after ending a serious long-term relationship. The self-esteem in you is shooting as high as skyscrapers right now.

It was then your happiness was cut short after spotting a little picture frame in a corner. Initially, you peered over it at curiosity, but upon further inspection, it looked like a family portrait. A portrait where Wonwoo, the man of the hour, was a doting husband and a father.

“Fuck.”

You sneer at the door Wonwoo hid behind and decide to gather your belongings before exiting his apartment. You slam the door behind you, running your hand through your purse for your phone. You dial Jeonghan, the one guy you could trust, hearing the dial tone on the other end.

“Stupid. Stupid. Pick the fuck up already.”

You had it up to here with men. You were ready to go home and wallow again.

No answer.

You ended up calling yourself another Uber, whining to yourself about how much money you’ve spent, already breaking the budget for the week. To make matters worse, you had to be locked out of your own apartment. No emergency key, and no other way in, you were fucked instead of getting fucked as you intended.

You had to take the streets again, this time getting to Jeonghan's place, hoping he was already home. Your feet were hurting from your heels, skin digging into the back of it, a premature walk of shame, but a whole different level of shame if there ever was one.

“Y/n?”

And there’s that lingering embarrassment coming back to bite you in the ass.

“Oh, hi, um again.” You awkwardly wave from the ground.

Soonyoung peers down at you curiously, noticing your fresh getup but worn-out hair and makeup, making his own assumptions about where you were coming from. “You’re not like, coming to visit my place again are you?”

You shake your head defensively. “Oh, no, no. Jeonghan. I'm going to see him.”

“At 11:36 pm?”

You respond back with a tight grin. “Yeah, um. I got locked out.”

It was starting to make sense. “So, you’re just waiting on him?”

“Uh yeah, he has my apartment keys so I thought I’d stay back and wait since he wasn’t picking up my calls.”

“How long already then?”

“Not that long.” It had only been an hour since you arrived.

“Okay, well…want to wait at my place, for now anyways?”

You would be lying if you said you weren’t tempted, better than being on this scratchy dirty carpet. “What about your girlfriend?”

“…she’s out.”

His initial silence worries you. “I don’t know how she’ll feel knowing I was alone with you”

“She won’t have to.”

“That’s so sketch,” You chuckle, “but…ok. For now, just until Jeonghan gets back.”

“Of course.”

His hand stretches out towards you, offering to get you up, to which you accept. “Thanks, Soonyoung.”

He grins, “Hey, you do know my name.”

“Shut up,” you retort, rolling your eyes with a relaxed smile.

You scan the man’s apartment like it’s the first time, processing it since the previous events prevented you from doing so. Its blueprint was similar to Jeonghan’s in a comforting way but had Soonyoung’s own flair and color palette.

“Make yourself at home, nothing you’ve never seen before.”

“I actually never got a good look at your place entering or leaving. You really like tiger print,” you mention picking up a coffee mug painted in orange and black jagged stripes.

He takes away from you, putting the mug back on the counter, “No, but I like tigers. They’re just a vibe, I like their energy.”

Your eyes waver over at him cautiously, “…right.”

“Don’t you have anything like that? A fixation?”

“What is this, 101 questions?” You snicker.

He shrugs with a playful grin, “Just killing time. Didn’t really learn much about you doing…well, things that kept your mouth busy.”

You roll your eyes, feeling the heat creep up your cheeks. “Y-you’re so…weird.”

You threw yourself against the leather couch, arms crossed, avoiding the man’s eyes. “Where did you come from?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he chuckles, bringing out a water bottle and sitting respectfully away from you on the couch, “Work.”

“What do you do,” accepting it and taking a swig.

“Hard labor.”

You scoff. “That’s specific.”

“I just put my body at work, okay?”

You gasp dramatically. “Oh my god, you’re an exotic dancer.”

He rolls his eyes, laughter flowing out from his lips, “No, I’m…you’re gonna think it’s silly.”

“Try me, tiger boy.”

“That’s my insta handle. Go figure.”

You pay no mind to the change of topic, looking back at him expectantly with a raised brow.

“I’m…an event planner.”

You hum a sound of thought, “Did not expect that, but, considering your apartment, that all makes sense. And it’s not silly.”

He can’t help but smile a little harder. “Thanks. I actually really like my job. I get to see people’s dreams come to life.”

“That’s actually pretty cool.”

“Yeah? Wanna see my portfolio?”

He pulls out a box full of albums and files from his previous events, seeing pictures of smiles and happy faces, swatches of colored fabric, and even thank-you notes he received after the planning had all ended. You caught Soonyoung in some of the photos, having a great time, laughing, chatting up some patrons, and having a drink in a glass flute. He looks put together in a different way than you met him that night, somehow more neat and well-groomed.

“You look really nice in these photos.”

“I know a good stylist and dresser,” he humbly brags.

You pick through the pages, always finding more to see, and you stop at a set of photos Soonyoung seemed more prevalent in, one where he’s wearing a suit, looking like he was actually part of the event and not planning, so you can’t help but ask. “What’s this?”

“Close friend's wedding, I was the best man, and co-planner.”

In one of the photos, he stands next to the girl you saw him with that morning, arm in arm, and you’re overwhelmed with emotion, something that made you uncomfortable thinking about.

“You guys look cute here.”

“Thanks, I would hope so, getup got me a whole couple grand.”

Your finger trace over the outline of her dress, “She looks really pretty.”

Soonyoung realizes how you fixate on such a detail, eyes glued to the book as if it was filled with words, and he starts to grow self-conscious.

“…yeah.” He closes up the book and starts putting it away.

“Hey, I was looking at that!”

“I have something better to look at.”

You sneer at him, and the pit of your stomach churns at his choice of words. “What?”

He can’t help but laugh at how easily you caved, an arm falling against your shoulders, “Romcom or action?”

Soonyoung thought a movie was an easier distraction, and although it worked (your eyes were practically glued to the mounted tv screen), he was dead tired from his day job, drifting off to sleep. Yet, there was still no sign from Jeonghan. You can’t help but notice Soonyoung in his state, thinking about how he didn’t even bother showering despite how late it was, but how cute he did look asleep.

You tried ignoring him, he’s a taken man after all, but his soft snores started to drown the sounds of the TV, and his head hit the surface of your shoulder. Air seeps out his nose and tickles your collarbone. You nudge him, or try to, whispering, “get off.”

He doesn’t in fact get off and only snuggles closer, now leg draping over your legs.

“Great.”

You grip his limbs, trying to tear him away, and he just falls against you on the couch. Chest to chest, cheek to cheek, arms embracing you naturally. His eyes finally crack open, vision blurry, mumbles on his tongue, asking if he had fallen asleep and then he sees you, blinking back up at him, feeling your heart race against your rib cage.

“Shit, I’m…so–”

You exhale. “It’s okay, just, um…”

“I should just…”

The air gets tighter and the distance between you both gets shorter. Your eyes flit over the sweat on his pierced brow to then the pink of his lips, heat taking over your body, and arousal flooding inside you, now seeping out of you. No words imaginable could express how much you needed him inside you right now.

You shift underneath him, brushing against the crotch of his pants, to which he softly grunts, cock twitching on top of you. His lips lean in to ghost over yours and temptation playing with you both like a fiddle. The tension is soon cut with a ringtone and you come back to reality soon enough to push the unavailable man away from you. You grab your phone from the coffee table to answer it, hearing Jeonghan on the other line. “Took you long enough…Cool, so I’ll just sleep over at your place.”

Soonyoung’s hand wipes his mouth, cursing himself for letting that happen. You were dangerous.

“Bye.” You click away the call soon enough and turn back to the welcoming party, smiling sheepishly. “I gotta…you know.”

“Yeah. Bye.” He picks himself off the couch and leaves the room avoidantly, not even sparing you another glance as he hides behind his bedroom door.

You expected that and you don’t blame him. A long, heavy sigh leaves your lips and you make your way out of his apartment, closing the door with a bad taste in your mouth, and storm off to Jeonghan’s door. It takes you not long for it to fling open once you knock against it, revealing the man alone and dressed down to his comfort in sweats and he lets you in with a smile. “Hey? Fun night?”

You let the door shut behind you, not answering. You stand in front of Jeonghan, a determined glint in your eyes. “I want to use my coupon.”

“Your coupon?” An intrigued look appears on his face.

“Yes. I still have mine.”

Jeonghan’s lips quirk up mischievously before nodding. “Fine.”

You take quick steps towards him, arms thrown over his shoulders and around his neck, you latch to Jeonghan, kissing him hungrily, to which he does more than reciprocate. His hands slide over your back to fall on your posterior, deep moans vibrating against your lips as his digits kneaded into your flesh. Both your feet have a mind of their own, taking yourselves on to the trail of his bedroom, hitting the wood of the door before disappearing behind it, now finding your plans for the rest of the night.

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ordonianhero · 9 months

Text

Country fried comfort

Notes: i wrote this for my friend as a comfort post. So here you go @cannibalgremlin

Sky was sitting out by the cuccoo pen. Playing somber tune on his harp. Twilight who had been walking by carrying sacks of feed for the animals of Lon Lon ranch. Paused and listen. He looked at his fellow brother’s face. Somber it self. Staring out in a sad way. Rancher made his way to the barn and placed the three bags of feed down. He watched at several other members of the chain were working in the barn. Four was helping make new horse shoes. While War and Legend worked on shuffling down new hay. After the stalls had been mucked. The rancher walked over to a bucket and washed his hands and face off.

“Think i shall head inside for a bit. Thinking to tell wild to make something.” He explained as he left. Waving the others in the barn off.

Once inside the house, he went quickly to the wash room to clean up and then change into fresher clothing. Putting on his Ordon garb while place his dirty clothing into a wash pile. Extend the room and headed to the kitchen where wild was busy working some bread dough out, while Malon was husking some corn. He cleared his through, making them both look at him. He softly smiled and walked in and rolled up his sleeves. Malon was questioning what her blood was going to do. Wild smiled, glad to have an extra hand in the kitchen.

“Sky is looking tad gloomy. He been playing a somber tune to the cuccoos. Half worried they may die on us with how sad the tune is. I am thinking maybe making a bit of comfort food. Country specialty.” He explained with a smile.

“What you have in mind?” Asked Malon. Stopping what she was doing.

He walked over and took an unhusked corn and started helping with peeling the husk away. “Fried cuccoo mash bowl. If you got potato’s, we can make a mash. Chop the corn off its stem, fry cucoo, put them together with some gravy…creating a fried cuccoo bowl. Can’t go wrong with that?” He explained.

Malon beamed with happiness. As did the champion.

“That kind of you. So what should we do?’ Asked the youth. As he folded the bread dough one more time before resting it.

“Hm, how bout you do the mashed potato, Mrs. Lon-“

“Just call me mal. Or ma’ if you want.” She interrupted.

“Okay ma’ you take care of the corn, and i will handle the fried cuccoo and gravy.” He replied to her.

She smile and nodded. Wild stood for a bit. “You know how to cook?” He asked the rancher.

Twilight smirked and having some stuff to start making the fried cuccoo and smirks.

“You bet your goddesses I do. I live alone, lui taught me the basics, ilia helped as well. But i know how to cook food. Nit as good as you. But decent enough.” He explained.

————————

The three worked hard in the kitchen. Working on the meal. Rancher was making sure the meal was well seasoned. Nothing is more disappointing than an unseasoned meal. Wild would help with a few things and helping Taste things, along with Malon, giving suggestions when needed. The house smelt heavenly as the spices and such floated through the room. Malon after finishing with the corn, started making sweet tea for everyone. The three laughing and giggling in the kitchen. Homey.

Wild went about setting the table with glasses and utensils. As Twilight started making the bowls of food. Adding equal amounts of mashed potato’s, corn, and fried chicken for everyone plate. Then drizzling gravy over it. Malon helped put the bowls on the table. She then made here way to front door to ring the lads in for lunch. As they approached she order them all to wash up before thinking to eat all filthy as hey were. That including her husband who attempted to get a hug from her. However got shooed off.

Once everyone had cleaned up. They all sat at the table. Sky eyes the bowl in front of him. The smell of it danced under his nose. He looked up and Rancher smiled at him. “Enjoy.”

“Wait? You cooked this?” Asked the Veteran.

“You sure tootin he did. With a little help from Champ and I.” Malon replied with a smile.

“No way? He cooks and didn’t burn anything?” Chuckled the captain about to dig in.

“Actually, he can be a replacement if i get injured. He knows his stuff.” Piped up wild.

“At least that one other Link that can cook.” Chuckled Malon.

Sky dipped his fork into the dish. Scooping up every bit. Before sticking it into his mouth. It was an explosion of flavor and it caused his to tear up a bit. Wind noticed and stopped mid bite.

“You okay?’ Ask the young sailor.

The sky loft Ian nodded and smiled. “It like home.”

The rancher smiled and took his first bite, pleased he was able to bring some joy to the somber mood the youth had been in earlier.

“It’s comfort.” He replied to sky.

“Thank you.” Replied sky.

-fin

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu malon #lu sky #lu twilight #linked universe fanfic #content creator #ordonian writes

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pengychan · 9 months

Text

[Good Omens] Come What May, Ch. 4

Summary: While completely improvised, Gabriel’s plan to transfer his memories in the container fly before erasure was rather solid. It came very close to working, too. But ‘close’ was not enough. [SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2] Characters: Gabriel, Beelzebub, Crowley, Aziraphale, Muriel, Michael, Uriel, Saraquael Rating: T All chapters will be tagged as ‘come what may’ on my blog.

[Back to Prologue]

A/N: Shax and Furfur demanded a role in the story. I could have said no, but I love them both, so here we are.

***

“Beelzebub speaking. What do you want?”

“Lord Beelzebub. This is Archangel Uriel. I am calling on behalf of--”

“So, are you the Supreme Archangel now?”

Not if Michael has a say in it, was the first thing Uriel thought, but of course that was not a viable response. First of all, it would disclose information to the Enemy that they certainly did not need to know; secondly, it wouldn’t be appropriate. Thirdly… well, same point as the first.

Michael was obviously poised to try and snatch the position even though the Metatron had given no indication who it should go to, and Uriel couldn't pretend she agreed - and aggravating as she found the situation, she knew better than giving hellish royalty any inkling of the friction going in Heaven. Demons would smell blood in the water, much like… huh. There was some kind of beast on Earth that was known for smelling blood in the water. Turtles, maybe? Uriel was approximately eighty-seven percent sure it was turtles. Maybe she’d check later. But right now, there were other priorities. “No,” she finally said. “I am not the Supreme Archangel.”

“Then save both of our time. I speak with the Supreme Archangel, or no one.”

“The position is currently vacant, as I am certain Michael has informed you--”

“Surely it won’t stay vacant, no?”

“Certainly not. But until that moment comes, both me and Michael are working to fill the role.”

A scoff. “Good luck.”

“Excuse me?”

“Neither of you would cut it. Oh yes, Michael is great at swinging a sword, unless she got rusty, and you’re amazing at making drawings over door frames with pig blood--”

“It was lamb blood, and--”

“Could have been platypus blood for all I care. But neither of you knows how to conduct talks. That’s why neither of you was the first choice for the role.”

Uriel scowled, but forced her voice to remain even. “That’s your opinion and you have every right to be wrong,” she muttered. “Now, I believe the reason why I called should be plain. If Armageddon is to happen--”

“I told Michael she’s too below me to bother. Why would you get a different answer?”

As Michael had said. The scowl on Uriel’s face deepened, and this time her voice betrayed just the smallest hint of annoyance. A mistake, she knew. Beelzebub would pick up on the annoyance like a turtle would pick up blood in the… no, what wasn’t right. It was dolphins, wasn’t it? “Due to the unfortunate absence of a Supreme Archangel at the moment, it seems you have no choice but to hold talks with us. We’re certain you want the War to happen so we can settle the score at least as much as we do, so it would be beneficial for all--”

“Nah.”

“... Nah?”

“Sort your own shit out first. There has always been a Commander of the Heavenly Host, and I will only engage in talks concerning Armageddon with the Commander of the Heavenly Host. So pick one first, and then send them to talk to me.”

“The Metatron has elected not to choose--”

“Well, come up with something,” Beelzebub cut her off, their voice cold. “Talk the giant floating head into choosing. Draw lots. Have an election day. Have a coup if you don’t like the election results, those are always fashionable on Earth. I don’t care what you do, but Armageddon is not happening until we’ve had background talks. And those are only happening with an official Supreme Archangel I can hold to their word.”

“What you’re asking--”

“I am demanding. Now figure it out,” the Lord of the Flies cut her off, and ended the call without another word.

***

“Well. They don’t know we-- fine, Crowley. They don’t know I took Gabriel. They probably haven’t even realized he’s missing yet, with how remote the office was. That’s good news.”

Holding back a sigh of relief, Aziraphale nodded. “That really is good. I mean, low-level scriveners can go… a long time without anyone walking into their office. And there can be long time periods with little to no work coming through. With some luck, they may not realize Gabriel is missing at all for quite a while.”

The notion seemed to make Crowley relax just a little. He crossed his arms, leaning against a bookshelf. “Is that your plan to delay Armageddon? Throwing a fit to talk to a Supreme Archangel they currently don’t have?”

An annoyed buzzing sound. “If you have a better idea, please do let me know,” Beelzebub muttered, tilting back their head. “With Gabriel no longer in control of Heaven and those left in charge pressing for war, delaying is all I can do. They won’t think anything of the fact I’m being difficult, it’s part of my job description.”

“And if they do, as you put it, sort their shit out?” Crowley asked, only for Beelzebub to shrug.

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”

“Cross.”

“Huh? Where?” Beelzebub turned, just a touch alarmed - not that crosses could harm demons like they would a literary vampire, but their presence was never a welcome sight regardless, Aziraphale knew. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“No, no crosses, I mean… it’s cross. We burn bridges after we’ve passed them. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“That's what I said.”

“It’s really not--”

“Regardless,” Beelzebub spoke a little more loudly, holding up a hand to silence Crowley, “it will definitely buy us time. If there isn’t some kind of power struggle going on over who is going to take the highest chair available, I’ll throw myself in a vat of holy water.”

That was… not something Aziraphale had trouble picturing, all things considered. A power struggle among Archangels, that was, not Beelzebub throwing themself in a vat of holy water. Having seen first hand what that did to demons, he was not keen to witness it either. “Aren’t you concerned they may suspect you’re purposefully trying to delay things?”

“Doubtful. And even if they do, what are they going to do? Cast me down to Hell?”

“I know it’s not something you wish to concern yourself about at this time, but--”

“You are correct,” Beelzebub cut him off. “Right now, I am concerned about nothing but--”

“Uuugh, my head…”

Three heads and their respective three pairs of eyes turned to the sofa as one, just in time to see Gabriel groaning and sitting up, rubbing his head and tousling his hair in the process. He blinked a couple of times, then turned to look at them. He blinked. Squinted. Blinked again.

Then, he smiled. “Hey! Nice to see you!”

Ah. Aziraphale blinked as well, taken aback. “You… know who we are?”

The smile grew wider, brighter. “I have absolutely no idea,” he replied, chipper as they come. Then his gaze moved from Aziraphale to Crowley and then Beelzebub, and the smile somehow grew larger. That shouldn’t have been physically possible. “Oh! I know you! I drew your face!”

Crowley turned to look at Beelzebub, and his eyebrows went up almost to his hairline when they smiled. “That you did,” they said, and sat on the sofa next to Gabriel, looking at him intently. “And it was a pretty good likeness. You’re really good,” they added, like they didn’t know that all angels, as well as all demons as far as Aziraphale was aware, had the innate ability to draw anything they lay their eyes on in perfect detail.

Going by the smile on Gabriel’s face, he was ignoring that detail too. Or maybe he really was not aware of it. “Thanks, uh…” A pause, and he looked around. “... Actually, who are you guys? And where am I?”

Well. Those were… loaded questions. Aziraphale hesitated a moment before stepping forward. “May I?” he asked, and Beelzebub briefly glanced at him before nodding. Aziraphale nodded back, and smiled at Gabriel. “You’re on Earth, specifically in my bookshop. My name is Aziraphale, but most people here refer to me as Mr. Fell. This gentleman here,” he added, nodding towards someone who was not a man and was plainly not feeling very gentle either, “is Crowley. And they are - please, do not be alarmed - Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said, and paused for a few moments to take in the information. He was not, apparently, in the slightest alarmed upon being informed he was in the presence of the highest ranking demon in Hell after the Adversary himself. In the end, he shrugged and smiled again.

“Nice to meet you. My name is Jibreel. I’m a junior recording angel, 38th class.”

Something crossed Beelzebub’s features, which looked something like pain and something like anger, and it was probably both. Gabriel didn’t notice, though, and Aziraphale spoke before they could, crouching in front of him.

“Nice to meet you, Jibreel. So, how long have you been a junior recording angel, precisely?”

“Uh… a few days? But I’m good at it. Muriel says I am.”

A smile. “I am sure you’re amazing at it. But do you recall what you were before, Jibreel?”

A frown creased his brow, and there was a flicker of… something in his eyes. Recognition? No, that was not it. It was more like concern, even fear. Gabriel pulled away just slightly, leaning against the backrest of the sofa, and looked back at Beelzebub,

“Don’t make me do that again,” he blurted out. “It hurts to remember. My head can’t handle it.”

This time, there was more sorrow than rage in Beelzebub’s expression. They had to swallow before they could speak. “... I won’t let anything hurt you,” they said in the end, their voice tight. “Or anyone.”

“... Why would this anyone want to hurt me?”

“Because it’s what happens to those who don’t toe the line,” Crowley spoke, looking at him with a tilt of his head. “You used to take part in the punishing part pretty enthusiastically, if not precisely successfully on one notable occasion.”

“Crowley…”

“Punishing? I don’t recall--”

“Oh, but I do recall well enough for both of u--”

“Crowley,” both Aziraphale and Beelzebub spoke up at the same time, in two vastly different tones, and he trailed off with a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine, fine. The long and the short of it, Jibreel, is that Heaven took your memories away.”

Gabriel blinked. “Memories? What memories?”

“What do you mean, what memories? Your memories, from before three days ago!”

“But I don’t have any memories from before--”

“Yeah, that’s the point, you know? You don’t have them because they took them.”

“They?”

“Heaven. Archangels, Metatron, God herself, I don’t know. They took your memories.”

“Oh.” Gabriel frowned. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Oh yes, it is. For me especially, since you’re now--”

“I reckon I should go ask to have them back.”

Oh dear. He had not quite grasped the severity of the situation, had he?

“I… don’t think that’s a viable solution,” Aziraphale spoke up. “They didn’t take your memories by accident, Ga-- Jibreel. They did so on purpose. You really shouldn’t return to Heaven.”

Gabriel looked back at him, utterly baffled. It was almost eerie, how lost he seemed and yet how utterly trusting; at no point, Aziraphale realized, had he even questioned the truth of their statements, or shown any distrust. If they were to tell him the sky outside was a lovely shade of green, he’d probably believe them without question.

“But I am supposed to go back to work. I shouldn’t have left, I told Muriel I’d stay put.”

“Muriel?”

“My superior. They’re 37th class, and really good,” Gabriel, who not long ago wouldn’t have bothered to glance in the general direction of such a low-ranking angel unless he absolutely had to, seemed thoroughly impressed. “They taught me how to record everything and send it to the archive.”

“Well… I am sure that Muriel is lovely, but a 37th class scrivener is not going to be able to protect you from Heaven. They already took your memories, if they decide to do worse--”

“But why would they do that? Are they mad at me?” Gabriel asked, and Aziraphale was… fairly certain that whether to tell him everything or not was not his choice to make. He cleared his throat, looking at Beelzebub. They hesitated, of course; from what they’d told them, trying to force Gabriel’s to remember had put him in excruciating pain, and they were wary to try again. They seemed concerned that just telling him everything would be too much, too soon.

“... Well, we’re still not sure why they wiped your memory, but they did,” they finally said. “I won’t try to get in your mind again, but it’s really important that you try to remember what you were before becoming a scrivener. Can you do that?”

“I…”

“Not right now, necessarily,” Aziraphale spoke up. “Perhaps it will come back to you in time? Clearly, you do recall some things,” he added, gesturing towards Beelzebub. “Their face, for example,” he added, and Gabriel turned to Beelzebub again. He smiled.

“I like your face,” he informed them. Beelzebub did an impressively bad job at pretending that didn’t please them.

“Thank you,” they said, while a few steps away Crowley rubbed his temples as though to chase away any mental image currently taking residence into his brain. “I like yours, too.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Well-- that’s very-- more to the point, Jibreel, this is a sign not all of your memory is gone. You have met them before, and part of you remembered that.”

“Right,” Gabriel conceded, still looking at Beelzebub, then squinted. “... Unless I miracled you into existence when I drew you?”

“You did not miracle the Grand Duke of Hell into existence,” Crowley informed him.

Again, ‘Jibreel’ didn’t seem in the slightest concerned upon being reminded who he was sitting on a sofa with. “Maybe that’s why Heaven got mad at me.”

A slight scoff, and Beelzebub’s lips curled in what was almost a smile. “I can assure you, it wasn’t you who created me. We met before. You were… a powerful angel.”

For a few moments, Gabriel stared. His expression was grim, attentive. He worked his jaw a moment, then… he laughed. “Hah! You’re funny!” He turned to Crowley and Aziraphale with another laugh, pointing at Beelzebub. Who was… plainly not used to be laughed at, let alone while also being pointed at. “I like them.”

“But they’re telling the truth,” Aziraphale said, and looked around for a moment. “Here, let me show you something…”

A few strides, and he was picking up one of his copies of the Quran. He flipped through the pages, then walked back to the sofa and handed the book to Gabriel. “Here, this page. The third paragraph. Read - see, Jibreel? That’s your name right there.”

Gabriel seemed baffled - but then again he was baffled by most things - and looked down to read. “Whoever is an enemy to Jibreel, for he brings down the revelation to your heart-- hey! That’s-- is this about me?” he looked up, eyes wide, and looked over at Beelzebub.

They nodded. “It was you. As I told you, you were pretty important.”

“But I don’t recall--”

“Because they don’t want you to.”

“But why?”

“... We’re going to find out. And get your memories back,” they added, patting the back of Gabriel’s hand. However, this time, Gabriel did not smile.

“I don’t know if I want them back,” he finally said, causing Beelzebub to freeze and look at him, clearly at a loss for words. Gabriel cleared his throat. “It just… they hurt.”

That was… not a response they had expected, and Aziraphale decided to intervene before those words entirely sank into Beelzebub’s mind. “You don’t need to worry about it right away,” he said instead, more to Beelzebub’s benefit than to Gabriel’s. “You had a lot to process just now, so take a break. Would you like some hot chocolate?”

The offer made Gabriel smile again. “Sure! I love it!” he declared, only to pause. “...I don’t know what that is.”

“Oh! It’s really nice. You drink it. Crowley, would you be so kind?”

“Wha--” some undignified sputtering. “I’m not making him hot chocolate!”

“I’m asking for all of us,” Aziraphale replied, all innocence, only about forty per cent of which was real. It got the frustrated noise to end all frustrated noises out of Crowley, but it also got him out of the room. Aziraphale took advantage of his absence to gesture Beelzebub to come closer; they did, leaving Gabriel on the sofa to look around and comment on how many books Mr. Fell had.

“I am sure we can get his memories back,” he told Beelzebub, not being sure in the slightest. Their stony expression didn’t give any indication of whether or not they had guessed as much, so he switched tactics. “... He probably just needs time. This must be all very confusing. We should give him time to settle - after all, your miracle ensured he’d be safe here. There is no rush.”

A long breath, and Lord Beelzebub finally nodded, turning to glance at the sofa. Gabriel seemed to have noticed the fly buzzing near the ceiling, and was smiling up at it like one would greet an old friend. The briefest, most tired smile Aziraphale had ever seen made a brief appearance on Beelzebub’s lips.

“... Very well. I have business to tend to, and a too long absence would be noted. I should go. Let’s pretend I have already made my list of threats in case anything happens to him.”

A chuckle. “Of course. He will be safe here.”

As long as Crowley keeps his temper under control, he thought, but of course he knew better than saying as much aloud.

It wasn’t anything Beelzebub was not aware of, anyway.

***

“... It seems we’re at an impasse.”

“We are. With Beelzebub refusing to entertain talks before we choose a Supreme Archangel, we cannot proceed with the war.”

“Unless we simply attack, and Hell either fights or--”

“There are rules for this. You know as well as I do. The Metatron - and by extension, God - would never give approval.”

“We wouldn’t be having this problem if the Metatron had appointed someone as Supreme Archangel.”

“By which you mean you, don’t you, Michael?”

“Uriel, this is not the moment--”

“No, it is not. Well then, you should contact the Metatron now and tell him he must pick someone. I’m certain he’ll love the attempt at forcing his hand.”

Saraquael’s dry comment gained her a long look from both Michael and Uriel, neither of them particularly friendly.

“We didn’t hear you coming in.”

“I’ll rev my engine next time,” Saraquael replied with a tilt of the head, a hand patting the wheelchair which had absolutely no engine at all. “We all know that the Metatron is not going to change his mind and pick someone to replace Gabriel because you ask him to. That, and neither of you is sure they’d like his pick.”

“Thank you for the enlightening input. Anything else?”

“Well. I figure this might be a test?”

A pause. Michael and Uriel exchanged a quick glance, and looked back. “A test?” Uriel repeated, slowly.

“Yes. Maybe he’ll make whoever solves this impasse the next Supreme Archangel.” A pause, then a shrug. “Ah, but what do I know? I’ll leave this one to you to sort out,” Saraquael added, and turned to the door. She really didn’t need to look back to know Michael and Uriel were already pulling out their phones, walking in opposite directions, to make a discreet call that really wouldn’t be all that discreet after all.

They could be predictable, really. But as long as it got them to do something other than sassing each other across a desk, Saraquael supposed it was something that would be worked with.

***

Hot chocolate. He was making fucking hot chocolate for the Archangel Fucking Gabriel.

The thought alone made him wish he had the foresight to buy some arsenic or cyanide or whatever it was that used to be all the rage a couple of hundred years earlier and sprinkle it in his mug. It would do absolutely nothing to an angel - aside perhaps cause some sort of stomach upset - but oh would it feel cathartic to at least do it. Except that Aziraphale’s kitchen only had boring things in it like cocoa powder, cinnamon and sugar, so there went the idea. At least, Beelzebub was gone when he walked back out with the mugs; one less headache to deal with.

Three minutes later, with Gabriel making it loudly known how much he was enjoying his first go at hot chocolate, Crowley’s headache was worsening and he'd sincerely rather face the entire Dark Council and possibly Satan himself. That and… and… where had Aziraphale gone?

“Aziraphale?” he called out, and was about to follow up with ‘can I throw him out of the window just once’ when Aziraphale called back, somewhere upstairs.

“Coming! I was just getting some clothes!”

“... Clothes?”

“Well, he can’t keep wearing that,” Aziraphale’s voice replied, clearly referring to the bland and blindingly white scrivener uniform Gabriel was wearing. “So I’m getting him better clothes.”

“Define better, angel.”

“Not as blinding to look at.”

“All right. I’ll concede that point.”

Gabriel didn’t seem terribly keen to swap his uniform for the clothes Aziraphale offered him - ‘Muriel said I should be proud of it’, apparently - but he was convinced with the argument it would make him less noticeable to humans.

“And besides, things get stained here, and getting stains out of white clothes is a nightmare,” Aziraphale had added.

“Unless you find a demon to miracle stains away for you,” Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale had the galls to grin at him while Gabriel finally took the clothes and changed into them. Right there on the spot.

“Just for future reference, you need to pass off as human for a bit,” Aziraphale was telling him, handing him the tie on. “And humans usually go somewhere… private… before changing clothes.”

“Oh. What’s somewhere private?”

“Well, it’s… someplace where no one else can come in. You know, a spot all of your own.”

“We don’t have those in Heaven.”

“Ah, quite right. Well, I have one upstairs. Your bedroom, for now.”

“What’s a bedroom?”

“It’s… a room. With a bed in it.”

“Great! What’s a bed?”

“Ah, I think I will just show you, Jibree-- huh. Actually, that’s a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?”

Gabriel blinked. “What’s a mouthful?”

“Your name. Jibreel.”

“... Isn’t your name Aziraphale?”

Well, Crowley had to grudgingly admit, point for Gabriel 2.0 and his one brain cell. However, Aziraphale was admirably quick to recover. “That’s why people here call me Mr. Fell. That, and because they think I’m human. And you’re supposed to be incognito here, too, so would you mind terribly if we called you… uh…” His eyes wandered to the closest bookcase, paused on a book. “Jim.”

The being that had once been Archangel Gabriel, the Angel of Revelation, God’s Messenger, Herald of Visions, capable of speaking in all tongues known and unknown plus some Crowley honestly thought he’d made up himself just to look clever, frowned as he tried to focus on pronouncing the incredibly difficult name Aziraphale had just suggested.

“Jim?” he repeated, as though trying out a tongue twister.

Unfortunately, Aziraphale was too polite to point out how stupid that made him look, and just smiled brightly. “Yes, Jim! Short for James. Or Jibreel. Close enough, no?”

“Jim,” Gabriel repeated, this time surer, and grinned back. “I like it!”

“Brilliant! So, just until you’re able to remember more, you’re Jim, my new assistant. Now, let me show you upstairs…”

As Aziraphale led Gabriel to the room upstairs, Crowley groaned and went to pour himself a glass of something that was most definitely hot chocolate. He downed it in a single gulp and looked up towards the ceiling. It took him only moments to find Beelzebub’s spy fly, and scoffed. “Look, I’m not kicking him into the Thames inside a sack weighted down with bricks, as you can see,” he sneered. “I’m tolerating his presence. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The fly made a strange motion in mid-air, going down and then back up quickly in something that with some imagination - which Crowley had never lacked - could look like shrug.

“Someday you’ll have to tell me what the absolute fuck did make you think the Archangel Fucking Gabriel was worth all this hassle,” Crowley added, only to receive a few brief buzzes in response. Crowley had never been particularly fluent in fly, but he could get the message well enough. None of your damn business.

If only it had stayed none of his business, Crowley thought as the fly then went up the stairs as well, to make sure Gabriel wouldn’t stay out of its sight too long. He watched it go, sighed, and took another shot.

***

What this was all about, Muriel decided, was rescuing Jibreel.

Yes, it was a rescue mission. And also an investigation. A rescue-investigation-mission. They’d find out what had happened to Jibreel, and where he was now, and bring him back to Heaven safe and sound. Easy peasy. No one would even know he had been gone. No reason to get anyone in trouble.

And of course they would find him, because they had clues. There was a cemetery, and this building called The Resurrectionist, and the face of someone they had never seen before but who was definitely important. And the drawing of a fly, which they guessed was probably not that important but still, a clue.

It wasn’t a lot to go by, but it was enough to tell Muriel one thing: Jibreel had been on Earth, and at least two of those drawings were of places on Earth. Why had he done that? Was he remembering things? Was he trying to leave them a message? Was it both?

Muriel frowned at the drawings scattered on the desk. Surely, if they found out where on Earth those places were, they’d find more clues. That was how an investigation usually worked. And now that they had the handbook about Earth - fine, maybe a little outdated, but how much could things possibly have changed since 1923? - surely they would find out in no time. If needed, they could ask the locals. They’d go as a human police officer. The handbook said humans talk a lot to police officers. It also said it was a dumb thing to do without a lawyer, whatever that was, but Muriel was still certain it would work.

It has to. I want Jibreel to be back safe. I don’t want anyone to get in trouble.

For a moment, Muriel considered aborting their plan and turning to the Archangels, after all. They had almost done so, but while on the way to their floor they heard someone muttering that both Archangel Michael and Archangel Uriel were in the most awful mood, and they’d quickly reconsidered. Muriel didn’t want to worsen anyone’s mood, and they were pretty sure telling them that they had lost the angel put under their wing would… likely not improve it, to say the least. And they could be scary when angry.

In the end, they’d decided there was no reason to bother them. They’d go to Earth, follow the clues, find Jibreel, and bring him back before anyone even noticed they were gone. Yes. There. A solid plan.

What could possibly go wrong?

***

“Lord Beelzebub. A word?”

“Any chance that word is going to be ‘take a holiday, we got everything sorted’?”

“That’s several words,” Dagon pointed out.

“Sharp as always,” Beelzebub muttered, and sat back on their throne with a grunt. “Let’s have several words, then. What is it?”

Dagon cleared her throat. “Well. While you were away conducting dubious business, there has been some… information.”

Beelzebub tilted their head. “Some information,” they repeated, as though they didn’t know what that meant.

“Yes. Whispers, you see, not necessarily something to give credence to, but--”

Oh, for Satan’s sake. They were really, really, really not in the mood to do the usual song and dance alluding at a grapevine that was not supposed to exist. “So, Michael called you,” Beelzebub said, rolling their eyes. Taken aback by the direct statement, Dagon made a choking noise.

“I mean-- if I had realized whose number it was--”

“Spare me the usual scene, you’ve had her number longer than I did,” Beelzebub huffed, then leaned their head against the backrest of their throne with a thunk. “Let me guess. The call was to whine about how difficult I am being with the Armageddon background talks.”

“Not exactly in those terms, but… yes.”

“Did she mention that they no longer have a Supreme Archangel?”

Dagon nodded. “She said Gabriel was assigned to a different, higher duty.”

Oh, a higher duty, sure. Beelzebub made a mental note to tear out Michael’s throat with their teeth should they get close enough to, and scoffed. “They’re hiding something, surely. The role of Supreme Archangel has never been vacant before. You’ll understand why I am unwilling to entertain background talks with the other side refusing to show their hand.”

“We don’t always show our hand, either.”

“Well, duh. This is Hell. We’re untrustworthy by definition. They’re the ones with the shiny PR about honesty being a virtue, despite being just as rotten as we are. No reason to complain if they’re held to their own standards. And why are they suddenly pressing so hard? It makes me wonder if they know something we don't. Perhaps an advantage they are eager to use against us."

"An... advantage?" Dagon repeated, but the way she narrowed her eyes showed clearly that the argument was working. It was easy, relying on the general and perfectly justified distrust towards Heaven's motive.

"Would explain the sudden rush, no? And I for one I am in no rush to fall into a trap - I'd rather wait for them to show their hand. Besides,” Beelzebub added, leaning forward, elbows on their knees. “I find it insulting.”

“Insulting?”

“They expect us to deal with anything other than the Supreme Archangel. How dare they think so lowly of us? Like we’d lower ourselves to talk with just about anyone? May as well send us a scrivener,” Beelzebub growled, and was pretty satisfied to see Dagon was bristling, too. They’d always known what buttons to press with her. And the rest of the Dark Council, really.

“Of course. Of course, the insult cannot stand.”

Beelzebub gave a grimace which was a good enough approximation of a smile, flies crawling behind their teeth. “So, there you have it. They either explain what is truly going on, or they choose a new Supreme Archangel to lead the background talks for Armageddon. Let Michael know it won’t be them to dictate the terms.”

Any seeds of doubt Michael may have planted in Dagon’s mind were clearly gone, going by the eager nod he responded with. “At once, my Lord,” she said, and left the throne room.

Beelzebub groaned, alone once again, and looked up at some of the flies buzzing above their head. “We don’t have a lot of time, do we?” they murmured, and didn’t really need a reply.

***

“... I am really not sure what you expect me to do with this information.”

“You want Armageddon to happen, no? So that we can settle the score once and for all?”

“Of course I do, we all can’t wait to destroy you utterly in battle--”

“And we’re offering you the chance to try. Not that you’ll succeed, but you only get a fair shot at trying once Beelzebub stops dragging their feet for no reason whatsoever.”

Leaning back against his chair, Furfur rolled his eyes and looked at the wall ahead. There was an old poster on it, with the portrait of some poet who’d somehow wandered into Hell before even dying a very long time ago. He had caused quite a bit of ruckus before he’d been kicked back to Earth. Now they had posters about him, with a red cross over his face and the writing Dante Alighieri, Not Allowed right beneath. Although, Furfur was reasonably sure, he had probably been dead for a long time and no longer a threat.

“Lord Beelzebub does nothing for no reason, Ariel.”

“Uriel.”

“My apologies,” Furfur replied, not in the least apologetic. “... Very well. I don’t really know what to do with this information, if it’s true at all--”

“Archangels do not lie, demon.”

“Yes, and the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Either way, I know someone who might be interested in knowing this. So I’ll pass it along and whatever happens, happens. No guarantees. Have a miserable day,” he added, and ended the call without waiting for a reply.

Archangels, Furfur thought, starting to dial Shax’s number. They’re always so unbearably pretentious.

***

[Back to Chapter 3]

#good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #ineffable husbands #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #crowley #aziraphale #muriel #archangel michael #archangel uriel #come what may

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its-my-whump · 11 months

Text

June of Doom - (Day 30)

AP: "I can't stand seeing you like this."

Disfiguration

Follow-up: Days 25 to 29 (no 27)

TW: aftermath domestic abuse, blood, gore, pain, helplessness, despair and probably swearing.

They shuffled through the hallways towards Mrs. Dawson, the school nurse. Andy was more than thankful, that the halls were abandoned, for every good pupil was already in class. But he was ashamed, that he was forced to lean a big part of his own body weight onto Alison. He was surprised, he could actually keep his feet under him at all. She was a head smaller, but Alison hardly seemed to struggle under the additional obstacle of a semi-conscious guy on her thin shoulders.

"What happened? You got into a fight or something?" He had problems concentrating on her words, not even to mention thinking of a reasonable answer. His shoulders shrugged defeated and he was saved by the appearance of Mrs. Dawson just exiting her station.

She was carrying a plate with little flasks and a stage of papers, that she almost dropped, when she took sight of them. Her eyes went wide while the things on the plate shifted loudly. Her vision had jumped from his pale face to the hand on his chest covered in light red. Her facial expression turned professional in an instant again. She made a step back into the open door and gestured them with a nod to follow her. "Come."

More noise from the plate when it was forcefully parked on a desk nearby. She took the folded blanket from the gurney by the wall and helped Alison to sit the patient down on the edge.

Andy was beyond exhausted and almost folded the moment his weight was shifted. "Easy, easy." Strong hands of that hearty elderly women lay him down. His vision went black of a second.

"You look like a dead man walking, darlin'. What's your name? And what happened?" Andy was too weak and confused to answer.

"This is Andy. I'm Alison. He fai... passed out in the hallway, he's burning up and I think he's kind of bleeding" Alison helped out pointing to his chest a bit lost.

Mrs. Dawson put the back of her hand against his forehead. It felt heavenly cool. "Dear Lord!" Was her only reaction. "Gimme that thermometer from over there, love." Her voice was soft, some shuffling in the background. Andys eyes were still closed and the nurse pulled them back gently one by one using her pen light.

Something in his ear. "103.2 You're melting honey." Her tone was matter of factly, but she could hardly hide her concern.

"Alison, would you please step outside for a moment, love." It wasn't a question the dedicated nurse presented to the girl, while her fingertips brushed over Andys right hand, which was still pressed to his chest. By all the pain he felt, he was surly going to fall apart, when he tried to remove it.

He didn't register the girl's silent answer and the door closing. Mrs. Dawson was leaning over his slack form on the gurney, trying to talk to him.

"Could you please open your eyes for me, Andy." Her tone was soothing and he tried to obay, while a cool gentle hand touched his cheek. It was so hard, his lids so heavy all of a sudden. His vision was only blurry. "That's it. I'm going to remove your hand now and then I have to take a lock under your shirt. A'right love." A slight nod was all he could master. "That's my boy."

Maybe he blacked out, maybe he just skipped time. After a sharp biting pain, that seemed to last a lifetime and an almost painful hiss somewhere above him matching his own outcry, it felt like she put an ice cube onto his flaming skin. It was only her stethoscope being moved.

"Your heart is running a million miles an hour and that wound is badly infected, honey. What happened? Who did this to you?"

If he hadn't been so dizzy, he might have heard her voice shaking. She fumbled with a blood pressure cuff and the stethoscope in the crook of his arm.

Speaking felt like something beyond his capability. 'How did it get this bad this fast? Just a few minutes ago he was still standing.'

Now that change in motion seemed like a wild imaginary dream to him.

"Got mm...mugged." It was the best he could do and the only thing that came to his cottonball-filled head, which threatened to implode any second. A weak moan left his mouth without him noticing it would. She cleared her throat, wanted to object. Wasn't convinced. But instead of arguing which he wasn't in any shape just now, she only asked. "When?" Her face was swimming before his eyes, but her question was clear. "Thur....r.da..." One of her hands held one of his to ground and encourage him to stay with her. She needed to stay professional.

"Oh Lord, that's almost a whole week, without stitches. No wonder it's oozing and got infected."

Andys head was spinning even more so. 'It was Monday, wasn't it. How did it become... a whole week so quickly?'

"You still with me, honey?" 'When had he closed his eyes again?' Another painful sound escaped his lips. He was floating and burning and freezing. And most of all he was tired.

Unfortunately Mrs. Dawsons' workstation wasn't as equipped as she liked it to be and she wasn't able to give the proper care he needed, because he surely needed to be rushed into the ER asap and then be hospitalised. His condition was severe, maybe even life threatening. He was burning up. The infection surely had entered his bloodstream. His heart was jumping to keep up, while his blood pressure was down the drain.

"Honey? I'm calling an ambulance. This needs to be cleaned properly and you need a whole lot of antibiotics. Besides, you're severely dehydrated. When's the last time, you kept something down, that went into your mouth?" Mrs. Dawson had abandoned the idea to give him something to drink. In his condition it would come up anyway and the additional strain of barfing wasn't something his weak body could handle just now.

An almost unnoticeable shrug of his thin shoulders and a kind of apologising look were his answer. It must have been a while, his dry skin and lips, his eyes and the fact, that he had lost weight recently told her.

"I'll prepare an IV and give you some of the good stuff to ease your pain a bit, while we wait, okay?" 'How didn't anyone noticed a half dead kid walking the halls?' Maybe it was a good thing, he wasn't send home. Surely his condition wasn't notices there either.

She leaned close to his ear and whispered soothingly, while her hand brushed over his feverish forehead. "I'm actually not supposed to do that, but I really can't stand seeing you like that, honey." She blinked at him encouraging.

"Now, you want to tell me what cruel individual scared you this way, honey?"

xxx

Masterlist

#june of doom #juneofdoom #day 30 #I can't stand seeing you like this #disfiguration #whump #whump community #writing

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aldbooks · 1 year

Text

The Temporary Roommate - T - Ch 3

2,498 words

ACOTAR Secret Santa @poisonivy206

---

Emerie sighed wistfully as she put the last of the few things she'd brought with her back into her bag and snapped it shut. Glancing around the room she'd spent the last two weeks in, her heart twisted.

She could still smell her scent that lingered in the air. Could see her beautiful face on the pillow next to hers, her golden hair spilling across the sheets behind her. Could feel her hand wrapped around hers, their fingers entwined...

She sighed, because she knew it was over. This little bubble they'd been living in the last two weeks that felt heavenly and wonderful, warm despite the snow that blanketed everything- was about to pop. The second they left Athelwoood and returned to the reality of thier lives.

Because she wasn't a fool.

Despite the closeness they'd achieved, the secrets they shared, the moments of intimacy- it didn't matter how many times they'd held each other as they slept, or how many times she'd caught Mor staring at her lips, or how they seemed to gravitate towards each other... nothing more had ever happened. Mor had never made a move, in fact she'd practially run from her everytime they got close to it and Emerie had been too afraid to do it herself, in case she was wrong. She wouldn't have been able to bear that kind of rejection, so perhaps it was for the best nothing had happened.

Besides, it wasn't as though she ever stood a chance anyway. Someone as beautiful, and charming, as highly born and powerful as Morrigan, did not end up with a humble Illyrian orphan. She was born to be a queen and Emerie.... well, she was not.

"Ready?"

She flinched, wrenched out of her melancholy thoughts by the voice she was now painfully familiar with. Using the excuse of gathering her bag to compose her face into a polite smile, she turned to nod at her host- for that's all she would be from now on. The kind third of the Night Court who had allowed her to stay on her estate while the males who'd attacked her had been dealt with. Nothing more. "Yes."

Something shuttered in Mor's gaze. Perhaps she knew it too, that whatever fantasy they'd been living had reached it's conclusion. "Then we should go. You'll be staying with the High Lord for solstice- through the new year, if you'd like- then Rhysand will personally escort you back to Windhaven."

"Not the House of Wind?" she couldn't help but ask, wondering that the High Lord would choose to host her himself and not her friend.

Mor hesitated. "If you would prefer to stay with Nesta and Cassian, I'm sure Rhys and Feyre would not mind... I think he's feeling a bit guilty still."

Ah. She'd heard from Nesta all about how the High Lord's guilt led to ridiculously over the top displays of apology, but she had no wish to be subject to them. And after two weeks, she wanted to spend some time with her friends. "He has nothing to feel guilty for. Those male's actions were their own. They are not his responsibility."

"They are his subjects, and as such, he feels responsibility. I'm afraid you'll have a hard time changing his mind, but I'm sure he will not object to your wishes if you choose to stay with your friends- so long as you attend his Solstice gathering and allow him to shower you with what I'm sure will be lavishly expensive gifts," she grinned.

Emerie managed a half smile and Mor's grin slipped. She held out a hand, gesturing towards the front of the house. "Come on. Since Cass and Nesta haven't been informed we're coming there instead of the river house, we can only pray to the mother that they aren't currently fucking on the dinig room table or something. Heathens."

Emerie did laugh at that and they shared a smile before she recalled herself and let it drop, carefully stepping past her into the hall. After bidding Bronwyn and Abel a fond farewell, Mor led her back to the spot where they'd first arrived, just outside the boundary of the wards protecting the house. She hesitated for only a moment before taking Mor's proffered hand, and then they were gone.

---

Emerie was thoroughly miserable, though she did her best to cover it with a smile. Nesta and Cassian had, as it turned out, been out when she and Mor arrived at the House of Wind. Gwyn and Azriel, to no one's surprise, had been upstairs sparing and not wanting to interupt them and deal with the scorchingly intense stares between the couple, she'd merely excused herself to find whatever room the House had picked for her to stay in. Mor had looked disappointed but said goodbye and left her to herself.

Since then, she'd been surrounded by couples sickeningly in love and fully hating her lot in life. Perhaps her uncles- miserable bastards- were right and she should just settle down with whatever Illyrian male she thought she could stand to be around without murdering- she and Balthazar got on well enough. Perhaps then she'd let go of this ill-fated crush...

The very idea made her sick to her stomach.

Nesta and Gwyn had convinced her to stay the extra two weeks until the new year and as much as she was glad to be with her friends, part of her wanted to go back to Windhaven where she could sulk in peace instead of putting on a mask every morning and pretending she was fine.

She wasn't.

Since arriving at the High Lord's house earlier this evening for Solstice Eve dinner, she'd done her best to put distance between herself and Morrigan. She'd given the High Lord's third a polite smile in greeting before following her friends into the house and had even sat on the opposite end of the dinner table from her, trying to ignore the stare she could feel burning into the side of her face as she chatted with Azriel about- she couldn't even remember what.

Now, she sat on the couch next to Nesta and Cassian, across the room from the blonde in a red dress that made her want to weep, and blinked down at the gifts in her lap.

A cloak and matching gloves made of dark suede and lined in rich grey fur, a pair of new leather boots, and a belt made of supple leather that could hold multiple weapons, including the Illyrian dagger with a fine bone handle. All of them from the High Lord, lavish - as Mor had promised- but srurpisingly practical.

"I- thank you."

"You're very welcome," the High Lord smiled at her. Next to him, Mor briefly caught her eye, her smile turning pained when Emerie turned away from her again.

Gods, she needed to get out of here. Thankfully, her friends seemed more interested in getting each other naked than sticking around here until all hours of the night and she practically leapt from her seat when Nesta nd Cassian began giving their excuses.

With any luck, she'd be able to continue pretending for the next couple weeks until the New Year's Eve dinner Nesta was hosting and then she could go back to her life, and move on... if she could manage to fix her broken heart that was...

---

Mor sighed in disappointment, dropping the sadly empty bottle to the floor beside her, staring morosely at the ceiling.

A slightly disapproving sound came from the doorway and she didn't bother to lift her head from where she lay on the couch, merely lifted a hand to give her cousin a rude gesture. To her surprise, he didn't respond with that chuckle he usually gave that delighted in sarcasm. A moment later, he stood above her, frowning at her in concern.

"This isn't like you, Mor. You don't mope. That's Az's job."

She gave a half-hearted snort. Rhys crouched down, sitting on the floor beside her in a decidely un-High Lord-like manner. "I can only assume this is about whatever happened between you and Emerie in Athelwood," he said softly. "Will you tell me? Are you upset with me for sending her with you?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, she sighed. Of course he would think he was at fault somehow. She wasn't sure if Rhys would ever stop believing that he was somehow at fault for everything that grieved his friends. She knew he just wanted them all to be happy, but there was something to be said in the level of arrogance it took to believe so much of thier lives revolved around him and his decisions.

"No."

He said nothing, merely waited, letting her decide if she wanted to explain or not.

Mor sighed again before the words slipped out of lips well lubricated thanks to Rhys' extensive wine cellars. "She's avoiding me."

Opening her eyes once more, she looked at the ceiling and tried to swallow the tears that burned them. "I thought-" she swallowed thickly. "I don't know what I did wrong," she admitted quietly.

From her peripheral, she could see Rhys' dark brow furrow. "Why don't you start from the beginning?"

So she did. She told him about the nights they'd spent together, the evenings playing chess or reading together, the riding lessons, and the cave. How she'd wanted to kiss her that night in the kitchen but had chickened out. How she'd thought they'd been building towards something... how, at the very least, she'd hoped they'd become friends.

And she told him how much it had hurt when, on Solstice night, Emerie had acted as though they barely knew other. Like nothing had happened between them and they were back to being little more than acquaintences with common friends.

It had been a long time since she'd had her heart truly broken and somehow, despite the fact that their relationship had never gone beyond secrets and smiles and holding hands, she thought this might have been the worst.

Rhys' gaze softened with both sadness and sympathy. He was well aquainted with heartbreak himself, she knew, only he'd gotten his happy ending. She was beginning to question if she'd ever find hers.

"I think, perhaps, the two of you need to have a conversation..."

Mor laughed without humor. "That would require she actually acknowledge me."

A smirk curved the corner of his lips. "Come now, surely you're not above a bit of trickery cousin? All you have to do is get her alone- I can assist with that."

She gave him a skeptical look. "How?"

---

Emerie peered around the rooftop in confusion. She hadn't questioned when the High Lord had directed her towards a staircase tucked into a back part of the House, indicating she should have a look around the observatory. She hadn't recalled Nesta ever mentioning the House had one, but had been curious enough to check it out.

She was just beginning to wonder if she'd taken a wrong turn somehow when she heard soft footsteps behind her. She turned, her breath catching when she found Mor approaching, a shimmering gold gown hugging her curves and swishing softly as she walked.

Emerie shivered in the velvet black dress she'd borrowed from Nesta, frozen to the spot as she watched her move closer until they were inches apart.

Mor's golden gaze studied her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "You're avoiding me," she whispered after a moment. "Why?"

Her lips parted, though she had no idea how to respond. She just stared back at her, her heart beating painfully in her chest.

Mor's head tilted slightly, a flash of hurt in her eyes. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No!" Emerie said quickly. Her hand darted out to grab hers but she stopped herself with her fingertips brushing the back of her palm. Mor took half a step closer but she withdrew her hand, bunching her skirts in her fist.

"Then why?" she asked again. "Are you-" she licked her lips in a nervous gesture. "Do you not want this? Want me?"

"Yes," Emerie choked, almost against her wil,l as she swayed unconiciously closer.

"Then why?" This time, she could heart the hurt in her voice and it damned near gutted her.

She opened her mouth to say she didn't know before taking hold of her senses once more. "I- can't..."

"Can't what?" She felt delicate fingers brushing her arm and shivered once more.

Blinking hard, she took a step back, shaking her head. "I- you deserve better. You-"

"Why don't you let me decide what I deserve?" Mor said sharply, and fluttering, stupid, hope sparked in her chest. Mor's gaze softened into something pleading. "Why do you think I don't deserve you?"

She didn't bother to say that she thought she didn't deserve her. "We're from two different worlds-"

"I gave up the life I was born into a very long time ago," Mor said firmly, cutting her off. "I told you this."

Emerie shook her head. "You're still the High Lord's cousin, his third."

Mor smiled wryly. "I'm not sure if you noticed, but none of us are big on titles. We all earned our place in the Inner Circle, just as you earned your position as a Valkyrie. Our bonds and relationships are built on loyalty and trust- not titles or power."

The hand that had slid down to circle her wrist without her noticing, tugged gently, pulling her closer. She went without a fight, unable to resist her.

"I don't care where you came from, Emerie of Illyria. I don't care if you were born to a prince or a farmer. The only thing I care about, is if you want this too... Because I do... desperately. I have for a long time."

Emerie could say nothing, stunned by her confession. That fluttering hope in her chest flared brighter.

"Please," Mor said, beginning to look uncertain. "Tell me you want this too. Because-" Whatever else she might have said was cut off when Emerie closed the distance between them and kissed her.

The moment their lips touched, fireworks exploded, light dancing behind her eyes and the boom reverberating through her whole body- No, wait. Pulling back with a slight gasp, she tilted her head up towards the sky. Actual fireworks.

She laughed breathlessly as colorful sparks of red, blue and green, gold and silver filled the night sky. She could hear Mor laughing too. "Good timing," she muttered, looking back at her with a smile bright enough to light the world.

Biting her lip, Mor asked, "So, is that a yes?"

She couldn't have stopped her grin if she tried. Her heart felt so full, she was half afraid it might burst. "Yes."

Their lips met again, the fireworks completely forgotten, and for a long moment, nothing else was said.

"Happy new year, Emerie."

"Happy new year, Morrigan."

She couldn't think of a better begnning.

#acotar secret santa 2022 #emorie #mor x emerie #emerie x mor

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chelleztjs18 · 3 years

Text

Lost in Assistance - Ch. 10

Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader.

GIF: I do not own this GIF.

Summary: Y/n is a professional celebrity's personal assistant in Hollywood got hired with two years contract to be the assistant of the famous and talented Elizabeth Olsen / Lizzie by her manager. Both Y/n and Lizzie hate each other since day one, and they have mutual friend. One is as stubborn as the other, will Y/n stay when Lizzie gives attitudes and tries her best to make her quit before the contract ends?

Warning: fluff, angst, smut (in future chapters), swearing words ( +18 only)

I do not own any pictures, name, brand, song titles or anything that I used in this story.

All chapters

The three of you are finally back at the hotel. As soon as you got there, you went to your room to get ready. So is Lizzie in hers. When you are ready, you go right away to the girls’ room. You knocked on the door, and for some reason you slightly wish that Lizzie’s face would slowly show up as the door is opening but like usual it was Aubrey’s smile the first thing you see. “Hey.” Aubrey moves to the side as she opens the door wider for you to come in. “Hey Aubrey.” You unconsciously smiled in slight disappointment.

You do not mind at all that it's always Aubrey who opens the door for you. She is your good friend, really. You just start to think why is it always Aubrey? Is it just a coincidence or not really? Does she hate you so much that she is avoiding you at all cost? Oh well, why does it matter anyway? Why did you wish it was Lizzie who opens the door for you just now? There’s nothing special to it. The hatred is mutual. You were probably just concerned about her anyway after seeing her cry, you think it’s just a normal nice gesture if you are wondering how she was doing. but again it’s none of your business. Your mind juggling all of those thoughts in such a short time triggers a quick rush in your mind.

Your eyes secretly look for Lizzie. You try to do it in the most subtle way so Aubrey won’t notice while both of you walk to the living room and sit down on the couch. “She is inside, still getting ready, Y/n.” Aubrey told you as if she can read your mind. “Huh?” Surprised with her statement just now, you got caught off guard and that was all you can say. You curse yourself in your mind for being too obvious.

“I know those eyes,y/n. You can’t lie to me. Your eyes’ movement. You were searching for her.” Aubrey teased with a knowing smile. “No, I wasn’t!” You denied instantly. “Yes you were, Y/n.” She convinced you in a playful tone. “No,I wasn’t!” You shout in a whisper. You feel warm on your cheeks and ears. “Okay, y/n. You were not.” She agreed in a playful sarcasm. “Tell that to your blushing cheeks.” She mumbles under her breath and rolls her eyes at the same time.

“What Aubrey?” You asked. “Oh nothing.” She smiled.

Aubrey slouch on the couch yet you sit next to her awkwardly straight up with your hands keep tapping your knees like they are a set of percussion. “So, how is she doing? Do you think she already feels better?” Your voice is almost like a whisper when you ask her as you don’t want Lizzie to hear it.

“Hmm. Care much, are you Ms. Y/L/N?” Once again, She always finds the chance to tease you about Lizzie. “Seriously? I asked just because that’s the right thing to do as a human being towards another.” You lifted an eyebrow as you tackled her tease once more. “You know what? Just forget I asked.” You added with a discomfort tone.

Aubrey giggled. “Geez, I was just joking. I think she’s feeling better but she still hates you.” She answered as she tried to hold a laugh teasing you. “Well, that, I don’t need to ask you, I already know. The whole world knows how much she hates me.” You shook your head. She giggles.

“So you are coming with us right?” You asked the girl next to you. “Nuh-uh. I’m not coming. I need to take a break from both of you and your arguments.” the brunette answers while her eyes locked on the TV. “Ouch. Are we that annoying?” You put your hand on your chest and act like you are hurt by what she said. “You guys are not annoying, I love both of you. You guys are just too funny for me to watch but I can’t say anything yet because both of you are too stubborn to listen to me and that’s annoying.” She said nonchalantly with a small smirk.

“What’s too funny about it? And what can’t you say yet? Tell me.” You jokingly push her shoulder. “Oh nothing. I have my own theory, you’ll know it next time.” She patched a meaningful smile. “Oh yeah? Probably a stupid theory?” You jokingly make fun of her. “Whatever y/n.” She giggles.

“Hey, y/n. I just want to say sorry. Honestly, I was the one who gave Lizzie the idea of giving you hell when you are working with her but I didn’t know it was you until she told me your name. Please don’t hate me.” Aubrey’s face showed remorse. “So, you are the one that makes my life a hell? Wow Aubrey. Thanks.” You said it in a playful tone.

“So you are not mad at me?” Aubrey looks relieved. “Nah,it’s okay. I figured anyway. You are forgiven.” You winked at her. “Gosh, y/n I thought you were serious.” She giggles.

Lizzie comes out to the living room. “What are you giggling about Aubrey?” Then she notices you are there. “Oh.” That was all she said before she went back into the bedroom. A few minutes later, you notice that both of you need to leave not to be late. “Ms. Olsen, we have to go now. We can’t be late.” You told her from the living room. “Gosh y/n, Okay! Okay!.” She let out a harsh breath as she came out. “Bye Aubrey, I’ll see you later.” Lizzie yells as she walks out the suite room. You stand up, wave goodbye at Aubrey, and follow her .

_____

Both sitting on each side of the back seat, the car ride without Aubrey was silent. Just pure silence but you both taking turns on getting caught stealing glances at each other. You really don’t know why you have the urge to ask how she is doing while you know she for sure is not comfortable if you ask her that. You are just her assistant and her personal life is definitely none of your business. Luckily, you both finally arrived at the location.

The photoshoot starts right away after her make up and wardrobe is ready. Everything is going well with the photoshoot until the last session with the last wardrobe, Sophie who is incharge of makeup and wardrobe had to leave early for a family emergency. Thank goodness, it is the last session, Lizzie just has to change to the last dress, do some shots and they can call it a day. Sophie asked if you can help with the last dress as she showed you which one and said you can just hang the dress once Lizzie’s done and you have no problem with it.

You wait for Lizzie outside the changing room to make sure everything is okay. You heard her softly grunts and curse under her breath. “Ms. Olsen, are you okay?” You heard other soft grunts. “I’m okay. Can you call Sophie please?” Lizzie asked, not knowing that the french lady already left. “Um, she left. She’s not here. Do you need help?”

“What do you mean she left?” She asked in surprise and confusion. “Yeah, she has a family emergency.” You explained. “I need help with the dress.” She asked from the other side of the wall. “I can help you.”

“No, not you. Is there somebody else who can help me?” She asked in a slightly irritated tone. “Yes, there’s Stefan, Andre, Antoine, Oh and there’s Claude.” You named all the crews that’s there who happen to be all males. “I meant a female one, y/n.” She opened the door a little, peek through the small open space and asked in annoyance.

“Yes, Her name is y/n. The only female here besides you.” You answered in a flat sarcastic tone, in emotionless face expression. “Like it or not, I'm the only one to help you.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Fine.” She groans and lets you in while trying her best to cover her body shyly.

“Y/n, look the other way. Don't look over here.” She demanded. “How am I gonna help you if I have to look away?” You furrowed your eyebrows. She is in this red see-through sheer dress with some floral laces on some body parts that need to be covered with it but on the upper body part it looks like a beautiful corset. She turned around, her back facing you with the dress unzipped leaving her bareback exposed. You can see from the mirror in front of her, both of her hands crossed in front of her dress covered breast to hold the dress so as not to fall. She lowered her head, her face facing down.

The curve line from the back of her neck to her bareback with no bra straps whatsoever yet slightly covered with some strains of her long blonde hair was visible to you, the zipper slider body was way low on her lowest back, almost to her natural perfect size buttocks with the line of her g-string peeking out a little bit. Her peach-cream with a light hint of tanned skin colors look so flawless. Too perfect that no pores are visible.

You swallow your nervous feeling down, try hard to stop staring before she pulls her head up. No, you definitely don’t want her to notice that. “Okay,so you just need me to zip this up right?” You clear your throat. “Uh y-yeah.” You notice that she sounds nervous.

“Okay. I’ll zip it up. Just pull the rest of your hair up so it won’t get caught in the zipper.” “She nodded, and her right hand grabbed the rest of her hair. The dress is slim-fitted, perfectly designed for her heavenly figure. You tried to pull the zip up by the pull tab but it was a little difficult to do, so you pulled it by the slider body. You tried to get a grip of it, your index finger is between her body and the dress. The tightness of the dress makes the tip of your finger slightly touch her skin. Both of you were surprised by it. You noticed her body jolted even in the very slightest movements when she felt the tip of your finger touch her skin.

You try to ignore the awkward feelings in the air, and you pull the zipper up slowly because you are afraid to ruin the dress. The room fell silent. The silence breaks down all barriers and makes you able to hear her breath hitch softly right when the tip of your finger lands on her bareskin slowly brushes her skin from the lowest part of her back slide up to the bottom of her back neck between her shoulders along her spine. Your eyes follow the zipper up and you lift your head higher to find her reflection in the mirror, her eyes closed and her lips slightly open as she slowly exhales.

“Uh-It’s all zipped up now.” You see her in the mirror standing there beautifully in the dress. She lifts up her head but as soon as her gaze locks with yours, she awkwardly turns her head sideways instantly. Meanwhile you are still hypnotized with the beauty in front of you.

“Take a picture. It will last longer.” Her voice brought you back to your consciousness. “I’m sorry?” You asked as you tried to recall what she was saying, unfortunately you didn’t pay attention at all. “I said, take a picture. It will last longer.” She repeated in annoyance.

“Oh. Uh, N-No, thank you. I’m good.” You answered quickly to hide your nervousness then you realized you picked the worst answer. You internally screamed at yourself for choosing such an answer but oh well, it is what it is. She was chagrined when you answered nonchalantly. She then walked out of the changing room and continued with the photoshoot.

As luck would have it, someone came to cover Sophie and help with the rest so both of you won’t have to deal with another insanely awkward encounter like earlier in the changing room.

______

Both of you are on the way back to the hotel now. After what happened in the changing room, it’s even more awkward to sit with her in the back seat even though there’s enough space in the middle space between you two. You tried to get busy to distract yourself, checking out work related things in your phone or notes and also answered a work call. You are talking french on the phone, Lizzie figured it’s from the magazine company. Lizzie took the chance that was laid in front of her to give yet another glance at you while you weren’t paying attention.

Every single glance she threw seems to move up slowly. From your crossed leg then to your thigh and she noticed you are wearing ripped distressed jeans that show some part of your skin with your right hand on it. She glances again at your slender fingers with your polished short but not too short nails. She then realized she might glance too long (or more like staring). Mercifully, you still don’t notice what she’s doing.

She finally regains control of herself and stops herself from stealing glances at you then turns her head to watch the street of Paris through the window but that doesn’t stop her wondering what is happening with her at this moment. The more she wonders the more she gets irritated because she can’t figure it out.

Ch. 11

Taglist: @madamevirgo , @musicinourlips (Let me know if you want to be added in the tag list.)

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sunflowersteves · 3 years

Text

bloody & bruised || a night for galas

mob!bucky barnes x boxer!reader

𝒄𝒉. 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 : Bucky had finally asked you to attend an event regarding his mob life, but nothing is as joyous as everything seems.

author’s note : it’s been while since i posted for this series and i suddenly had some inspiration. i hope you all enjoy. **not my photo

warnings : fluff, kidnapping, rich snobs, smut!!, public sex, teasing, afab!fic, [18+ only], minors do not interact

previous ch. // series m.list // m.list

Bucky Barnes was not a man to be trifled with.

Bucky Barnes was a hard-headed upright murderer that held an entire underground criminal system. The NYPD and the FBI had been trying to capture him for years on end, investigation after investigation to always end up falling short.

He was dangerous, cynical, and deadly.

He was a man that would send people running in the opposite direction of him. He was a man that controlled the depths of the city with fear; no one dared to trifle with him.

But, James Buchanan Barnes was also a man in love. He was totally and utterly smitten. He would give you tender kisses in the morning and trace patterns on your back as you slept. Steve liked to tease the hell out of him for being able to snatch someone as astonishing as you. He didn’t want to admit it, but Steve was right.

You had come into his life so fast, and the sweet breath of fresh air you were had surprised him. You were stubborn and took no shit from anyone—even the mobster himself. You were kind and soft. Your laughter was the purest sound he had ever heard. But you were also tough; your fists bloodied and bruised more times than he could count.

Before you came along, Bucky placed himself deep within his work. He never really had time for anything, so he normally only had one-night stands. The transaction of a quick fuck and then leaving was the best option. There were no strings attached, no grievances, no troubles, just a quick exchange.

But you, you were so much more. You were absolutely everything. You were the summer breeze that floated through his hair. You were fresh berries that tasted pungent yet sweet as they burst in his mouth.

You were it for him. His partner that would rest by his side no matter what, if that’s what you wanted anyway. And a part of him hated it. He wanted to push you away, so you would not be exposed to the dangerous life that he lived. But you were worth it. You were worth the risk, always.

And you had been absolutely stunned by the man. You were an unstoppable force that had your opponents beaten down so easily. You were strong-willed and passionate about the world around you.

So, to find yourself slowly falling for a man who has most likely done unspeakable things came as a surprise. But, he wasn’t the scary person that everyone deemed him to be, at least not to you. He was sweet, charming, and amazing in bed—too amazing in bed.

What you found interesting, though, is that ever since that night after your match, Bucky hadn’t left your side. For eight months, he’s been high alert. As though at any minute or any second, something would jump out at the two of you. He was always looking back when you’re walking around at night. He would always insist on two bodyguards at your side constantly, even when you were in the boxing ring.

He knew you were capable. He always tried to reassure you. However, you knew that something was suspicious. He never told you what had tormented him so badly, but he would always refuse when you would ask him what was wrong.

You had always thought he was just embarrassed by you. You were a girl from the Bronx who knew how to fight, and it always had been an antithesis in your relationships. However, Bucky had always shut your insecurities down and made it up to you in the best way possible.

You let out a small yawn, “what time is it?”

He smiles slightly at your gruff morning voice before turning to look at the clock. “It’s almost noon.”

You just hummed and snuggled into his chest even further. He traced small circular patterns up and down your spine, his mind drifting off to think about work. He didn’t want to leave your warm embrace, his heart dreading the idea of leaving the silky sheets and your cold feet resting on his calves.

“Doll?”

Your eyes flicker up to his before reaching up to give him a sweet yet somber kiss. His arms tightened around you for just a second before a finger rested on your cheek, wiping gently from side to side.

“Yes?” You mumbled against his lips.

“Will you accompany me to the gala tonight?”

Your eyes shot up at his question, completely catching you off guard. During your relationship, he never asked you to attend anything that regarded work. He had always said it was too dangerous, even for an infamous boxer. He always said that he just wanted to keep you safe, but still, you knew there was something else at play.

Your eyes lit up in excitement, “really?”

He nodded, lips curling up into a smile. “Yes, really.” You giggled against his skin and relished in the warmth of it all. “Nothing would make me happier.”

“But Steve and Sam will be there the whole time and—” You groaned, interrupting his sentence as he just gave you a knowing look. You shift your arm and rest it on his cheek, his eye fluttering closed and leaning into your touch.

“What’s going on, baby?”

He let out a large sigh and opened his eyes to lock with yours. He knew he couldn’t lie to you, not anymore. You looked at him with puffy cheeks and fluttering eyelashes, knowing that he was done for.

“Remember that night I took you to my place, and we danced to jazz?” You grin up at him at the memory, your mind becoming fuzzy with adoration from that very long night. “I remember that night very well, love.”

Your smile flattened slightly as you caught the look on his face. His eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite figure out. Worry? Fear? “I got texts that night threatening you.”

Your eyes widened at the profession he gave, not expecting it in the slightest. “From who?” He shakes his head. He shifts in the bed slightly, moving his face, so it practically ghosts yours.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’ve had guards around you this whole time. I’m sorry.”

Your lips curl into a smile, giving him a small peck to tell him you accept his apology. “They’ll have to get through my fists first.”

He chuckled. “Damn right, doll.”

You walked in with Bucky’s arms locked with yours, the stoic nature of the man you were with proceeded to lock onto his face. As you entered the crowd, they had immediately disappeared. They were almost afraid to touch you in fear of Bucky. A little proud smirk rested on your face at the thought of being untouchable. It felt enlightening—it felt addicting.

The room was crowded with what looked like some of the most elite people you had seen in New York. The ballroom was large; white and gold splashed against the towering columns and swirled together. The chandeliers gleamed the brightest and sparkled throughout the room, creating little stars across the ground. Famous paintings were scattered across the walls, pairing nicely with the poised elegant furniture.

They wore lavish suits and dresses; your attire and Bucky's were matched perfectly. While in the car, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He had you pressed up the limo door and devoured your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive flesh. You just giggled and tried to shove him off of you, you took way too long to get ready, and he wasn’t going to ruin your hair. “Sorry, doll. Jus’ can’t help myself.” And that cocky grin made you want to kiss him even more.

You took a champagne glass off of a tray and took a sip. Bucky was currently talking to one of his donors, and you were beyond bored. All it was, was a bunch of rich snobs gathered in one room. You knew Bucky hated it as well; he knew how they really thought of him. They always thought that he and his men were just a bunch of criminals that took over the city. But they never mentioned how much he helped people too.

“So, dear, what do you think? Why should we give to the homeless when it’s their fault they’re there in the first place?”

Your hand immediately tightened around Bucky’s arm. You look over at the old man and the urge to plummet him into the next century was suddenly very tempting. You then purse your lips, your voice loud and boisterous. “People need help, whether it’s their fault or not. If you think otherwise, then you’re a piece of shit person. Simple as that.” The old man and his wife gasped. “Plus, most of the time, it isn’t their fault.”

“Tame your woman, Mr. Barnes.”

Your eyes flicker over towards Bucky to find his eyes already locked onto you. His eyes were full of lust, and his once sparkling eyes were dark and swirling as though an ocean would. He smirks quickly, “Couldn’t even if I tried.” Swirling butterflies burst against your chest; he looked proud. He looked like he could devour you right then and there, but the pride radiated off of him.

Before you know it, you find yourself backed up against a wall that’s far away from the crowd, and no one would bother you. Sam had shaken his head when he finally found the two of you, and Steve just sighed before saying he needed a drink.

Bucky’s lips found yours in a heated dance, his mouth swallowing each and every sound you make. His hands gripped your hips tightly. The gruff sounds leaving his throat were heavenly to your ears. “I need you, Bucky. Please,” he didn’t waste a single moment as he shoved your dress up to your hips.

He let out a string of curses as he noticed you weren’t wearing any underwear. “Fuckin’ killing me, doll.” His lips meet yours again, his hand reaching down to feel your slick between his fingers. You were absolutely drenched, and he moaned, the sound vibrating against your lips.

“Barely even touched you, and you’re already this wet? Fuck, baby girl.” You reach down to feel his hard cock in the confined restraints of his pants suit. He was big. Your hand then rubbed the outline of his member, and you felt him twitch in your hand.

“God, your cock is so big, Buck.” He pants, eyes closing at the sensation of your fingers dipping into his trousers. “I wanna put my mouth on it, swirl my tongue ‘round those good spots.”

His hands jerked forward and pinned you against the wall, lifting you up becoming flushed against him. “Think you can tease me, hmm? Hasn’t anyone told you not to mess with the big, bad mobster?” You open your mouth to respond but are quickly cut off by him pounding into you. His muscular arm still hung above you, keeping you in just the right place. You were warm and soft; Bucky couldn't get enough. The two of you groaned with each thrust as he filled you fuller than ever.

“So tight,” he mutters into your ear. You bite your lip to keep you from screaming, his cock twisting and pulling every heavenly sensation. “You’re mine, yeah? You’re fucking mine.” The way he growled, the feral sound leaving his lips was intoxicating.

“Say it. Say you’re mine.” His tone was firm and feral. Your mind could barely process what he was saying. His other hand grabs your jaw to make you look at him, “I’m yours! I’ll always be yours.”

He pounded even harder into you, the smacking sounds of your body meeting his hips were loud. Your hands clutch his shoulders, your lips repeating his name over and over. “Fuck, Bucky!” He coaxed that spongy spot over and over, his eyes trailing down to watch his cock disappear into your lips. Your walls clench around him. “That’s it, doll. Take my cock.”

His words alone make you tip over the edge, your body seizing before releasing all of its pleasure. You don’t even care at this point, your screams escaping your mouth as he continues to pound into you. He goes to pull out of you to come, but you stop him. “No. Come in me, please. Wanna feel you for days.”

The way you sound, so desperate and pleading for him to come, to fill you full. He groans a low sound, his teeth coming down to bite your shoulder. He empties inside you there, coaxing your sweet walls with him. A small content sigh leaves you as you feel some of his cum drip out of your lips.

You both clean up as best as you can. You were trying to fix your hair while Bucky was trying to get the pre-cum out of his pants. You looked almost as good as new besides the post-sex glow radiating off of the two of you.

He kisses you, this one sweet and savory like you would vanish if he hadn’t put his lips on yours. You grin, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him in a bit more.

“C’mon. Let’s go back and greet more assh—” Darkness surrounded the whole ballroom as shrieks filled the air. His head whipped around as he tried to make his way through the crowd. “What’s going on?” Bucky shook his head at you, even though you couldn’t see a single thing. He didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like it.

“Baby, follow me, okay?” He’s holding your hand as he finally finds Sam and Steve. Steve had told them that the whole grid is out, affecting most of Brooklyn. But something didn’t feel right.

“Something feels off.” Sam agreed, prompting a suggestion to try and fix the power. Something rippled throughout his body and left a pang right in his chest.

“What’s going on?!” Steve tries to calm Bucky down. They knew something wasn’t right, something felt suspicious. They didn’t know what or how, but it was. Bucky could practically feel it in the air.

With a sigh of relief, the lights flickered back on. The sweet, soft music started playing again and everyone started to mingle. Bucky felt his shoulders relax as he turned towards you. But then he halted. You weren’t next to him. But you were just there, weren’t you? He had just been tugging you on the arm. He knew you were right there.

“Doll?” He whipped around, Steve and Sam trying to find you as well. They walked through the whole crowd yelling to make some room. Bucky checks everywhere; the supply closets, the kitchen, and the entire crowd. You were nowhere to be found. You were just… gone.

Bloody and Bruised: @xoasalxo @raven-rust @widowbite-legit @purselover2 @met4no1a @t3a-bag @stuckysavedmylive @gudenuph

Permanent: @captainchrisstan @angstysebfan @teenagereadersciencenerd @rebekahdawkins @hailmary-yramliah @stardust-galaxies @wiccanmetallicrose @keithseabrook27 @hereforthesunrise @lxdyred @ironbabey

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silhouetteofacedar · 3 years

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Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch.3: Jesus Is A Pisces

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder has forgotten Scully’s birthday every year but one. Actually, make that two now, since this year he’s determined to make the day special for her somehow. He’d asked her casually what her plans were, and she admitted that outside of a lunch with her mother and some church friends on Sunday the 22nd, she didn’t really have any intention to celebrate.

“It’s been a rough couple months,” she’d explained softly, and that’s all he needed to hear. She’d gained and then buried a daughter within a few days’ time over Christmas, for fuck’s sake. He didn’t know how she managed to stay sane after that, and if he thought about it for too long the waves of powerlessness and guilt that rolled over him were debilitating.

So instead he focused on what he could do.

“You wanna do something after work on Monday? I promise to be as un-festive as possible,” he offered.

She looked uncertain, licked her lip. “Just us?” she asked.

“Just you and me,” Mulder assured her, the words giving him a tiny, shameful thrill.

She was quiet for a moment. “Sure,” she said finally.

Come Monday, February 23rd, it’s business as usual in the basement office. They finalize their reports from the previous week’s case, wrangle their receipts, argue over who broke the stapler (It was him, she insists; while he claims she jammed the staples in and made it impossible to use properly).

At three minutes to five o’clock, she clears her throat softly as she gathers her things, and he can feel her preparing to speak.

“Yeah, Scully?” he murmurs.

“We still on for tonight?” she asks, sounding almost cautious, and his heart fractures.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he confirms, leafing through a file. “Be sure to bundle up.” He looks up at her and gives her a reassuring grin.

She looks happy and… relieved? Huh.

“Well, I’ll see you then,” she says, shrugging on her coat as she leaves.

Mulder smiles at the door as it clicks shut behind her. He’s unusually giddy about what he has planned for the evening.

Over the weekend he had gone to the grocery store since his refrigerator was barren, then camped out in his building’s laundry room all day Sunday washing every blanket he owned. He even stopped at the little bakery around the corner from his apartment, purchasing a single chocolate cupcake and a loaf of rye bread.

After work he packs his car with a cooler, a duffel bag, a large thermos of coffee, and a pile of blankets.

He’s surprised to see that she’s waiting for him on the steps of her apartment, wearing a heavy jacket and thick turtleneck sweater.

“I got too hot wearing all this inside,” she explains, climbing into the passenger seat. She seems almost excited, and he strangely wants to cry. God, he’s so fucking glad he had the balls to invite her out again.

“Where are we going, Mulder?” Scully asks.

“It’s a surprise,” he replies.

Seven minutes and three wrong turns later, he reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out the map, handing it to her. “Rock Creek Park, please, Navigator,” he says.

“Aha! I thought the route we were taking seemed… circuitous,” Scully says with a smirk, unfolding the map.

“Just tell me where to go; I don’t need a running commentary,” he gripes, secretly relishing her needling.

In about twenty minutes, they arrive at the park’s nature center. Mulder pulls into the lot next to the field across the road and cuts the engine.

“We’re here?” Scully asks, looking around. “It’s deserted. Mulder, please don’t tell me we’re ghost hunting,”

“Ghosts? No,” he says, climbing out of the car and going around to the trunk. “Help me with some stuff?”

Scully comes around to the back of the car, where Mulder hands her the cooler and thermos. He slings the duffel bag over his shoulder and gathers up the pile of blankets. “Close the trunk, will you, Scully?” he says, walking towards the field. “My arms are full.”

They trudge out to the middle of the field, cold winter air biting their cheeks. Mulder stops abruptly and drops the blankets onto the ground in a heap.

“We’re here,” he announces, setting down the duffel bag. He picks up a heavy wool blanket and spreads it out on the grass.

Scully sits down on the blanket, cooler and thermos beside her. “What exactly are we doing out here, Mulder?” she asks.

“Well first, we eat,” he replies, reaching for the cooler. He opens it and pulls out two waxed-paper parcels, handing one to her. “Pastrami on rye,” he announces. “I went a little crazy with the mustard on one of them, we can trade if you want.”

“You made these?” she asks, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite. “Oh my god,” she groans. “Mulder, you’ve been holding out on me. This is delicious.”

The satisfaction in her voice makes him flush. “It’s pretty hard to mess up pastrami.”

“True,” she agrees, “but I was starting to doubt you could even make food. Your refrigerator is usually pretty sparse.”

Mulder shrugs, opening the thermos of coffee and pouring her a cup. “Cooking for one doesn’t hold much appeal,” he explains.

“Mm,” she agrees around a mouthful of sandwich, taking the proffered cup. “So Mulder, tell me; is there a reason we’re having a picnic in the dark?” She eyes the duffel bag beside him suspiciously.

“I’m glad you asked,” he replies, unzipping the bag and pulling out a tripod. “You know anything about constellations, Scully?”

It’s a rhetorical question, of course. He already knows.

“A thing or two,” she replies casually, clearly attempting to hide the smile sneaking across her mouth as she eats.

“Well that’s good, seeing as I lugged this telescope and a star map all the way out here,” he says, pulling the telescope case out of the bag.

Scully is enraptured, and Mulder thinks this might be the best thing he’s ever done for anyone.

“I haven’t done this in years,” she says, peering through the eyepiece as she adjusts the telescope’s position. “Not since…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to. He remembers her telling him once, on a long car ride to some anonymous, unremarkable town, about stargazing with her father when she was a child. Captain Ahab and his Starbuck, navigating the night skies by way of celestial markers.

The temperature’s dropping, and Mulder drapes the ratty tribal weave blanket from his couch around her shoulders as she searches the heavens.

“You want a turn?” she asks, drawing back from the telescope for a moment.

He shakes his head, plops down on the blanket and gazes at her instead.

They could be astronauts together, sailors of the stars. Dropping anchor in pools of the Milky Way, swimming through constellations and running their fingers through glittering strands of nebulae.

“I’m good,” he replies softly.

“Mulder?” Scully says from under a pile of blankets.

They’re lying on their backs now, side by side, eyes on the sky. Waiting for a meteor, or a passing satellite, or for God to wave hello.

“Yeah, Scully?”

“Do you give any credence to astrology, or is that too close to religion for you?”

“I appreciate its historical and cultural significance,” he replies. “Beyond that, I can’t say I have much of an opinion on it. Aren’t you a Pisces?” he asks, as though he doesn’t already know that she is, and that he’s a Libra, and that the shitty magazine he picked up in the dentist’s office says they’d be a tumultuous but passionate match. Not that he gives horoscopes any weight.

Passionate, though…

“I am. And I’m inclined to agree with you, though astrology’s link with early Christianity is fascinating. For example, did you know that Jesus is linked to Pisces? His birth coincides with the dawning of the astrological Age of Pisces, which spans from 1 AD to the year 2150. There are many scriptural references to fishermen, and early Christians used the fish symbol as a sign of their faith.”

“Huh,” he says, tucking a blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

“I don’t believe that the stars dictate my temperament, by the way,” Scully continues. “But there’s something beautiful about having a constellation in the sky that corresponds with your own birth. Missy knew more about this stuff,” she say wistfully. “She’d read me my horoscope every morning before school while we brushed our hair or whatever, in the bathroom where Mom couldn’t hear. It was fun,” she says with a sigh.

“Do you think she’s out there, in the stars?” Mulder asks and immediately regrets it. He didn’t mean the question to sound flippant.

Scully takes it in stride. “Is it crazy if I say maybe? There’s… there’s things I’ve seen and heard, Mulder, that I can’t explain. Who am I to say how God operates? Maybe He’s laid the stars out like a map for us to read. That’s probably wishful thinking, but life would be a hell of a lot simpler if everything was dictated by heavenly bodies.”

“Better that than by governing bodies,” Mulder agrees.

Their eyes drift along the razor-sharp curves of the crescent moon.

“My mom wants to set me up with one of her church friends’ sons,” Scully says without preamble.

“Huh,” Mulder replies, tracing Orion with his eyes. “Let me guess; he’s a dentist.”

“Emergency physician, actually,” she replies. “He’s nice.”

Mulder suddenly feels the weight of gravity pressing him down to earth. He can feel the rotation of the planet under his back, spinning him at a thousand miles an hour. “You’ve met him?” he asks.

“Yesterday, at lunch,” Scully replies. “He’s a widower, with a six-year-old daughter. I think… I think my mom thinks we could help each other.”

Mulder’s stomach churns, a facsimile of seasickness rolling through his body. “What do you think?” he asks, voice oddly hoarse. “Do you… agree with her?”

Scully pulls the blanket higher under her chin and sighs. “I don’t know, Mulder. I’m thirty-four today, and my career runs my life. I’m not sure how many chances at a family will come my way in the future. It’s not ideal, but maybe I’m past the point of getting to choose.” She pauses. “I’m sorry, I’m being fatalistic.”

Despite the near-freezing temperature, he’s got a cold sweat forming on his back. “You can always choose, Scully. As far as I see it. It’s-it’s important to me that you know that.”

She rolls onto her side, snaking a hand out of the blanket to prop herself up on her elbow beside him. “Mulder, I know you blame yourself for the things that have happened to me. But they’re not your fault.” He opens his mouth and she interrupts him before he can speak. “Don’t argue with me. It’s my birthday.”

He’s grateful for a change of subject. “That reminds me,” he says, sitting up and reaching over to open the cooler.

He pulls out a small pink bakery box and opens it to remove a single chocolate cupcake with a candle stuck in the middle. He digs a lighter out of his coat pocket and gives it a flick, igniting the candle.

“Happy birthday, Scully,” he says sheepishly, holding out the cupcake.

The single flame shimmers in her eyes as she takes the dessert. “Mulder,” she says softly, in a tone that makes his heart turn to liquid. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

“Just make a wish and blow the candle out before the wind does it for you,” he replies. There’s only a bit of a breeze but he’s not taking any chances. She deserves a wish.

Her eyes fall closed, and she sighs contentedly, no doubt formulating her request. Suddenly she opens her eyes and locks her gaze with his over the flickering candle, and Mulder feels a thousand words rumbling in him like an approaching avalanche.

Before he can say anything she purses her lips and extinguishes the lone flame with a breath.

She pulls the candle out of the cupcake and pops the end into her mouth, licking off chocolate frosting, and Mulder thinks he might die right there on a blanket in Rock Creek Park. He’s been so good, keeping his feelings to himself, but in this moment his only thoughts are that he loves her and wants her; no, needs her. He needs to touch her, taste the icing on her lips, map the constellations of freckles hiding beneath her sweater. Shake the winter chill out of his bones, letting the flames of her red hair lick across his skin and light his whole body on fire.

She’s saying something to him, biting into the cupcake, chocolate crumbs falling onto the blanket.

“Hm?” he asks, returning to terra firma.

“I asked if you wanted a bite,” she reiterates.

Yes, his body responds. Please please please-

“It’s yours,” he says as a declination.

“Therefore it’s mine to share,” she declares. She holds it out to him, and his stomach flutters as he leans in and takes a bite. He thinks of his parents’ faded wedding photos, of them feeding each other cake in black and white.

Don’t date the doctor guy, he pleads silently as he chews. Stay with me. Show me galaxies.

She falls asleep on the car ride home with one of his blankets tucked around her, the car’s heater cranked all the way up. When he parks in front of her building she stirs, likely awoken by the sudden cessation of warm air on her feet.

“Scully,” Mulder says softly, “We’re home.”

“Mmm,” she responds. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” he answers, glancing at his watch. “Can you walk or should I carry you up?” The question feels faintly suggestive, and he’s only being so bold because she’s drowsy and likely not registering the subtext.

“I can walk,” she says, sitting up and removing the blanket. Her hair is a fuzzy red halo in the glow of the streetlights.

“I’ll go with you,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Make sure you don’t pass out on your way up.”

“Thanks,” she yawns. “I don’t know why car rides make me so drowsy,” she says. “It’s like I’m five years old again.”

“Or it’s hypothermia,” Mulder suggests jokingly. “It got pretty damn cold out there.”

“Winter night picnics aren’t the most practical, it’s true,” she says. “But the blankets and coffee were a good idea.”

When they reach Scully’s apartment door she turns to face him. “Thank you for this,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

He smiles softly at her. “Happy birthday,” he replies.

He’s mentally debating giving her a hug when she reaches out and pulls him in gently, arms looped around his waist. He wraps his arms around her and drops a light kiss to the crown of her head.

It’s over way too soon.

“Goodnight,” she says. “See you tomorrow.”

If he says anything else to her before she slips into the apartment and closes the door, he doesn’t remember it. His feet are firmly on the ground, carrying him out of her apartment building and back to his car, but his head is far above the atmosphere, adrift in space.

He’s so in love he feels as though he’s running out of air.

#my fic #msr #txf fic #xfiles #fox mulder closet romantic #FMCR #I love this chapter okay fight me #Scully’s birthday #stargazing and shit

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snikt111 · 7 months

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everyones a little in love with hal jordan!

i couldnt help myself, hes just so pretty. appreciate him muscles

#mordie can draw #im obsessed with her #i love her #genderfluid icon btw #he/she pronouns for hal idc what anyone says #sighhhh #ch: whos got time for heavenly things?#hal jordan #green lantern #dc fanart #dc comics #hal jordan fanart #green lantern fanart #fanart #comics #comic fanart #green lantern hal jordan

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mqgriett · 3 years

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Crosshair- The Exam

Prompt: “You’re the only thing that matters”

Pairings: Crosshair x Fem!reader

Warnings: none!

Summary: you’ve been studying your ass off for a month trying to prepare for the exam that will dictate whether or not you get to go back to the 104th battalion as a medic.

Notes: IM SORRY THIS IS SO LONG thank you sm for requesting @lightning-wolffe

You shut off your data pad and pushed it under your armpit, squeezing it with your bicep to not let it fall from your grip as you open your textbook. Before you received the chance to re-read your highlighted notes you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“I heard that your boys landed in Hangar 5.” Kix chirped, pointing behind him with his thumb. He ran his opposite hand through his short brown hair, smiling kindly.

You hummed in response, your attention mostly focused on your annotations. The big exam, one that basically determined whether or not you were allowed to return to your assigned Clone Force, was in three days. Every quiet moment was spent with you cracking open a textbook or reviewing your notes. Now that you thought about it, when was the last time you ate… or slept?

Kix quickened his pace and moved in front of you, using his index finger to push your book down to properly view your face. “You know the exam isn’t for another three days, right?” he asked.

You pressed your lips in a thin line, “Unfortunately not everyone has a memory like yours. I need to study.” you said, closing your book and bopping him on the head with it lightly.

He took the textbook from your hands, holding it up in the air until it was out of your reach. “Fives!” he called to someone you couldn’t see, “Batchers still here?”

Behind you, the ARC trooper nodded, “Gonna be here for the next coupla hours. Engine is shot.”

Kix let his guard down just long enough for you to grab your study materials back. You gently nudged him to the side and walked past, just wanting to get back to your quarters and study.

The medic gave up, hurrying to catch up with Fives as you walked in the opposite direction.

Were you dying to see the Bad Batch? Absolutely.

Did you have the time to? Unfortunately not.

Someone (a medic from the 212th apparently, but you tried not to believe rumors) had fucked up a month ago, and it costs you your privilege of being an on-site medic. All field nurses were sent back to Coruscant to retake the big medical exam to prove that they could still serve as medics.

Unlike Kix, you took it very seriously. Getting anything below a 80% would make your chances of returning small. Only the top 45% of nurses would go back to their battalions while the other 55% stayed on Coruscant to continue their studies.

The large metal door to your room slid open as you scanned your hand and you stepped inside. Without looking up, you wandered to your desk, which was covered in an assortment of different papers and sticky notes.

Still reading your textbook, you typed in the access code for your online notes. After a few seconds an automated female voice began to quiz you on questions you had written down two weeks ago.

You stood up and undressed yourself, lazily pulling a dark brown shirt over your head and letting your hair fall loose from the bun that had sat on your head for the majority of the day.

“Define Choledocholithiasis.” said the voice.

“Stones in the gallbladder or common bile duct” you replied effortlessly, shuffling to your bathroom to fill the water compartment for your caf.

You plugged the machine into the wall, allowing the slow drip of heavenly brown liquid to start as you sat back down at your desk. It gave you a moment to think about everything. Realistically, you were more qualified than half the shinies going in to take the exam.

Kriff, you were wasting your time here.

You pushed back from your desk and slid on the first pair of shoes that were near your door.

The halls had quieted down for the most part, most of the clones eating dinner or heading to bed if they had an early start tomorrow morning.

Massaging your scalp and yawning, you made your way to Hangar 5.

You looked a little tired, but it didn’t matter as long as you got to see Crosshair. You knew none of them would care but especially not him, in the small window of time you two got alone he frequently told you how much he loved your messy hair. He wasn’t much of a verbal communicator when it came to your relationship, but he always made up for it in physical gestures.

Rounding the final corner, your eyes began to scan the busy hangar for the marauder. You took back your thought from earlier, seeing that Hangar 5 was a lot more busy than you had anticipated.

At least two different squadrons were shipping out, from what you could tell it was the 104th and 312th battalions. The blurred figures of grey and green armor made it difficult to keep your focus on one thing at a time.

You carefully started to walk along the wall, ducking until a small cruiser as a short cut.

After another ten minutes of searching you finally spotted a familiar face in the bottom right corner of the hangar.

Tech typed away at his data pad, turning to shout something up at Wrecker, who was sitting on the top of the ship and swinging his legs like a mad man.

Despite the excitement bubbling in your stomach, you took your time walking over to them. It was nice to just observe and laugh at their behavior for a few minutes, it lifted your spirits.

Once you were within vision to Wrecker, he didn’t hesitate to point and shout at you from the top of the Marauder.

“Tech!” You called as he mindlessly searched for you in the crowd of people.

He grinned widely, opening his arms up as you jogged over to him. He hugged you tightly, another pair of large arms suddenly wrapping around both of you.

Wrecker finally set you two down, giving you an individual hug and swaying you from side to side. At one point you were almost choking.

“Thought you were studying for the exam.” Tech said skeptically, eyeing you as if you would ever hide something from him.

You shrugged, “priorities” you peeked over his shoulder, looking for a specific person.

Tech noticed your wandering eyes and smiled, “Cross is taking inventory with Cody.”

“Where’s Sarg?” you asked, linking your arm into his.

“Talking to some of the blue regs.” Wrecker replied loudly, making a few of the 501st soldiers turn to look at him. The large clone was never one to be secretive when it came to addressing the other clones as “regs”. It often drew attention to the group, not necessarily the good kind either.

From a distance you could see Hunter walking back towards the Marauder with Fives, both of them with their helmets at their hips.

Sarg’s eyes lit up at the sight of you, his pace quickening as his urge to be with you grew. He hugged your torso tightly, allowing his arm to sling around your shoulder loosely afterwards.

“It’s been a while.” He said, gently nudging you away from Fives before the ARC trooper could talk.

“It’s been two months. And I always call.” You replied, smiling.

“You look exhausted.” Hunter pointed out quickly, looking down at the bags under your eyes.

You shrugged, “could say the same for you Sarg.”

You four situated yourselves underneath the Marauder, sitting on top of a few power supplies and food crates. Hunter sat next to you, Wrecker and Tech mirroring both of you.

“We were told you wouldn’t be coming down.” Hunter said, leaning back on his elbows.

You raised a skeptical brow, “who told you that?”

“Fives” he answered nonchalantly, “why else would I be talking to him?”

His comment made your eyes roll, “be nice.” You warned, poking his stomach where armor didn’t cover him.

Hunter swatted your hand away, briefly turning his head and smiling. “Look who’s back,” he jutted his thumb behind him, pointing to the two other clones making their way back to the ship.

Cody held a clipboard loosely at his side as he spoke to Crosshair, who carried his helmet against his hip. The 212th trooper laughed at something he said before saluting the sniper and walking in the opposite direction.

You always seemed to forget how handsome Cross was in person. The blue hologram of him during your brief calls did nothing for his strong jawline and high cheekbones. The scruff along his jaw and neck was slightly more visible now, a grey shadow lingering along it.

Pushing yourself off the crate, you broke into a swift jog towards him. For someone with perfect eyesight, he didn’t notice you coming until you were a few meters away.

He opened his arms up, catching you perfectly as you jumped to him.

His long arms held your waist completely as he lowered you to the ground, back arched due to his height compared to yours.“Didn't think you would come.” he said softly in your ear, his voice alone producing butterflies in your stomach.

“I wanted to see you.” you replied, pulling away from him and moving to his side.

Crosshair sent a small smirk to you, which was enough to indicate that he felt the same way.

You walked side by side back to the rest of the group, shoulders touching and hands grazing against one another’s. The gestures were sweet, like the type you would make in school when you were younger. They were enough to make the other person feel loved without drawing too much attention.

The Bad Batch, plus you, sat underneath their ship once more as the rest of the 104th took off in their ships. You waved to Sinker and Comet from the opposite side of the hangar, tossing over-dramatic kisses in their direction while they climbed up the steps. Another mission for them, one that you wouldn’t be going to.

“When do you expect to return?” Tech asked from the top of his crate. You had situated yourself on a lower case, one that was used to store bombs and other small explosives. It kept you about seven or eight inches off the ground while Crosshair took your spot next to Hunter.

You let out a long sigh, “I don’t even know if I’ll go back.”

“They need ya out there.” Wrecker replied, crossing his large legs like a child would.

Crosshair could sense your unease and pushed himself off the crate, settling on the ground in front of you and leaning back so his head pressed against your chest. He let out a small chuckle, no doubt feeling your heartbeat quicken for a few moments. “They’ll take you back.” he said calmly, reaching for your hand and placing it atop his head.

You began to run your fingers through his short, grey hair. “If I don’t get above an 80% then I’m not going back.” You mumbled.

“Why 80?” Hunter asked innocently.

“Because she’s a girl.” Wrecker replied loudly, having absolutely zero common sense as to who could be listening.

Crosshair tense underneath you, muscles tightening against your legs, “Wrecker.” he seethed, using his brother’s full name.

Your face dropped, cheeks heating up. He was right, but hearing someone finally say it out loud made it worse. That was the real reason you had been dedicating so many weeks to studying. Even if Kix received a 45% and you an 80%, they would choose him over you. Clones were bred to be intelligent. You were just a girl who somehow got Senator Palpatine to assign you to a clone squadron.

You wiggled your way out from under Crosshair, stepping over the low crate of explosives and walking up the steps of the Marauder. It was cold inside but the chill felt so nice against your hot body.

In all honesty, you wanted to cry. You wanted to go back to your room and bawl your eyes out until you physically couldn’t produce tears anymore. But you knew you couldn’t, that would be showing weakness.

Soft footsteps echoed behind you, Cross’s monotone voice ringing in your ears shortly after, “he didn’t mean that.”

You shook your head, “No no, he’s right.”

He took a few steps towards you, gently reaching for your wrist and pulling you into him. He rested his chin on your head, “you’ll do great on the exam.”

You pushed off of him, needing a bit of air to keep from crying. You shook your wrists out and looked up at the ceiling, it helped a little bit. “Just nervous.” you muttered.

He stayed silent, not exactly sure how to comfort you. Words frequently failed him and in the rare occasion that you were upset Tech was able to calm you down, but not this time. Crosshair wanted to make you feel better, no matter what it took.

You hated being this vulnerable around anyone, the panic in your stomach growing every second of silence that passed.

Taking a deep breath, you began to walk past him, “I need to go, you have more important things to-”

He caught your bicep and spun you back around, other hand holding the small of your back as he kissed you. It was a deep, passionate, yet chaste, kiss. You melted into his grip, leaning backwards to force his lips onto yours more. You held the sides of his face, the small scruff on his jaw feeling immaculate against your own.

He rested your foreheads together and quietly, barely audibly, whispered, “you’re the only thing that matters.”

You were about to kiss him again when Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker walked through the door.

Hunter smiled, “Guess who’s got a new nurse on the team.”

Your head cocked to the side, Wrecker looking like he was about to explode from excitement at any moment. “We do!” he bellowed, “and it’s you!”

Mouth hanging open, you looked from Crosshair to the other three. “What?”

“Welcome to Clone Force 99, medic.” Hunter answered proudly.

#clone trooper crosshair #crosshair x reader #clone trooper hunter #clone trooper wrecker #clone trooper tech #clone trooper echo #badbatch #bad batch #clone force 99 #bad batch x reader

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Text

Too Good for Grey

A/N: Sooo this is a fic that I’ve had in mind ever since I first posted my list of Imagine Ideas a while ago! Though I know Charlie’s decision not to play the role of Christian Grey is what was best for him, part of me will always be heartbroken that we all missed out on 50 Shades of Hunnam 😭💔 In this fic you’re his girlfriend; he’s considering the role and you let him... practice in the bedroom 😏

Pairing: Charlie Hunnam x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, rough sex, dom!Charlie, blindfold, bondage, punishment, light flogging (just with his belt, nothing too intense) Request: No specific request, but there’s been demand for a Part 2 of Red Carpet Rogue and I decided to write this fic as a sequel to it!

Word Count: ~3.4k

[Please read Red Carpet Rogue first if you haven’t yet! Otherwise the second paragraph won’t make much sense without that reference...]

You love mornings like this one. Lazy weekends with your boyfriend, hottest man under the sun. Completely chill and easy and carefree, nowhere to be. No work, no plans. You’re seated in his lap feeding him pancakes from your fork, since that’s the only way to get your man to focus on his breakfast. Charlie’s hands are fully occupied, roving and reckless, moving all over your robe and deep inside. Clearly still riding high from such a scandalously sexy night.

You push another forkful past his lips, then playfully lean in to lick some syrup from his chin as it so sweetly drips. His stubble tickles, causing you to giggle, while he growls and tightens his grip on your hips. “Mmm...” he hums, digging into your skin with his thumbs. “You know I still can’t get over just how fucking awesome last night was, Y/N. Thinking we should invest in a stretch of red carpet to relive it over and over again.”

“Hmm, I like the way you’re thinking...” you respond, settling deeper in his lap and slowly sinking, till you feel your man’s enormous cock grind up against your cunt. Heat burning through your silk robe and his sweatpants. “God, you were so fucking dominant. More than you’ve ever been.”

“That a good thing?” the bastard asks you, as if he has to, bursting into laughter when you shoot him a glare of the fuck do you think?!? Your dom/sub dynamic is not a new thing. “Well, chalk it up to this new script that I’m considering. Came my way yesterday before we headed out for the evening.”

He gestures at the stack of papers on the counter behind him just now, which you hadn’t noticed all morning somehow. You blink at the title printed on the front page and cannot believe what you’re seeing. Basically stop breathing. “Oh, wow...”

Charlie flashes a cheeky grin as he gets off on your reaction. Can’t resist making a stupid dirty pun, ‘cause he’s the worst. Rubbing his crotch harder against yours as he says the words. “Yeah, who could’ve seen that coming.”

“Now if you’re gonna start talking dirty to me, Mr. Hunnam... you’d better be ready to act on it,” you warn him, well aware he’s been ready and raring to go all damn morning. “I know you’d slay this role but don’t know if you really want it, to be honest.”

He shrugs as he kisses stray drops of maple syrup from the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, I’ve got my doubts. But haven’t ruled it out. Think some part of me wants it. Luckily I’ve got the greatest girlfriend in the world to help me work through my decision-making process.”

“Well, should we call it work...” your lips curve into a seductive smirk, “...or play?”

At those words, Charlie’s cock fucking jerks. That’s your answer, of course. Better than anything he can say.

And you’re so fucking ready to meet Mr. Grey.

***************

“You sure about this, babe?” he asks as you hastily finish your pancakes. You’re hungry for something quite different, for fuck’s sake. Your pussy’s so wet that it practically aches. “It’s not like we have a red room...”

“But we do have a very nice bedroom,” you tell him. He’s trying to stall and you’re not gonna let him. You’re ready to go. “Plus we’ve got, you know—silk scarves and ties, a closet full of all kinds of hardware supplies. So I’m sure you can... improvise.”

Charlie’s still acting as if he has to think twice. Blinks twice, with an excited little twinkle in his eyes. “Somebody’s eager...”

“Somebody? Both of us, baby. You know you can’t wait for this either.”

“I just want to make sure you’re ready...”

“Charlie, I know you’ll take things slow and steady. I trust you completely,” you reassure him as you kiss his cheek softly and sweetly. “Besides, we’ll rely on the traffic lights code. Red for stop, yellow for ease it up. Green for go. They used those safewords in the books, right? Never read them so I don’t really know.”

“Then how do you know what—”

“Know what Fifty Shades even involves? Love, I’m not some kind of pop culture idiot,” you interrupt, taking his hand to guide him down the halls. You’re really not about to let him stand and stall. “And I may have looked up... a few things on Google. Being such a kinky bitch and all. Brainstorming new ways to play the role of your submissive little slut.”

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he grunts as he finally gives in to what he wants, suddenly slipping into dom mode all at once. Changing his tone, making you moan, slamming you up against the wall. Towering over you so big and strong and tall. “Who would’ve thought... who knew that’s what my sweet little girl is up to when you’re clicking away on your laptop? Googling filthy ways for me to fuck you up?”

You groan in desire as his dirty words start a fire. “Ch-Charlie...”

He reacts just as you knew he would, and his dominance feels so damn good. Last night he scolded you just the same, when you called him by name. “What the fuck do you call me?”

“Sir,” you instantly answer. Obviously. Filled with the urge to say more, like a good proper whore, since you feel more submissive than ever before. Thirsty for fifty shades of Charlie. “Thank you for reminding me, sir. I’m so sorry.”

“You better be,” he chides, sliding his hands down your shivering sides, then swiftly untying your robe and letting it fall open wide. His touch upon your skin is hot as hell and fucking heavenly. “Your place in life is to obey. Do as I say. To serve and pleasure me.”

“Yes, sir,” you whimper, breathing heavily, as he cradles your face in his dominant fingers. “I promise I’ll always remember.”

You’ve known it to be true, since the day you first met him: Charlie Hunnam owns you, and you fucking let him. You’re fated to live for his pleasure and love him forever.

He reads all of the thoughts in your head as he slowly lets go of your face, slaying you with his blazing blue gaze. Though you moan at the loss of his fingers, the power and passion of his touch still lingers. You can feel it all over your sensitive skin. Fifty shades of pure sin.

And you love it. Want every damn shade of it. Already so addicted to the deep submissive state you’re in.

The next words that he speaks... make you so fucking weak. Mr. Grey has most certainly come out to play. And he is here to stay. To make you fifty shades of horny. “That’s a good little whore. Gonna give you the punishment you’ve been so desperately hoping for. Now run off to the bedroom and wait for me... facing away from the open door... naked and down on your knees.”

****************

Yes, sir. Yes, please. You’re pretty sure your cunt is leaking all over the floor as you obey your master’s orders, flinging your robe off your shoulders, stripping down and sitting back upon your heels.

It’s not the first time Charlie’s ordered you to kneel—but this right now... just hits different somehow. He’s so hot it’s unreal, too dominant for you to even deal. And you’re obsessed with how insanely good it feels.

You’ve already lost track of just how long you’ve waited. Heart racing, breath bated. How much time has passed? It may have been two minutes or two hundred. You just know that once your man arrives at last, he’ll be all set to give you everything you’ve wanted.

The moment when he finally comes... you feel his presence from across the room. Exuding vibes of absolute alpha male dom. And you’re so desperate to receive all of that energy from him. You can’t believe how blessed you are to be his woman. Here experiencing fifty shades of Hunnam.

Though you’re dying to turn behind you toward the door to see how good he surely looks right now, you stop yourself somehow. Keep both hands resting on your thighs, with lowered eyes, head bowed. Still and silent, though self-conscious that you are breathing incredibly loud. You’re so fucking aroused.

As Charlie takes a few deliberate steps toward you... rests his hand against your head, stroking your hair and tenderly twining his fingers through... you already feel dead. Can’t stop some smutty sound from slipping out your slutty little mouth.

He then reaches around, to trace his thumb across your bottom lip, shifting his grip before you can even attempt to kiss his fingertips. Needs you to know that you are not to make a sound, till he allows. That he owns you without a fucking doubt.

He’s owning you now with the tone of his voice and the touch of his hand. “Y/N. I need you to understand... that you are mine to command.”

“Yes, sir,” you breathlessly answer. And the slut in you compulsively reacts, tilting your head back, in an effort to make eye contact. Dying to look up at his gorgeous face, to meet his gaze, as you profess the shameless fact: that you belong to him, in every way and always...

And yet your man has other plans. Prevents you from catching a glimpse of him before you even can. He had arrived with something in his hands—a strip of cloth, some kind of tie or scarf, silken and soft. He masterfully fastens it around your eyes the moment that your head tilts back, and suddenly your vision fades to black.

“Now that’s no way for a good little slut to act,” Charlie scolds, as he tightens your blindfold. “Shifting from your position? Moving without my permission?”

Ugh God, he’s so hot you could die. “I...”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I’m sick of your worthless apologies. High time I teach you a lesson in proper submission.”

“Ohh, sir—” you moan as he pulls you closer, till the back of your head rubs against the huge bulge in his crotch. The prize that you crave so fucking much. The object of your dreams. You can tell that he’s wearing your favorite jeans, and his cock is so hard it’s obscene, bursting out of the seams.

Then he effortlessly hoists you onto your feet, the bare skin of your back sliding up against his upper body—shirtless, naturally—so that you can feel every firm ridge of his muscles and all of his raw carnal heat. “Now I know what you want... but what’s much more important... I know what you need.”

Those words murder your cunt, and it feels like time stops. Then the next thing you know Charlie has you facedown on the bed, both arms over your head. And he’s tying you up. Binding both of your wrists to the bedposts, with some fucking serious rope.

This is everything your inner slut ever hoped. And you can’t even cope.

He’s just getting started and already this feels so damn perfect you just want to cry. Fucking magic. You’re fucking ecstatic. Tears of pure euphoria rise to your eyes, fighting at the blindfold he had tied, dampening the fabric.

Charlie picks up on all your unspoken emotions, as he always does. He can tell that you’re buzzed and just wants to make sure that this isn’t too much. Leaning in near, to whisper sweetly in your ear. “How’s the traffic?”

“Huh...?” you reply in a hazy sigh, taking a moment just to realize what he means. “Oh—green. So green.”

“Mmm, good to know,” he smirks against your cheek, as you revert to being too horny to speak. “But we can always take it slow. Just let me know if we’re approaching yellow—”

All of a sudden you’re able to speak again, just then. The words are somewhat muffled as your face is partly burrowed in the pillows; you make sure that Charlie hears you loud and clear, though. “Hell no. Green means fucking go.”

“If you say so...” he smirks once more, kissing your cheek before he lifts off of your back, all fucking ready to attack. You both can’t wait for what’s in store.

Charlie has spanked you countless times before. With you facedown in bed, you would’ve guessed that’s what he had in mind—to slap your slutty ass red, then to fuck you from behind. Remind you that you’ll always be his dirty little fucking whore.

Today you’re hoping for a little something more.

And that’s exactly what he’s giving. This time around... the punishment’s bound to hit different.

You can hear the faint rustle, telltale sound of metal and leather as Charlie undoes his belt buckle. Oh, shit—surprise, surprise—for some of these supplies, he didn’t even have to venture in the hardware closet.

Everything he needs to exert his total dominance, he’s fucking got it.

And it’s everything you’ve ever fucking wanted.

“Know just how much this pretty ass loves getting punished...” he teases, taking your bare naked cheeks in his hands with a few tender strokes and squeezes.

If you had to guess—without being able to witness—he must’ve looped his undone belt around his neck to free both hands for just a minute. He must look so fucking hot right now. An absolute sex god like nobody’s business.

“This sweet ass will look even prettier in pink by the time we’re finished,” he says it like a promise, and you really hope he keeps it, to be honest. “You know I would say prettier in red, but...”

“Oh, no, that’s a bad word,” you murmur in playful laughter. Repeat the right color to make sure he feels reassured. “Green, sir. Want you to let loose and get fucking mean, sir.”

“Ugh fuck,” he murmurs, as you hear him smile while he slides the leather belt off of his shoulders. You can just imagine what the sight of you in such submission has done to his denim-clad cock. “You’re killing me, love...”

“But that’s your job. I’m the sub,” you remind him, well aware you’re coming close to topping from the bottom. Sort of. Whatever it takes, to get Mr. Grey to come out to play, to feel comfortable falling into his role as your absolute dom. “Now go crazy and get rough. I promise I want it, sir. Honest. I can’t get enough.”

“Such a good fucking slut,” Charlie rasps, slowly grazing the edge of the leather across the soft globes of your ass. “Once we’re done with your punishment... you know I’m gonna fucking wreck this perfect little cunt?”

“Yes, sir. Please punish me and use my pussy for your pleasure.”

“Motherfucker...” you hear him quietly mutter, scrambling to strip out of his jeans, because his cock is probably straining in pain against the denim, harder than it’s ever been. No surprise since your cunt’s also wetter than ever. It’s just so perfect that you two are getting off on this together. You love the way your dirty words have this effect on him, just as his do on you. You’re such a slut for Mr. Hunnam; the best thing is that he’s such a slut for you, too.

Once he’s finally naked and gets in position behind you, he takes a few seconds to soak in the view. Psyching up for what he is about to do: whip the shit out of you. Just as you want him to.

“Now with each lash that comes down, I want you to keep count. And need you to repeat the color. Loud. You understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you swear, yielding to his command, instinctively arching your ass up in the air, because you’re desperate for your punishment. “Yes, sir, I understand. Green means hit me as hard as you can.”

“You fucking greedy little cunt,” he taunts with a dominant sneer. “Who makes the rules here? I’m gonna go just as hard or as soft as I want.”

You realize you were stupid to think he would go so hard, right from the start. Charlie knows where your limits are, even when you don’t. He reads your body and your mind and sees into your heart. Knows just what you need even when you’re too focused on only what you want. That’s why you have no doubt that he’ll dish out the most perfect punishment.

And so he does.

From the very first lash on your ass... your breath halts with a heart-stopping gasp. You have never felt such a damn buzz. From the way the sensation bursts onto your skin, underneath the smooth leather, a blossom of sin, pain blurring into pleasure... you want this to just go on forever and ever.

Your master had given you orders, you somehow remember. “One...!” you scream, as you sink deeper into submission, so desperate for him it’s obscene. “Oh God, thank you, sir. Green.”

“Good girl,” he mutters, just before he treats you to another. Each hit makes your fucking toes curl. You are the luckiest bitch in the entire fucking world.

“Two! Fuck, thank you...” you wholeheartedly thank him again and again, with each serving of perfect pain, grateful to your dom for how fucking awesome it feels. It’s unreal. And you keep screaming green on repeat, to give him all the safety and comfort he needs.

He’s enjoying this, no doubt—his cock’s standing rock hard and proud—but this first time around, with each strike that comes down, Charlie is much more focused on reading your signals. Respecting your limits, especially when it’s so tempting to test them a little. You don’t really seem to have any with him, as far as he can tell. Which is epic on some level, but also scary as hell.

He decides when you’re finished, with getting punished, since you’re taking it too fucking well. All you want is more of it; you love it and can’t think of anything else. On your end it’s exquisite. Excruciating ecstasy fulfilling your every fantasy. All because it’s pain coming from him. Fifty shades of Hunnam. All because of how deeply you worship and love him.

If there’s one thing you love more than taking these whips from his belt, the sweetest sting you have ever felt... it’s getting ripped to pieces by his massive cock. Playing your lifelong role as a slut for Sir Hunnam to fuck. Taking him in your soaking wet cunt, letting him ravage you just as hard and as fast as he wants, rough and savage, dishing out some serious damage, till you both explode deep inside and all over each other at once.

Something about the hard passionate sex today, the way he wrecks today... feels even hotter after how you got to play.

Apparently he really likes it when you tap into his inner Mr. Grey.

You both come harder than you ever have, as his huge shaft unloads inside your hole and feeds your soul and breaks you right in half. Breathing in shallow gasps as you feel him fucking collapse, your naked back slick from the sweat off of his sculpted chest and his firm chiseled abs. His face is buried in your hair, and though you know how much he wants to unfasten your blindfold and unbind your wrists, so he can turn you over for a heartfelt kiss, and shower you with hours of loving aftercare... right now your man’s just laying there and praying for some air.

He’s just so perfect it’s not fair. You know he’ll spend the whole rest of the day talking through all your feelings, treating you to every form of healing. Endlessly obsessing over every mark upon your skin, like he committed some ungodly sin, compulsively asking you whether you’re really okay. And he’ll keep on asking no matter what you say. Although he also loves to play this way... deep down he’s doing it for you, because his love is pure and true.

And that was when you fucking knew: this man is way too good to take the role that he was offered yesterday. You’re here to help him though each step of his decision-making process, to respect him if he wants this, and support him either way—but you already feel quite sure after today that your man Charlie is quite honestly... too good for Grey.

***************

Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did!! 🤗❤️

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starshine583 · 4 years

Text

New Girl on the Block (4)

(Y’all ready to read the next update??? Enjoy part four of this fic and if you’re interested, feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called the Journal Entries. It’s just little journal snippets from the two dorks that I decided to write for fun :D)

Ch.1 / Ch.3 / Ch.5

Chapter 4: Get to Know You

Marinette slipped on her white, non-flour-covered leather jacket and pushed her pigtails back so they wouldn’t be tucked into her outfit. She then smoothed out her pink dress with a smile, admiring the black flowers that she’d stitched along the bottom. This dress had been one of her stress-relieving projects, but it turned out quite well, in her opinion.

Once Papa had finished teaching her friends how to fold the dough, he put their croissants into the fridge to chill them and instructed everyone to go upstairs and wash up. Marinette dutifully took them up to her room where her personal bathroom was and taught them how to use the shower, but when she tried to lead one of them to her parent’s bathroom as well, they insisted that she take a shower there herself.

“What kind of gentlemen would we be if we forced the ladies to wait on us?” Claude had said light-heartedly, though she could tell he meant it. Allegra’s smirk as she walked in the bathroom to take a shower first was proof of that.

The notion had warmed Marinette’s heart, coaxing a giggle from her each time she thought about it. It might be hard to see sometimes, but Claude, Allan, and Felix truly were a considerate and chivalrous group of boys.

Now, She’s finished her shower in her parent’s bathroom and gone back up to her bedroom, where Allegra, Claude, and Allan had been patiently waiting. Allegra was nice and clean again, wearing the long, purple shirt and black leggings that Marinette had given her, and Claude appeared to have just exited the shower, his damp hair sticking to his face and dripping across his borrowed, black and blue “O.K” shirt. Allan was still covered in flour.

Allegra smiled at Marinette from her spot on the chaise as she re-braided her long, golden blonde hair. “Thanks for the extra clothes, Mari! These are amazing.”

“Yeah!” Claude agreed enthusiastically, holding out his with a grin. “This shirt is awesome!”

Marinette glanced down to hide her blush. “I-It’s the least I could do.”

“We still appreciate it.” Allan replied.

“Oh!” Marinette said, suddenly thinking about the fact that Allan was still covered in flour. “Allan, do you want to use Maman’s shower? You don’t have to stand around waiting for Felix.”

That who she assumed was occupying the shower, anyway. The water was still running, and everyone but Felix was present.

Allan waved a hand. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll be getting a shower soon if Felix would hurry up.”

Marinette chuckled at Allan’s obvious call to Felix, even more so when Felix shouted back from the bathroom, “You’re the one that let me go first!”

“I didn’t know you would take a day and a half!”

“That’s still your fault then, isn’t it?” Felix shot back.

Allan scoffed and crossed his arms, causing Marinette to offer her parent’s shower again out of guilt. She had been the one to throw flour on him, after all.

“Are you sure you don’t want to-”

The bathroom door swung open, effectively cutting Marinette off, and Felix stepped out with one hand on his hip and the other hand on the towel that was draped across his head. He shot Allan a glare, practically growling the words, “There. I’m out. Are you happy?”

“Delighted.” Allan responded sarcastically.

Marinette might have been concerned about the growing conflict had she not been focused on Felix’s outfit. Or rather, how well it suited him. The black, three-quarter-sleeved shirt that she’d given him, along with the plaid green, button-up shirt she’d provided to go underneath, clung to his waist, revealing his surprisingly slender figure. The dark grey jeans he wore in place of his dress pants didn’t fit the outfit exactly, but they worked well enough, and Marinette eagerly started taking mental notes for future adjustments.

Allan grabbed his clothes and walked into the bathroom, while Felix glared daggers at him until the bathroom door closed.

“Woah~” Allegra crowed, easily breaking the tension. “You should wear casual outfits more often, Felix. They really suit you.”

Claude smirked. “No kidding. I swear you’ve worn the same suit for the whole two years we’ve known.”

Felix turned his glare to Claude with a scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve worn plenty of suits, each one made differently.”

Allegra snorted. “That wasn’t.. That was not the point, Felix.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, the barest hint of confusion finding its way to his features, and Marinette took that opportunity to speak up.

“How’s the outfit? Does it fit alright?” She asked. Hopefully she can find the original measurements for the outfit if it does fit fine, because Felix was most likely going to become a regular customer. Maybe he wouldn’t hire her for actual commissions, but she might end up making something for him on impulse. (as you do)

Felix caught her eye, his glare slowly fading as he registered her question.

“The fabric is extremely comfortable, and the clothes fit perfectly.” He said after a moment. “You said you made these?”

She nodded. “With my sewing machine. I was thinking of putting a green paw print on the shirt too, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

Felix hummed, idly pulling his towel from on top of his head to around his shoulders. “I see. Thank you for lending them to me.”

Marinette blinked, suddenly finding herself captivated by the way his hair fell across his face. Still being damp, various strands stuck to his forehead and cheeks, and he reached up to brush them away. This brought her attention to his face, which, for some reason, she hadn’t quite noticed before. The defined jawline, the subtle-yet-there cheek bones, the pointed nose- all of his features were sharp. Even his eyes held a silver tint to them that reminded her of steel.

These observations dragged her to one, rather important revelation: Felix Culpa was actually a fairly handsome person.

“Marinette?” Felix said, drawing her from her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

A rush of heat swarmed her cheeks, and Marinette straightened. “W-what? I mean yes! Yeah, I’m totally fine, I.. yes.”

“Hey, speaking of clothes!” Claude piped up, graciously saving Marinette from her own awkwardness. “How’s my prince costume going?”

Marinette twirled around in her rolling chair and grabbed for her sketching notebook. A distraction was definitely something she needed right now.

“I’ve got a few different ideas, but you need to come tell which one you like best.” She explained as she flipped open the notebook.

Claude hopped up from the stray chest he’d been sitting on and practically bounced over to her seat. She let him scan each page, smiling when he started humming “Ooh’s” and “Aah’s”.

“I can only pick one?! But they’re all so good!” Claude remarked, almost exasperated.

Marinette chuckled. “Well.. I guess I can make all of them for you, but you at least need to choose which one I start on.”

Claude gasped. “You mean you’re going to make all of these for me?”

“It’s going to take a month or so to get them all done.” She warned. “But-”

Claude scooped her into a bone-crushing hug, briefly reminding her of her father. “Thank you, Mari! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

Marinette laughed and gave him a light pat on the arm. “You’re welcome.”

Her smile widened as Claude eagerly grabbed the notebook and ran back to his designated chest to look through the drawing again. It was nice to see someone who was also enthusiastic about fashion. She’d gotten tired of talking to people who simply didn’t understand the hype of creating unique styles of clothing.

“You know he’s never going to leave you alone now, right?” Felix commented next to her.

Marinette offered him a glance as she said, “I think I can live with that.”

Felix shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She smiled at that. Felix may be striking, but that didn’t have to change anything. Lots of people were striking. And lots of people remained friends despite that.

“Oh,” Felix muttered, seeming to remember something, “Where do you want me to put my clothes? They’re still in the bathroom because of Allan, but..”

“Uhm.. I think Maman said she was going to wash them.” Marinette answered. “She wanted to try to get them clean before supper for all of you.”

“Ah, supper.” Claude cut in, heaving a jokingly wistful sigh. “I can’t wait for that. If your mom’s croissants can taste that heavenly, then her full meals must be amazing.”

He sunk against the chest for emphasis, not realizing that there was a gap between the chest and the wall. The sudden weight threw the chest off balance, and it tipped forward, causing Claude to get jerked backwards. He flailed his arms briefly and yelped before crashing to the floor. The front of the chest hit the ground as well, and the impact popped it open, scattering various objects across the floor.

“Oh, Claude!”

“Are you okay?”

The girls rushed to his side to help him up, but Felix shot him a flat look.

“First the kitchen and now her bedroom.” He said curtly. “Should we tear up the living room next? Or perhaps the dining room has more fragile items?”

Allegra rolled her eyes. “Felix, can you at least try to be sympathetic.”

“I am being sympathetic. Marinette doesn’t have the money to replace things at the drop of a hat like we do. It’s rude to behave so recklessly in her home.”

Marinette glanced up at Felix, not sure whether to find his words sweet or offensive. “Trust me, it’s fine. This chest is old anyway.”

Felix’s frown told her that he didn’t agree on the matter, but before he could argue further, the bathroom door swung open again.

“What happened?” Allan asked, his hair still dripping wet. “I heard the crash. Is anyone hurt?”

“Only my pride.” Claude groaned in response. He was sitting up now and rubbing his head as Allegra switched between scolding and coddling.

Allan sighed with relief. “Oh, good. You can’t hurt something that’s not there.”

“Hey!”

Marinette giggled at the comment. “Allan, how is your outfit? Do I need to make any adjustments?”

Allan glanced down at his clothes. She’d given him a maroon shirt with a blue heartbeat line in the center, a black and blue shirt to go underneath, and a pair of black jeans. He didn’t appear to be wearing the second shirt, though.

“Oh, they fit great.” He said, twisted his torso a bit to get a better feel for the new clothes. “I didn’t have time to put on the second shirt, though. I heard the crash and panicked.”

Marinette offered him a smile. “That’s fine. I can just put it back in the closet.”

Allan nodded and looked down at the mess. “So Claude spilled this chest?”

“Yeah, he was being an idiot.” Allegra remarked as she picked up one of the trinkets. “You know. Nothing new.”

“Wow. can you guys lay off for two seconds?” Claude huffed. He reached forward to pick up one of the objects as well, curiosity overtaking his annoyance. “What is all of this stuff, anyway?”

Marinette glanced at the miscellaneous objects to check- she had several trunks that acted as ‘junk drawers’ -and immediately cringed when she recognized a black hat with rainbow colors stitched along the bottom.

“Oh..” It was Adrien’s gift chest. She’d almost forgotten that she had it. “They’re, um.. They’re just crafts, really.”

“Just crafts?” Claude repeated, holding up a crocheted Ladybug doll. “These are awesome!”

Marinette watched them for a moment. “...do you want them?”

The group looked up in shock, and Marinette quickly added, “Y-You don’t have to take them! I’ve just.. Uh.. they’re like junk? I mean, not junk, but this is my junk chest.. Sort of. I’ve just been meaning to get rid of them. So if you want them, you can have them.”

Allegra frowned. “Are you sure? It looks like you put a lot of effort into these.”

Marinette nodded. “Positive. Take whatever you want.”

Although hesitant at first, the group continued to look through the gifts, and little by little, they started to take some. A smile came to Marinette’s lips as she watched the pile of Adrien junk dwindle. She had spent a lot of time on making the presents, but there was no way she’d be giving them to Adrien now. So what was the point of keeping them in her room? To serve as a mocking reminder of how blind she had been while loving him? No thanks.

By the time they were done, the chest only had half the gifts it used to, and Marinette quickly decided that she would donate the leftovers once she got the chance.

“Thanks for the stuff, Mari!” Claude said cheerfully, his hands full of various objects.

Allegra nodded, holding a few things herself. “Yeah, you really do spoil us.”

“Which is saying something, considering we’re rich.” Allan teased, pocketing the two items that he’d decided to snatch.

Marinette chuckled. “You’re helping me more than I am you.”

She stood up and walked to the bathroom to grab the boys’ old clothes. “I’m gonna bring these down to Maman, but feel free to look around until I get back.”

The group voiced their agreements, and Marinette climbed down the trapdoor ladder with the pile of clothes in hand, feeling like another weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

Getting rid of Adrien’s gifts was one more step towards happiness, and she couldn’t wait to keep walking.

~~~~~~

One can tell a lot about a person by their bedroom. How clean they were, whether they were sentimental, which things they found important- a bedroom could quite literally be considered a box in which someone stored their entire personality. That’s why Felix had been anticipating this part of the visit. Someone can be a master manipulator, but their room would always show their true selves. And it only took one look for Felix to know..

Marinette really loved the color pink.

Seriously, she had it everywhere. The walls, the furniture, the carpet- How was she not sick of the color by now? Felix was sick of it, and he’d only been there for about twenty minutes!

Pushing the pink thought aside, he continued poking around her room. Marinette had gone downstairs to pass his clothes off to her mother, so that gave him a bit of time to inspect the space unsupervised. Not that he was planning on doing anything scandalous. It merely gave him the opportunity of observing Marinette’s room on his own terms.

When she told him that her room was up in the attic, he’d been understandably shocked. The attic didn’t sound like a spacious place to sleep, let alone work on homework and other personal things. Seeing it now, though, Felix realized that that wasn’t the case. The attic was actually quite open. There was a desk, a closet, various chests, a bathroom, and she still had a good portion of the room empty. He wondered if that was thanks to the original size of the room or thanks to Marinette’s resourcefulness.

Her cleaning style wasn’t too bad, either. Don’t get him wrong, there were things scattered everywhere, but it was a specific type of scattered, like an organized chaos. He had a feeling that she knew where most of her necessities were.

Felix moved to her desk, where most of the mess was focused. There were papers, sewing needles, scraps of fabric, and pencils spread across the surface. Her interest in fashion certainly shined through, as most of the papers were filled with various sketches and measurements. He found that admirable. When someone usually speaks of their ‘dream job’, they speak of it as a fantasy, one that they never intend to fully pursue, but Marinette was obviously reaching as high as she could to grasp her goal. She even had a mannequin in her room.

“Marinette’s room is so cool!” Claude exclaimed from the loft up top. “She even has a balcony!”

Felix glanced upwards, briefly setting the papers he’d been studying aside. There’s a balcony upstairs? He didn’t recall seeing a balcony on the way in.

“Claude, you have a balcony.” Allegra reminded him with an amused smile.

“Yeah, but mine only extends from the side of the building.” Claude defended. “This one’s on the roof!”

Ah, so that’s why Felix hadn’t seen it.

Allan frowned. “Really? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“It’s got a rail.”

“Oh, okay. That’s fine then.”

Allegra chuckled as she brushed her hands against the hat on Marinette’s mannequin. “Marinette’s room is pretty neat, though.”

“I think it’s just Marinette who’s cool.” Allan remarked.

Allegra and Claude heartily agreed, and Felix nodded. “Cool” probably wouldn’t be the exact word that he’d use to describe her, but overall, it wasn’t far off.

“Can you believe we’ve only known her for a week?” Claude asked as he climbed down to their level. “It feels like we’ve known her forever already.”

“Yeah, but I think that’s just how she is.” Allegra smiled. “She draws you in and makes you feel like family.”

“Her parents are the same way.” Allan said. “You can really tell where she gets it from.”

“Where who gets what from?”

Felix, along with the rest of the group, turned to the trapdoor, where Marinette was standing about halfway through. She didn’t have the clothes anymore, but she did have a tray of drinks.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Allegra said dismissively. “What are those?”

Marinette set the tray on the ground long enough to climb through and close the trapdoor as she explained, “Maman and Papa thought you guys might be thirsty, so she sent me up with a bunch of different drinks to choose from.”

“Sweet!” Claude grinned, swiftly walking over in case she needed help. “Do you have Dr. Pepper?”

Marinette smiled and turned the tray to reveal a deep red can of soda. “Yep! I know it’s your favorite.”

“You truly are a blessing.” Claude replied, grabbing the soda off of the tray.

Marinette giggled and brought the tray forward for the rest of them to pick. Allegra chose a pepsi, while Allan snagged a coke, and Felix grabbed the slim cup of coffee that sat to the side.

He took a sip of it, enjoying the warmth of the bitter liquid. It didn’t escape his notice that Marinette had brought up all of their preferred drinks. She even got his coffee right (Black with three sugars).

Despite how scatter-brained she could be, Marinette still paid attention to details, which was impressive. Felix didn’t know anyone else who could space out during an entire conversation, yet remember the exact type of drink everyone ordered during lunch.

“So what do you guys want to do now? We still have about half an hour before supper is finished.” Marinette asked, setting the tray aside.

Allan shrugged. “What do you have?”

Marinette thought for a moment. “Well, we have board games, card games, Mecha Strike 3-”

“Mecha Strike 3?” Claude perked up. “Yes, please!”

Marinette laughed. “Is everyone else okay with that?”

“Sounds great.” Allan smiled.

Allegra shrugged. “I’m fine with it.”

Felix, being satisfied with his inspection for now, sat down on the chaise. “I’ll watch.”

The rest of the group huddled around Marinette’s computer while she turned it on, and after a bit of debating, they decided on ‘winner faces next player’ and started with Allan and Claude. Felix watched the first two games, just long enough to see Marinette cream Allan, before reverting back to his studious ways. He scanned the bedroom again, hoping to catch something new, when his gaze landed on the trunk that Claude had tipped over earlier. With everyone bustling around it, Felix hadn’t gotten a chance to sift through it, but now that they were occupied with Marinette’s game..

Felix shifted in his seat and re-opened the chest. It was only half full, as opposed to its previously overflowing contents, but that didn’t bother him. There were still plenty of things inside, such as shirts, figurines, hats, and other things. He pulled out a jacket and turned it in his hands, admiring the handiwork. The hood, along with the cuffs of the sleeves and zipper were pitch black, but the rest of the jacket was a deep red, save for the black spots that littered it. “Miraculous” was written on the back in cursive as well. Was this supposed to be based off of the Parisian superhero Ladybug? Why would she want to get rid of this? At the very least, she could make a profit by selling it.

What did she use to make this? The material is so soft.. Felix thought as he unzipped the jacket. It was completely black on the inside, save for some tiny, golden lettering near the section wear the pocket would be.

“To: Adrien

From: Marinette”

Felix frowned. How strange. Why would Marinette be giving away things that she made specifically for someone else? He dug through the chest some more, this time looking for names, and what he found was shocking.

Almost every gift had the name ‘Adrien’ on it somewhere, whether it be a card or stitching or marker. Some gifts didn’t have a name, but at that point, Felix felt it was safe to assume that everything in the chest was supposed to be for this ‘Adrien’ person.

That begged the question, though: Who was Adrien? And why would she create so many gifts for him just to give them away?

A small card stitched on the ear of a stuffed cat gave him his answer.

“Dear Adrien,

Happy 19th birthday! It’s officially been five years since we’ve known each other. Isn’t that crazy? Anyway, I just wanted to say happy birthday (even though I’ve already said it) and that I’m really happy we got to meet. Enjoy the cat!

With all my love, Marinette”

Felix glanced up at Marinette, who was blissfully ignorant of his findings as she defeated Claude for the second time at Mecha Strike 3. Did she intend to use all of these as birthday presents? How many gifts were in there? Did she expect this person to have the same interests twenty years from now? He couldn’t decide if this level of planning was due to over-thinking or just plain obsession. Maybe both.

“Hey, Felix!”

Felix flinched at the sudden call of his name, weirdly feeling as if he’d been caught in the act of some crime. He looked up to see Claude waving a controller at him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to play?” The brunette asked.

“Talk to me when you have chess.” Felix replied shortly, going back to the chest. He had hoped that seeing Marinette’s room would provide more answers to her life, but it only issued more questions. Did she have this amount of gifts for all of her friends or was Adrien special? If he was special, what way would it be? Was he possibly an ex-lover? She dated him for a while, and they had a recent falling out, which was why she was getting rid of the gifts. That would make sense.

“He just wants to talk.”

Her words from last week resurfaced in his mind. The person who chased her that day was the only one she reacted bitterly towards. Was Adrien trying to get back together with her?

Was he the reason she left her old school in the first place?

My, my Dupain-Cheng. Felix thought. Aren’t you just full of secrets?

Tag List: @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce

#felinette #Felix Culpa #Marinette #New Girl on the Block #Rosemary AU #Quantic Kids

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monsoonblooms12 · 3 years

Text

The Butterfly Effect (Ethan Ramsey x f!MC)

Summary: The Journey from where it all began to where they are now. From a 2-minute power nap to a Miami kiss, Pooja and Ethan have come a long way. From Pooja's POV (Set in OH Bk 1 Ch 10 and contains flashbacks from OH Bk 1 Ch 1, Ch 4 and Ch 5)❤

The Butterfly Effect: Discovered by Edward Lorenz, this theory suggests that something small and insignificant, can alter situations in such a way that leads to utterly drastic changes. For example, a butterfly flaps its wings at an Amazonian Jungle and subsequently a storm ravages half of Europe. (This has to be one of my favorite theories ever🦋)

A/N: I got inspired from a dark Academia quote and here we are with 2.4K of mess. But I enjoyed providing all the fbs from Poo's POV and filling in the gaps of the unknown. And all the DbC peeps, I am trying to finish ch 8 believe me😭

Thank you so much to @jamespotterthefirst for Pre-reading! Love you🧡

If you enjoyed the story, please like it, leave a comment or reblog. Your feedback keeps me going🦋

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Word Count: around 2.4K

Rating: General

Category: A messy mix of Fluff and Angst

Warnings: None that I found

A grain of sand, almost imperceptible to the human eye, 2 millimetres in diameter. Just a tiny little grain of sand, a single one. One would wonder how great of an effect that could produce?

A single grain of sand, eliminated from the base of a sand sculpture, can set on fire a cascade of events that result in something as drastic as the demolition of the entire sculpture. Just a trifling 2 mm sized grain of sand.

Tufts of hair gently swayed with the swooshing ocean breeze, the very grains of sand of which her mind was thinking about slip through gaps of her toes. It's a calming atmosphere, having a Zen-like effect on her racing heart and confused reasoning.

The echoing crash of ocean tides, the hushed ruffle of her shimmering purple dress, and the pattern of her footsteps of the white sand, now silver under the enchanting moonbeams.

She could not think about bad ideas and good ideas anymore. Nor could she obliterate the delicate touch of peach lips ingrained in her mind. Everything was a lock of tangled hair, a chaotic mess in her mind.

And when you can't disentangle a mess, you just tear it off.

That was what she was doing, tearing herself away before her mind got engulfed by a cocoon of ambiguity and concealed probabilities, restricting her to get out without getting transformed into someone else.

Legs exhausted after strolling for who knows how long, Pooja sits down, not bothering about the sheet of sand fragments that adhered begrudgingly to the purple satin.

A simple motion ensues, the florid hair tie holding her brown hair strands in a ponytail, now lay in her hand, giving them the liberty to enjoy the tranquillity of the idyllic scene they found themselves in.

Relaxation. That was what she anticipated. The soothing of her racing heart, the clearing of her muddled head, the easing of her bothering thoughts.

But it never came, the relaxation she desired.

Instead, her fingers, for a reason mysterious even to her, fidgeted the diamond imitation bracelet that embellished her left wrist. A twitch unveiled a vague scar, a remembrance of an old episode entirely cleared off from her mind.

Flashback

Pooja was a Potterhead. An extreme one indeed. Sometimes the thought made her chuckle. How she despised the books once, presuming they were overrated. And then, as if a magic trick had been performed on her, she became the Maven of the Harry Potter club.

But being a Potterhead and having to live in a niche under the stairs did not go hand in hand. The room under a staircase was still a room under a staircase. And every day, her mind replayed the poem of curses to her, as if to warn her to never search for an apartment on a Facebook Group ever again.

And now she stood, waiting for the century-old toaster's ping, as sleep struck like pin-pricks on her eyelids, threatening to close them off. It was a bad day today, the phone battery drained, and she, coffee drained. And the cherry on the top? Today was the first day of her residence at the most prestigious hospital in the entire States.

Uff!

She yawned the hundredth time, sleep playing a tiring game of chess with her mind, and giving it a Check! every now and then.

I don't even know a goddamn coffee shop around in here!

Displeased grunts accompanied the thought as she took the knife and began slicing the apple she had been floundering around for quite some time.

One Slice, and Another, and Ano-

Snorr!

What an ability it was to fall asleep anywhere, in any position! What harm would a "Power Nap" of a minute or two do? Right?

AAHHH!

The scream came out in bits, first when her eyes fluttered open with the sudden pain. A pause followed when she actually looked at the source of it and after her eyes and mind registered what was happening, came the second scream.

She was getting the taste of just how profitable the power nap was.

Hurrying away, she rummaged around for a first aid box, failed to find it, trotted to her Harry Potter adobe and took out the medical goodies she had brought with her. After ransacking through it, she found the antiseptic and the swabs she was looking for. Then a faint sound came from the blinking cellular and she picked it up, not waiting for breakfast. Just as she clicked the unlock button...

HOLY SHIT!

What? How? Her mind could not register. The only thing she understood was that she was notoriously late for her first day, and now she would have to do all the running that she had avoided for all the preceding years.

Letting out another pained groan, she kicked two flowerpots on her way to the kitchen, took the toasted slices of bread, switched off the stupid piece of machinery and ran.

She was sure she would have come first in any marathon if she had run in them with the speed she was racing right now.————————————————————————

Did she know about Dolores Hudson? No, she didn't. Had she planned on telling about her to Dr Ramsey? No, she hadn't.

The two words had inadvertently slipped off her tongue, not envisioning it as an indication. But as soon as they reached his ears, it felt as if a domino had been pushed. One pushed on to the other, leading to a chain of events that had given no hints, no warnings at all.

And now she was in the NICU, chatting with the man whom she considered an idol, a role model as if they were old companions. It was an enchanting experience to see the intern-terrorizing gentleman, so ... normal.

She questioned her mind's choice of word, but she did not completely disagree. To see Dr Ramsey, sitting here with an intern, talking with her, for no particular purpose other than the fact that she decided to stay back here in contrast to any other person, who would have valued their sleep than watching over a premature baby with whom she had no connection.

When sleep muddled her thoughts, she didn't realize what she was doing. Head lowered into his shoulder in a motion that felt like a reflex embedded in the nerve cords of her spine. She missed the gentle smile, decorating the handsome face of his, as he watched her from the corner of his eye, his eyes holding an emotion unrecognizable.

Was it affection? Pride? Adoration? Or something completely different? Who knew.

But if there was something she did know after that day, it was that she felt lucky, damn lucky, for that slip of the tongue.————————————————————————

How idiotic of her the decision was, she didn't want to talk about it.

Pooja had only found herself running the way she was running now on the first day of her residence, and she had only herself, and no one else to blame.

Why did she think that giving up on the most wanted position for every medicine intern in Edenbrook for friends when every one of them participated in it was a good idea?

If only her brain comprehended her priorities appropriately, she wouldn't have to rush through roads like a person who was missing their train.

Panting, grunting, and completely tensed, she arrives at Edenbrook. Steps don't slow down until she arrives before the light beige door, huffs and puffs, not pausing for a split second. She doubted if her legs still had the power to walk or if she would have to crawl into the office.

Nah, no more embarrassment, she would not be able to bear it. With the power that remained in overworked limbs, she knocked, entered and gave her reasons for the delay. And then, by a margin of a minute, she signed the sheet, absolutely normal but still holding the power to twist her entire life in an unforeseen way.

But did she regret it? She couldn't, and she wouldn't.————————————————————————

Miami. The city of gorgeous beaches, giving the aesthetic of peach and teal life. The expensive marble-floored hotel rooms in which she found herself was unreal. Definitely not made for some random intern.

Gorgeous decorated interior, delicately manicured lawns, elegantly made fountains, all standing majestically, giving a fight to each other. She glided through the vast space, joy overcoming job as she breathed the calming salty air coming from the oceanfront, which appeared like a picture frame in front of her. She had never seen anything so perfect in her life.

It was like Ataraxia.

She preferred Mountains over Beaches. She always had, and without a doubt, she always will. But when something looks so heavenly, it would be absolute stupidity to forego the chance of visiting it, even if it contrasted her preferences.

Forgetting the not-so-pleasant interaction with Declan Nash, which appeared like a stone in her perfect day, she let her sensations delve into the delicious culinary masterpieces that melted in her mouth like wax.

All the merrymaking and socializing drained her. But the gentle talks, soft giggles that she shared with him, an extraordinary, priceless moment, seemed to charge her, rejuvenate her. A corner of her heart did hope for something to happen. But she hushed it, not wanting to spoil the casualness, the beauty of the simplicity that blew in the air between them.

It felt like existing in the setting of one of those Michael Faudet quotes, one of them particularly being emphasized by her mind.

"As our eyes meet, all-time seizes to exist. The dying second frozen like petals of red roses kissed by autumn frost."

Pooja's mind still reeled, falling freely into the void as passion and some unnamed emotion overtook them. His heart steady under the touch of her palm and hers racing under the touch of his. She would not be able to remove the unreal image from her idiot of a heart, even if she wanted to.

Sleep refused to come to her, even after calling it repeatedly. She sat up, relieving the memory, playing in front of her like a sepia movie on the silver screen. Eyes travelling around, only to fall on a bouquet kept neatly at one of the antique corner tables.

It was white lilies and purple orchids.

Pooja Sharma didn't know the language of flowers when she received them, with a tag casually signed as E. A vague tag like that did not help to know the actual sender. The man whom she kissed had a name beginning with E, the hotel she was staying in had a name beginning with E.

Hell, even the hospital she worked in had a name with the letter E.

But if she had known the language of flowers, she would have pinpointed the symbolism hidden in it.

The White Lily carrying the meaning of Purity, Sweetness while Purple Orchids a clear cut indicator of admiration and elegance.

She would have been able to tell which E had sent the delicately wrapped piece that now lay uncared for in the corner of her room.

Feelings overcrowded reason, and she found herself suffocated in the very room that seemed heavenly to her in the morning.

Slowly and silently, she walked away to find the solace which he or she could not give her, in nature.

Flashback ends

As the amaranthine ocean glistens, waves crash and the foamy water rushes to engulf her feet as she stood, hands wrapped around herself, she felt she had truly found solace. There was a spiral, an unending coil of memories, a string which, when pulled, tugged in emotions hidden in darkest corners, forgotten but related, all tied together.

It was surprising, enigmatic, how much the little brain of hers, the soft heart of hers, holds in them. A constant battle of reason and emotions ravage the tired battlefields of her body. How casually, reminiscences of a bygone day appears, flicker like the reflection in the mirror of the calm pond water, but remain clear through the ripples that spread on the surface from time to time. That's how memories work, still clear, still dear, even after passing through chaotic ripples of time.

As she reaches the end of the spiral, the helix of her thoughts, she finds herself even more astonished than she was when she reverted to the first pages of the memoirs of her stay in Boston.

It was just a minute, or a word or two. Always so insignificant.

Every ignored act added one upon another and resulted in the catastrophic mess of heartbreak and affection she found herself today.

The 2-minute Power Nap of her first day? It led to the 2-degree shift of the knife and the scar that her finger was tracing now.

That 2-degree shift led to the delay in her reaching the hospital?

It resulted in her meeting her mentor, which gave her the chance to do the thoracotomy with him, to experience how it felt when his hand enveloped hers.

Those two words that slipped as a nonchalant thought off her tongue? It was why she could know how Ethan Ramsey was, behind the tough exteriors, the short-tempered demeanour, how it felt to place her head gently on his shoulder, to wake up to his glowing face.

And that one minute past midnight, when she signed up for the challenge that would change her life? That is why she is here, hair ruffling and eyes glistening, the Leucos Moon reflecting on the glistening water, the crepuscule spread mystically around her. That is why she knew how it felt to be touched by him, kissed by him, to get lost in him.

When Edward Lorenz discovered the butterfly event, he had correlated mathematics and meteorology. Had he thought that the same butterfly effect had turned an unassuming intern's life upside down, pushed her so back in the void of circumstances that it was impossible to come back?

Just a 2-degree shift of a knife, and now she was here in Miami. Just like the unassuming butterfly's flap of wing, which now ravaged a storm through her life.

Glassy droplets make a slow trail down the curve of her cheeks and drop on the scar as if trying to meet the origin which has brought her to the coordinates of the present.

And even though she did not know what would happen in the days to come, she was happy, truly happy, for that shift of her knife and for the 2 minutes of the power nap.

For the butterfly effect of love.

PS: Thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a great day ahead! Love, Manamee🧡.

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theimmaterialplace · 3 years

Text

i’ll give you all you want if you just ask | spencer reid x f!reader | ch. 1 of 2: all i need

Summary: It doesn’t take a profiler to notice that Spencer Reid is nervous around you. Half of the team finds it funny and the other half just ignores it. What you don’t know is why. Well, you have an idea but you’d rather not be wrong in your deduction and make a fool of yourself and make him just avoid you completely.

See, it’s not that you just make him nervous, it’s that you make him excited. He perks up every time you enter a room and shoots you a shy smile, never making eye contact. He shivers any time you accidentally, or purposefully because you can’t help yourself, brush against him. He follows your lead eagerly and without complaint, able to connect the pieces you’ve put together. Perhaps the most damning piece of evidence is the way he reacts to your praise.

Oh, how his reactions always excite you.

Contains: hints of light dom/sub undertones, teasing, praise kink. no actual smut yet, just a bit of kissing and allusions to sex. enabler!hotch.

Word Count: 1.7k

Comments: hello im back this very self indulgent fic! i just love sub!spencer to pieces and there aren't enough fics with him featuring that so i'm here to remedy that! also just assume rossi had a date or something and couldn't make it! i'd say this takes place before a bit before the reaper arc! also i fucking adore hotch and HAD to make him an enabler because he just wants his team to be happy!! he cares for them!! if you’d rather read this on ao3, here’s the link! finally, leave a comment/review so ik how yall feel! reblogs are also highly appreciated! :)

It doesn’t take a profiler to notice that Spencer Reid is nervous around you. Half of the team finds it funny and the other half just ignores it. What you don’t know is why . Well, you have an idea but you’d rather not be wrong in your deduction and make a fool of yourself and make him just avoid you completely.

See, it’s not that you just make him nervous, it’s that you make him excited . He perks up every time you enter a room and shoots you a shy smile, never making eye contact. He shivers any time you accidentally, or purposefully because you can’t help yourself, brush against him. He follows your lead eagerly and without complaint, able to connect the pieces you’ve put together. Perhaps the most damning piece of evidence is the way he reacts to your praise.

Oh, how his reactions always excite you.

You’d conducted an experiment over the past few months. At first, you had given him compliments such as “I like your outfit today” or “good work on today’s case”, harmless things. He had reacted as well as you expected, blushing the tiniest bit and muttering a thank you in response.

Next, you decided to take a page out of Morgan’s book and call him pretty boy which eventually turned into a whole slew of nicknames revolving around praising him. The first time you had called him pretty boy, he had burned his mouth because he gulped his coffee too quickly. His face was a bright red and he was incapable of meeting your eyes for the rest of the day. As it was, that was a great reaction but your favorite had to be the time you called him a good boy. He had looked up at you with wide eyes and his pupils had dilated so much that you barely saw his original eye color. Now that should’ve been enough to confirm your beliefs but you decided to take it a step farther.

The most recent trial had you calling him your boy, a possessive indicator. There was no hiding your intentions with this one so you made sure to only call him that in private; no need for the team to know. It seemed like no matter how many times you called him yours, one way or another, it still had the same effect on him.

With this information, you had no doubt that Spencer was interested in you and seemed to lean on the sub side of things. It was cute. He was cute. He was just your type in men. You loved nothing more than a man who was intellectual and would let you take control, which you had no doubt Spencer would allow.

It’s on a Saturday night when everyone decides to get drinks, a rare occasion, that you decide to make a move. Well, you’re actually encouraged to by someone you would least expect.

“So, when do you plan on making a move on Spencer?” It takes everything in you not to choke on the fruity drink you were sipping on when Hotch speaks up. You turn your head to look at him and find him staring at you with a smug, knowing look on his face.

“I’d say I have no idea what you’re talking about, but that’d be a lie and also an insult to you.” A small grin creeps onto his face with your response. It’s nice to see him so relaxed because god only knows how much your boss deserves to let loose every once in a while.

“Hm, you’re avoiding the question. Don’t tell me that all those pet names and touches were for nothing.” It’s a good thing you’re lightly buzzed because otherwise you’d feel completely mortified over the revelation that your boss had picked up on your actions. As you are now though, you can only let out a laugh and smile sharply at his remark.

“Course not, Hotch. As for an answer to your question,” you pause and look across the bar to where he’s laughing at something Penelope said, “I think it won’t be too long now. He’s just so… receptive .” He only hums, taking another sip of what you think is whiskey.

“Well don’t take too long.” And perhaps it’s his encouragement or just the liquid courage but you decide that now is a good time to get your boy. You excuse yourself quietly and give Hotch a small wave which he returns with a small smirk on his face.

When you finally reach Spencer, it’s to him saying goodbye to the rest of the team.

“Come on, stay for a bit longer. We’ll have a fun time. We always do.” Derek might be able to convince him if he keeps going on like this so you decide to interrupt.

“Hey, guys!” Everyone turns to look at you and they all clammer to ask you how you’ve been, giving Spencer the out he needed.

“So, what were you talking about with the boss man? I saw some very interesting expressions over there, babe.” Penelope has a sly grin on her face as the rest of the team “oohs” at her statement.

“Oh, just a little bit of this, little bit of that. Don’t tell me you thought I was flirting with him…” at this, their shoulders drop a little, “Oh my god, come on, you guys! As if I’d flirt with Hotch. You guys though…. You’re all free real estate.” You wink at them in good fun.

“You’re almost as bad as Derek with your flirting, you know that?” Emily takes a sip of her drink and JJ nods, agreeing with her completely.

“Now, there’s no need to insult me like that, ladies. At least I take my flirting seriously. When was the last time you even got laid?” You can feel Spencer’s eyes on you so you decide not to answer.

“I plead the fifth!” This gets you a round of laughs and you decide now is a good time to tell them you’re leaving and start your plan.

“Well, I’m glad everyone is having a good time but I really gotta go,” this earns you a round of “boos”, “I know. I know. Sure it may be old lady behavior but I have plans tomorrow morning. You guys have fun for me though!”

JJ speaks up, “Oh, since you’re leaving right now, would you mind taking Spencer home? I was going to give him a ride since the metro is closed tonight but you’re already leaving so I figured why not?” You only nod while internally you can’t help but think this is going even more perfectly than you originally thought.

You look over to Spencer who’s already looking at you. “You okay with that, pretty boy?” He nods and even with the lighting of the club, you can recognize his cheeks flushing.

You turn back to the rest of them to address them,“Well, goodnight guys! Be safe and I’ll see you Monday if everything goes well! Love you!”

After receiving the mandatory goodbye hugs and kisses, you grab Spencer’s hand and lead him out of the club. It’s a good thing you parked far away because now you have time to set the mood.

“How many drinks have you had tonight? You look moderately red, Spence.” It’s a good starter because you need to know he’s not drunk and that this is fully consensual but also to call him out on his blushing.

“I didn’t drink tonight. Didn’t really feel like it so I just nursed a coke and I think the team thought it was a mixed drink.” His voice is heavenly and you personally can’t wait to hear what he sounds like moaning your name or any other name you both decide on.

You stop for a moment and place the back of your hand on his forehead before you announce, “Good news, you don’t have a fever! Bad news, I can’t place why else you’d be so red.” He splutters for a moment and your red only turns him more red.

“Yeah,” his voice cracks and you feel his palm become sweaty despite the cool temperature, “I don’t know why either.”

He’s so adorable if he thinks you’re gonna let him off the hook so easily. You lean in closer to him and whisper, “You know, my darling… I think I do know why you’re so red right now and it’s the same reason you’re always blushing around me,” you can hear him audibly gulp but he doesn't display any signals for you to stop so you continue, “The team used to think it was because I made you nervous and while that is partially correct, I think it’s because I made you excited, right?”

You stop in your tracks and you’re grateful you timed this correctly because you’re able to back him onto your car.

He’s looking down at you, eyes wide and pupils dilated, and you can’t help the smirk that graces your face. He looks so good like this but you think he’d look better looking up at you from his knees.

You reach up to cradle his face in your hands and say,“Tell me if you want this, Spencer. If you say no, I’ll stop and we’ll never have to speak of this again but… If you do want this, say please and I’ll take you home.”

He’s looking at you with something close to adoration and his admission is so quiet that if you hadn’t been staring so intently at him, you wouldn’t have heard him or read the plea that fell from his lips.

“Please.”

Oh, how that one little word sounded like music to your ears.

You take the last leap and lean forward to kiss him. His lips are exactly how you pictured and he tastes like the chapstick you gave him on that case to Alaska. This makes you feel unbearably smug because if he’s been using this chapstick rather than his usual one, it means you’ve affected even more than you thought.

When you finally pull away, Spencer looks confused and very rumpled.

“As much as I would love to continue this, I’d rather we didn’t do this in a parking lot for our first time.” He perks up at “first time” and you smile at him, “and there will be plenty of times to do this later. You’re not getting rid of me now that you’ve finally succumbed to my advances.”

“I agree.” He smiles at you and you take his hand into your own, giving it a light squeeze.

“Now, let’s get to my apartment so we can continue this."

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #my writing #if you just ask

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