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lets-just-daydream · 8 months

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PLS only if you want to but i have been searching the web infinitely for a fic where astarion has a nightmare about tav being taken/injured/turned by cazador, and when he wakes up he can't find her. your writing is so beautiful ik you would do this justice omg ty in advance if you decide to do this

AS IF YOU COULD SEND ME THIS AND I WOULDN'T WRITE IT ANON

Your body ached as you hunched over the cold, damp floor. The shackles dug into your wrists as you looked around helplessly, hoping for something, anything to happen. On one hand you wanted to get out of here and you knew only one person would be able to help. But on the other, you knew being saved was a death wish for your saviour. For Astarion.

I mean, you two weren't really a thing or anything but you'd had some late night trysts and had become close friends since then. Well, you had feelings for him but you were quite certain he didn't see you in that way. Why would he? He was the cool, sexy, aloof vampire that had shut the world out. But you did hope he cared about your friendship enough to come save you.

You looked around at the suspended vampire spawn, clearly in pain and with no reprieve visible. How did you get into this mess in the first place? You weren't sure.

"I'm almost disappointed in that pathetic boy. I thought he would come for you," a grating voice said, pulling you out of your thoughts. "But, I'm not surprised."

You turned to look up at Cazador, his red eyes shining in the dim candlelight. He bared his fangs in an unhinged smile as he knelt next to you. "No matter. You will take his place."

You were used to the feeling of fangs piercing your neck, you'd let Astarion feed on you many times and you had learned to enjoy the sensation. But as Cazador drunk you dry, you felt burning cold and pain flood your entire body. You began to scream and writhe as he took deep, sloppy gulps, your fists weakly crashing against him to no avail. A tear rolled down your cheek as you felt your life force slipping away, a blurry vision of a white-haired pale elf entering your mind before your eyes closed permanently.

Astarion woke with a hoarse scream, sitting up in his tent and looking around. His body was tense and coated in a sheen of sweat and little half moons had imprinted in his palms where he had been clenching his hands in his sleep.

He didn't care about his physical state. His mind was on you. Was that a dream? Was it a vision of the future? Was Cazador showing him a play-by-play of what was happening right now? How could Cazador possibly know about his feelings for you? He kept them so well-hidden and hadn't even confessed to you that he… loved you.

At the thought that maybe Cazador did have you in his clutches and was sending Astarion a warning, he sprung up from his bedroll and to his feet, not bothering with a shirt as he stumbled out of his tent. His eyes locked onto your tent and he rushed over, nearly tripping over his own feet in his panic. His head was thundering and he knew if his heart could still beat, it would be beating out of his chest.

He called your name softly as he approached, pulling back the entry flap, looking for your sleeping form. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw you weren't there. It was the dead of night! Where were you? Did Cazador take you? Why? Wouldn't he just take Astarion instead?

His mind was racing as he started to hyperventilate, his body shaking. He had to go find you. Curse him and the feelings he had developed. Of course Cazador would take advantage of that, he couldn't believe he let himself be so stupid. If he had never gotten involved with you, you'd still be safe.

Astarion shook his head. Now wasn't the time for 'should haves.' He turned and exited your tent, coming to a stop as he gasped. You stood in front of him, squinty eyed and confused.

"Astarion?" You asked sleepily. "What are you doing here?"

He said nothing, only gaping at your uninjured form before letting out a shuddered sigh of relief. You stared at him, confused as to why he was having a freakout in your tent. Before you could ask him what had just happened, he leaned forward and wrapped you in a crushing hug. He had never felt such intense relief in all his long life. He nuzzled his face into your hair and breathed; you still smelled like you - no scent of any other vampires on you.

"Gods, you're okay," he whispered. He pulled back and glared at you. "Where the hells were you?! I was worried sick."

Your eyebrows shot up in confusion. "Not that it's any of your business, Astarion. But nature called."

He scoffed and mumbled something about 'humans and their annoying necessities.'

You weren't sure where this shitty mood was coming from so you pulled out of his arms and took a step back. You tried peering at his face to read his expression but the moonlight was limited and the campfire had gone out.

"What happened?" You asked.

Astarion looked a bit sheepish as he glanced left and right, making sure none of your other companions had left their tents. You sighed and stepped into your own tent, waving him in so you could have the extra privacy. You could tell something was on his mind that he wanted to talk about which was rare - you often had to prod him further before he would open up.

You sat cross-legged on your rolls and furs and Astarion joined you, mirroring your position. Neither of you spoke for a minute before Astarion sighed and looked up at you. "I… I had a nightmare."

"Oh, that's awful," your heart squeezed for him and you wanted to reach out and comfort him.

He'd mentioned a couple of nightmares to you previously, how they always manifested his absolute worst fears; Cazador capturing him and sacrificing him, Cazador burying him in a burning coffin as he tried to dig his way out. One of the saddest he had told you about was one where Cazador plucked him from your camp in the dead of night and Astarion had to watch as you and your merry group continued on like nothing was amiss. So, you had an idea that he'd had another awful dream about being kidnapped by Cazador.

"I'm here to listen if you'd like to talk about it," you said, deciding to reach for his hand and holding it.

Astarion looked down at your joined hands and couldn't help the slight flush to his face as he felt your warm, soft hand on his.

"This one…" He began with an inward hiss. "Was the worst nightmare I've ever had."

Astarion shuddered and you could have sworn he was on the verge of tears. You rubbed soft circles with your thumb into his skin.

"It felt so real and when I woke up, I was convinced it was real… especially when I thought you were gone."

Your brows furrowed in concern. "What happened?" You asked softly.

Astarion pressed his lips into a thin line. Telling you about this nightmare now was more-or-less a confession of how much he truly cared for you at this point. But he needed you to know. He wanted to tell you just how much his dead heart yearned for you, lusted after you and would beat for you if it could.

"I dreamt that Cazador had taken you," Astarion whispered, his gaze down and fixed on your hands.

"Me?" You whispered back, confused.

He nodded. "He had taken you to lure me back to the palace. He knew I'd come for you and when I failed to come save you he…" Astarion faltered before looking into your eyes. You hadn't noticed he'd started crying. "He killed you. Turned you into a vampire spawn to take my place."

Your heart shattered and you let out a gasp. This was the worst dream he had ever had? You dropped Astarion's hand and at the loss of the warmth and contact, he looked away in shame. He had overstepped. He had been so stupid to fall for you, of course you were disgusted he was having such horrible dreams about you. He moved to stand and excuse himself when you'd crawled across and sat in his lap, your legs straddling his.

"Oh, Astarion," you whispered as you wrapped your arms around him in a soft embrace. "I'm so sorry you had such an awful nightmare."

Astarion could hardly believe it. You were in his lap. Comforting him with a warm embrace he was certain he would never feel in his lifetime. He blinked in surprise and then breathed a sigh of relief before he wrapped his arms around you in turn and rested his face in the crook of your neck. He didn't want to feed, he just wanted to feel you, smell you. Hold you in place so you could never leave. So Cazador could never take you away from him.

"My love," Astarion whispered into your skin. "I'll never let anyone take you from me."

You pulled back, your arms still around your vampire love as you gazed into his watery eyes. "And I will never leave your side."

At your words, Astarion let a small and sincere smile grace his features. His eyes flicked down to your lips before shooting back to your eyes. You parted your lips slightly and he licked his lips and slowly leaned forward, his eyes closing as he pressed his lips to yours in a gentle and loving kiss. You smiled into him and returned the kiss, a soft sigh escaping you as you separated. His lips were so soft, his moves so smooth and practiced. You could could kiss him forever and you almost leaned back in for another.

Astarion let out a soft laugh and nuzzled into your hair again, hiding the blush and smitten look on his face from you. You giggled in turn and could have sworn you heard a very soft and very muffled proclamation of three little words from him but when you asked him to repeat himself, he only laughed and kissed your neck instead.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #red writes

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formulaforza · 4 months

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miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—08. It's So Sweet —word count: 5.2k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... um... yeah. yeahhhh. sorry sorry sorry if you still read this fic. surprise I guess! its NOT as dead as you thought it was. See you guys again in four months. hopefully sooner if there is a God.

Charles, teeth dug into his tongue so hard he can taste copper, manages to keep from slipping up for the remainder of his time in Georgia. He swallows it down, chokes on an I love you everytime she looks at him for days that feel like an eternity.

The flight out to France that marks the end of his stay had spent weeks serving as a dreadful backmarker, but now it was one of solace, saving him from himself. He knows better than to spit out “I love you” two months in. He knows better, but he also knows. Simple as that. He just knows.

He’s good at keeping it down during phone calls and voice memos and FaceTimes because there’s no fucking way he’s stupid enough to say it over the phone. Whenever he does finally deem the time to be right, it’ll be inches from her face, with all the time in the world ahead of them. Her smile will be there, just waiting to be kissed.

It definitely will not be while she’s grading papers or reviewing a movie or putting purple refills in her pen, even though he finds himself thinking just how plain and simple he loves her when she’s doing those things.

– – –

Charles spends the holidays with his family in France, coming pretty much directly from his time with Chris and her family in Georgia.

They quiz him like there’s no tomorrow about all of it; on Chris, and her family and her city and her life. He thinks he does a half-decent job at keeping his cards close to his chest; hiding his tells and acting completely normal and regular and plain about it all.

Well. He can be coy and secretive to everyone but his mom. Mother’s always know when their sons are in love, and Pascale has always been particularly apt at seeing straight through her boys and the bullshit they try to feed her.

He’s helping with dinner dishes—working hard to get those extra points towards being the favorite son this weekend—when she confronts him about it. He knows he’s in trouble. He’s never been able to lie to her in a way that was even sort-of convincing.

“So, Chris…” she hums, drying three two forks at once with a damp towel. “Is this going to be something?” She asks. Charles shrugs, squeezing more blue dish soap onto the plate in his other hand. “That’s too much,” she remarks.

He ignores the comment, moves the scrubbing sponge over the plate in small circles. “It’s new, still.”

“But you like her?”

He chuckles. Of course he likes her. He wouldn’t be dating her, traveling to see her, introducing her to his family if he didn’t at least like her. That’d just be cruel. “I like her a lot,” he says. I like her the most, he bites his tongue. He rinses the soap from the plate.

Pascale nods, soft smile on her lips when she takes the plate from his hand, drying it carefully. “Just like, is that right, Charles?”

He knows what she means, what she’s implying. They both know she’s right, too, but he can’t stand to admit it. He feels like if he does, if he actually speaks the words out loud, there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep it in anymore. It’ll be breaking the seal, and he can’t. Not yet. He doesn’t have it in him yet. “Maman,” he says, and his tone is laced with her answer, soft and sweet and pleading in a desperate way.

She smiles, sets the plate down onto the counter gently. It still clatters against the marble. “I know,” she hums, hand finding his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

Charles spends New Year’s Eve in London. He’s with his brothers and his friends and like, all of their girlfriends. He’s been pathetically texting her the entire trip going on about i’ll buy your ticket if you want to come and it would be so much more fun with you here.

What Charles doesn’t know is that Chris is on her way, and that she’d been planning the surprise with Joris for three weeks. After a red eye flight from Atlanta that lands a little before two in the afternoon in London, Joris manages to sneak off from the group to meet her at the hotel and give her a key to his room. She hides out there for most of the afternoon while Joris tries to convince the group to head back to the hotel for a few hours without spoiling the surprise of why they should go back to the hotel in the middle of the day.

When he finally gets them back to the hotel, he waits fifteen minutes to text her the all clear, to let her know that she can come and execute the surprise.

It takes her an almost comical amount of time to find his room, considering it’s in the same hallway as everyone else’ rooms, and only ends up being three or four doors down from where she’d started. When she finally finds it, she’s hit with a sudden wave of anxiety.

What if he doesn’t want me here? She worries. Her hands get clammy and she stands there in front of the door like a complete idiot just waiting for her body to do something, to do anything. Finally, she brings her fist to the door and knocks.

Voices are muffled and heavy feet shuffle on the other side of the door before finally, after what feels like an eternity of loud bickering from the boys about who’s going to open the door, Chris is face to face with Charles, stupid, toothy grin on her face. “Oh,” he says.

Behind him, the guys jeer in French, but neither of them are paying any attention. Chris can't stop laughing, standing there, staring at Charles in the doorway. He stares right back, his eyes a window into the gears that turn behind them, processing… processing… processing so incredibly slowly. “Are you gonna hug me, or just stare at me?” She finally asks, and he laughs, snapping into reality, pulling her into a tight hug.

“What are you doing here?” He questions, pressing a hard kiss into her hair, and then he laughs even harder. “How did you get here?”

– – –

Chris isn’t there for more than a couple days—she has to be back at work as winter break winds to a close, and Charles has training camp in Italy at the end of the week. It’s a quick visit, but they make the most of it, and they do get their new year’s eve kiss.

It’s been, like, a month and a half since Chris was last in Monaco, but it’s been just two and a half weeks since someone posted a TikTok of Charles and her walking around Monte Carlo together. That means, it’s been two weeks of Chris stumbling upon, and falling down rabbit holes of, Charles’ fan accounts desperately trying to put a face to the back of the head of the girl in the video.

She’s less interested in are they going to figure out who I am and more interested in are they at least, like, close? The answer is no. No, they are not even kind-of close to connecting Chris with him. It’s all models and friends and people he follows on Instagram and even one ex-girlfriend, but definitely no American kindergarten teachers.

The fire is only fed, though, when on New Year’s Eve, drunk on Moscow Mules and equipped with the world’s most fashionable LED glasses, Charles is posted showing off the look. Under his arm, equally as drunk off espresso martinis, is Chris, engaged in conversation with Joris beside her.

It’s been two-thousand twenty-three for fifteen minutes, and Instagram explore pages across the world are already filled with pictures of the side of her head and Charles’ goofy heart-eyed glasses.

Chris is too drunk to know, much less care, but when she does find out about it, she won’t be bothered. She thinks that maybe she never will be a big deal—certainly not as big of one as he seems to think it is. Nothing is going to happen, she tells him so many times it doesn’t even sound like a sentence anymore. Who cares if everyone figures out who I am?

January isn’t much but settling into a routine. They’re both busy with a million and one different things—just a little peek into any sort of future they hope to have together—and it’s the end of the month before they see each other in person again.

Every post he makes on social media—every video, photo, story, mention, and repost is run through a microscope, carefully dissected searching for a repeat like and commenter, for an unfamiliar woman’s voice or a hand or a coat or a head of hair. Names fly around in a tornado of guesses, and none of them are correct.

It’s an easy routine to fall into; scheduled phone calls, FaceTime dates twice a week, and sneakily sent texts in the middle of the workday. Sometimes it feels like they aren’t all that far apart, like he could walk out the front door and get into his car and drive for fifteen minutes and be at her house, eat dinner at the same table, fall asleep at the same time, in the same bed. Other times, they can feel every step of the four-thousand, six-hundred, ninety-five miles that separate them, when it’s all pictures of dinner and goodmorning texts seen three hours later and delayed, laggy FaceTime calls.

It’s on one of those calls, where her face is frozen mid-conversation, that she’s gushing about how excited she is for some school event at the end of the month, the Art show, she’d called it, and when—after sorting out the camera issue for the time being—he’d asked for clarification on what exactly an Art show is, she’d explained the whole event with a big, excited smile on her face.

“Oh my gosh!” She’d laughed, pulling her legs underneath her. “Okay, so, it’s the coolest thing. Basically, the art department displays all of the art the students have made so far this year all throughout the year, and the kids get to show it off to all their family. They set up a book fair in the library, and they serve ice-cream in the cafeteria,” she explains, “All the teachers go, and they bring their families, too,” she nods. “It’s really cool. I like to see how proud the kids are of their work.”

He decides then, in that very moment, that he doesn’t want to hear about this in text messages and photos and Facetime calls. He wants to be there—feel her energy, her pride, her smile. It just pours out of his mouth, what if I came? And then, before she can even come up with a response, If that’s okay, obviously. If you even would like, want that, you know.

She bites down on a smile. “I thought you wanted to keep things quiet?” she chuckles, “be all protective of me and stuff?”

Charles shrugs. “I don’t think anyone would believe I’m at a primary school’s art-fair in the middle-of-nowhere America.”

“I mean, I don’t care,” she explains, tucking her bangs behind her ears. “But you do. I’d love it if you could be there.”

He smiles. “You’d love it?”

“I would!” She laughs, leaning forward, closer to the camera. “You’d better come for more than just a day though,” she continues, slumping back against the couch behind her, picking at the cuticles on her thumb, raising her brows when she quietly adds: “I can think of lots of other things I’d love to do with you.”

He shakes his head, dimples digging into his cheeks. “You’re a tease, Christyn,” he taunts, and her head shoots up from her cuticle.

“You have such a dirty mind, Charlie!” she laughs, and his cheeks burn at the nickname, at the accusation.

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, and she only laughs harder, smiles bigger.

“Why?” She teases, crossing her arms over her chest, cocking her head to the side playfully. “Because it makes you blush?”

– – –

There’s really only one of Chris’ students that Charles knows by name: Quinn. Or, as Chris usually refers to her, my sweet, sweet, little Quinnie. Quinnie is not at the art show. Chris goes on to explain that she and her family are never at any of the school events—no open houses, no field trips, no choir recitals or art shows or parent teacher conferences. If it’s not a free event that takes place during school hours, neither Quinn or her siblings will be there, and their Mother will never be there because she’s always at work.

So, no Quinn to win over. He does, however, meet what may be the cutest kid he’s ever been face-to-face with in Landry, a little girl with two long brown braids and a strawberry patterned dress on. Landry is the first of her students to find their teacher, and completely ignores him to tug Chris’ arm towards the little girl’s artwork hung in the hallway.

“I’ll be right back,” she says hurriedly, over her shoulder, letting the little girl pull her away. Charles nods and flashes her a quick wink before she’s properly whisked away, leaving him with nothing better to do than shove his hands deep in his pockets and analyze the artwork of primary school students.

When she finds him again, no Landry in tow, she links her arm through his, leaning her head against his shoulder. “She told me I have a cute boyfriend,” she says.

“No, she did not,” He laughs, but his ears blush pink.

“She did,” she nods. “She said you were ‘oh my goodness he is soooooo cute,’” Chris repeats, in a sing-songy tone. “I said, ‘I know right! He’s the cutest.’”

“Whatever,” Charles mutters, running his other hand through his hair. “Where’s the ice-cream at, anyway?”

Two styrofoam bowls of vanilla ice-cream slices—one covered in rainbow sprinkles, the other with chocolate syrup and a maraschino cherry—later, and Chris and Charles are sitting at Chris’ desk in her classroom, him in the green spinning chair, her on the desk itself.

Two boys, who Chris refers to after they leave the room as Nash and Wyatt, are bouncing off the walls with excitement when they turn the corner into Chris’ classroom, their faces lighting up when they find her there. “Miss Elliott!” One of them shouts, half-out of breath. “The book fair has posters of your brother!” He explains.

“Yeah!” The other chimes in. “I see-ed it when my sister was getting a poster of,” he takes a big breath, “of, uh, a princess poster or something.”

“Yeah, and I get-ted this one!” The first kid adds, unrolling the paper in this hand to reveal a black and white Fortnite poster, demonstrating the dances from the game. “Cool right?” He asks, and Chris nods.

“So cool!” She says, “where are you going to hang it?”

Charles leans back in the chair, spinning slightly side to side, eating his ice-cream and just observing the interaction.

“Um, probably in my bedroom.”

Chris nods again, “perfect place for it,” she agrees.

– – –

He’s in Georgia for three days; Friday to Sunday, and spends all of it with Chris, almost entirely at her house. The art show is on Friday night, but he finds himself playing sleepover host with Chris on Saturday when Reid appears with a backpack, a pillow, and a baby blanket Chris tells him not to refer to as a baby blanket.

Chase is racing in Los Angeles this weekend, and left town on Tuesday, leaving Hannah alone on Mom duty. That would be all fine, if the weekend didn’t fall on the one weekend a month she works. Bill, Cindy, Chris, and Hannah’s mom have been helping to pick up the slack left in Chase’ absence.

It all comes together to result in him sitting in the middle of the living room, on the floor, surrounded by every blanket and pillow in the entire house on a Saturday night—a four-year-old boy sitting across from him, hanging on his every word, and his girlfriend in the other room making popcorn.

He’s been tasked with coming up with, and executing the plan for a super, super, cool boy-fort that Auntie Chris can come into, I guess.

A fort that fits into that description is a lot easier in theory. In Practice, however, he’s faced with the nephew he desperately needs the approval of, and a pile of purple and pink and sparkly and fluffy blankets and pillows.

It takes all four of the dining table chairs, a curtain rod from the screened-in porch, a fitted sheet, and a box fan, but the fort is quickly commissioned, and gets Reid’s stamp of approval when he moves his pillow, favorite blanket, and definitely not a baby-blanket, baby-blanket into the build.

Chris is behind them momentarily, knocking on the seat of one of the dining chairs before Reid permits her to enter. She crawls in, laptop and big bowl of popcorn in either hand. Reid is sandwiched between the two of them, Cars blanket covering his little frame, eyes glued to the screen while buttery fingers bury themselves in the popcorn bowl.

Reid is asleep about five minutes after the popcorn bowl is empty, Chris running her fingers through his short brown hair while soft little snores leave his lips. Her head rests on his pillow, just above his head, and she watches the movie. Charles watches her, arm propped up at the elbow, holding his head up. She’s so soft. So sweet. It ties him up in knots.

He feels like a child when she catches him staring, her eyes glancing over to him and making unexpected contact. His cheeks burn and his eyes dart away, back to the screen, to the movie. She giggles softly, barely loud enough for him to hear over his sudden mortification. “Beautiful fort you’ve built here,” she says, and he looks back at her, meets her eyes properly this time.

“Thank you,” he chuckles. “I’m thinking maybe I will make it my new career after racing.” Charles nods. Chris nods. A smile dances its way across her lips, turning the corners up gently. It makes him smile, too. “Charles Leclerc: Professional fort builder.”

“Oh,” She chuckles. “I can hear it now. You’ll be a household name.”When Charles wakes up, credits are rolling on the laptop screen and Chris’ hand is moving softly over his shoulder. He’s the bridge of his nose and picking the sleep out of his eyes and trying to get his bearings. All he’s sorted out so far is that Chris is here, he’s fucking boiling, and there’s a sleeping kid between them. He squints his eyes—like the dim light from the black credit screen is too bright for him—until she comes into focus. She points to the exit of the fort. “Bed,” she mouths.

“Well,” Chris shrugs, bringing a forkful of salad to her mouth. “I think you’ve won Reid over.”

Charles laughs on her phone screen. He’s in Italy… or Monaco… or… she’s not really sure, to be honest. It’s hard to keep track sometimes, when he’s always somewhere new. He’s in bed, wherever he is, the lamp from her kitchen casting the only light in his dark room. “Is that right?”

“Oh yeah,” she nods. “I had the pleasure of reminding him you weren’t here this afternoon. He wasn’t happy with me.” She remembers it well, his declaration that Charles and Me are going to play games today, and remembers better the little, defeated oh, right after she had to remind him Charles had left the day before.

Charles chuckles, shaking his head and rolling his eyes playfully. “I told him goodbye!”

“I know!” She says, taking another bite, her hand covering her mouth while she talks around the lettuce. “He thought you meant goodbye for the day,” she explains, swallowing. “Not goodbye for a while.”

Charles frowns. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!” Chris laughs, poking her fork around her bowl. “I love that he likes you so much, it’s adorable,” she hums. “He’s absolutely devastated you won’t be at his birthday party, though.”

Charles scoffs, his mouth dramatically falling open. “No way. You didn't tell me it was his birthday!”

“Because it’s not for like, two weeks!” She defense, laughing. “I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

“When is it?”

She cocks her head to the side, already knowing what he’s about to say, and unscrews the top of her water bottle. “His birthday’s the sixteenth, but the party is the eighteenth.”

“I’ll be there.”

“No you won’t. You have testing.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah,” she insists. “On Monday you have to be in Bahrain.”

“Monday is not Saturday.”

Chris doesn’t tell anyone outside of Chase and Hannah that Charles is flying in, and they definitely don’t tell Reid about it, just in case it falls through for any of the million reasons it could possibly fall through because of.

It was a last minute-trip, after all, and it seems like every second of Charles’ time is accounted for right now, so Chris is prepared at any moment to get a text or a call apologetically explaining that he got pulled into something else. That call never comes, and she picks him up from the airport late Friday night, just in time to bicker in the middle of a liquor store about wine.

“Absolutely not, baby.” He says, shaking his head, a truly horrified look on his face.

“You don’t even drink wine!” She insists, holding a three-liter box of Franzia. “This is perfectly fine.”

His eyes go wide, brows raising like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “It’s in a box.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s for a fifth birthday party.”

“It’s not for the five-year-old,” he argues, picking two bottles of overpriced chardonnay from the shelf. “We’ll get these.”

– – –

Much to the dismay of the other, they show up to the party the next afternoon with one box and one bottle.

Reid is upstairs playing with some kid that Chris is related to somehow, she’s sure, so their arrival goes unnoticed by the birthday boy. Instead, Chris is heaving the box of wine onto the kitchen island, greeting a visibly stressed Hannah with a hug. Charles follows closely behind, setting his bottle down next to her box, following the hug train to Hannah.

“Look great, as always, Hannah,” He says, and Hannah laughs.

“I’m a mess, the house is a mess. Reid,” she looks to Chris, “Lord have mercy on me, your nephew has dressed himself.”

Chris scowls, and then shrugs. Charles laughs. “He can be Chandler’s nephew, today,” she says.

“He’s still your godson, though,” Hannah reminds.

“Oh, don’t I know it!”

Charles takes Chris’ coat with his own, hands them both up in the mud room that’s just off the kitchen. He hears Hannah calling for Reid while he does it, telling him to come down and say hello to your auntie. Auntie Chris. He loves the way Reid says it—Annie Chris—or, when he really wants to stir some shit up, which Charles has come to learn is just about all of the time, Reid will call her Miss Elliott.

Everyone hears him before they see him, little feet making heavy noises as they hurry down the stairs so quickly he might as well have just jumped off the landing and tuck’n’rolled his way into the kitchen. He’s bouncing on his feet, talking to Chris animatedly with his back turned to Charles when he appears in the mud-room doorway. Immediately, Chris is glancing up to him and covering Reid’s eyes with her hands, turning him to face Charles. “I have a surprise for you, Reidy.”

“What?” He squirms. “What is it?”

“More like who is it?” Hannah says, and Reid gasps.

“Chucky?” He asks, and Chris is grinning at Charles, adjusting her hands over the boy’s eyes so one hand covers them both. With the other hand, she pokes Reid’s side right where he’s ticklish and makes him giggle.

“Who?” She asks, his belly laugh making her laugh, too.

“Sharles!” Reid exclaims, breathless from laughing so hard. “Sha-rle,” He laughs out, enunciating the poorly mocked accent.

“Wrong,” Chris says, and then takes her hand off his eyes to reveal Charles.

Reid is slamming into Charles’ legs before he can even squat down to give the kid a proper hug, settling for just hugging his legs. “You comed!” He cheers.

“Come on, Mate!” Charles says, ruffling the little boy’s hair. “You didn’t think I would miss such an important birthday?”

Chris watches the whole interaction with a giddy smile on her face. Hannah watches, too, while she stirs a crock pot full of nacho cheese. Reid fills Charles in on everything that’s happened to him since Charles left, and is already asking if Charles wants to go play catch outside with the football he’s gotten from his dad earlier that week, on his actual birthday. When Hannah slides behind Chris, between her body and the cabinets, muttering a quick behind you and grabbing a ladle from a drawer, she gives Chris’ shoulder a soft squeeze.

– – –

Chris is MIA when Bill and Cindy turn up, arms full of food and gifts for their only grandchild, but Charles is in the backyard, standing around a smoking fire pit with Chase and Reid and other people he remembers meeting from the wedding, but who’s names he wouldn’t be able to remember if there was a gun held to his temple.

Bill and Cindy wander out shortly after they arrive, looking for the birthday boy, and Charles handles the introductions all by himself—a handshake to Dad, a compliment to Mom, and hugs for both of them. He knows how to charm. Knows he’s going to be working at it for a while, probably. He’s more than willing to put in the hours.

“I didn’t know you were comin’, son,” Bill says, and Charles is nodding, hands in his jacket pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Yeah, it was a kind of… last minute choice.”

“Aw,” Cindy hums. “What a sweetheart. How long are you in town for?”

“Just a couple days,” he explains. “Chris is off work this week, but I have to get to Bahrain in a couple days. Get used to the timezone and everything.”

“Ah,” Bill nods. “Season’s starting up again, that right?”

“Eh,” he shrugs. “It never stops, it feels like,” and Bill nods.

“Don’t I know it, boy.”

“Is Chrissy planning on coming out to any of your races?” Cindy asks, linking her arm through Bill’s, leaning against him around the fire. “I know she told us that y’all are keeping it pretty hush-hush for now.”

“Eventually, I hope she can,” he says. “I don’t want to have her come if she doesn’t feel comfortable.”

Cindy nods, smiling to herself. “Smart answer, honey,” she says, and Bill laughs. “You’re a good egg.” Charles chuckles softly, if only because he doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s been called a lot of things over the years, but good egg might be a new one.

Just then, Chris is pushing open the sliding door on the back deck, stepping out with her coat on, the hood pulled up over her head, her hands hidden in the sleeves. “Well, speak of the Devil,” Bill says, greeting his daughter with a tight hug.

“Uh oh,” Chris laughs, following suit with a hug for her mom, too. “Y’all are talking about me?”

He’s come to learn that her accent is never anywhere as strong as it is when she's around family. He’s familiar with the pattern of it, and does the same thing after long breaks away from speaking English or Italian. It takes a while to settle back into translating your thoughts. He thinks it’s probably pretty similar, even if she’s not translating from another language. He thinks it’s cute, when the southern twang gets extra prominent. It’s cute, and it’s sweet, and she sounds like a movie character sometimes.

She slots into her comfortable position at Charles’ side, and his arm is tossing itself over her shoulder before he even realizes it’s happening. It’s habit, almost, to keep her close. “Always,” he says.

– – –

They’re cute and annoyingly couple-ey all night. He doesn’t care if she’s related to or friends with almost everyone here, he’s never not amazed at just how easily she can find home in any conversation. Sometimes he wonders if he looks as awestruck about it as he feels, watching her put on this masterclass with everyone she talks to—from passing, brief conversations about how good Hannah’s food is and how old Reid is getting, to the long, sit-down chats about work and her life and their lives. It’s so crystal clear that she makes everyone feel important—the most important person in the room—and he;s even starting to remember names.

There’s a lot of names to remember.

There’s nobody that feels quite as important to Chris as Charles does, though, he’s sure of it. In fact, he’s not sure there’s another person on Earth that could manage to make a social event into something so… recharging for him. She just radiates energy, truly. It’s in the atmosphere, just being in her proximity, just having an arm around her or their fingers intertwined or the smell of her perfume on his clothes is enough.

He loves her so horribly that he’s almost sick with it. He’s biting his tongue all night. Hell, he’s even trying to talk himself out of the now months old revelation.

Like, she drinks wine from a fucking box. A box. Of wine. And she sees absolutely no problem with it. She wants to drag him around to every person, to engage in every conversation. She changed her perfume or her shampoo or her laundry detergent or something, because she smells different than the last time he was with her. She drives like an elderly woman—Jesus fucking Christ, she takes the speed limit so seriously it’s hard to sit in the passenger seat and let it happen. She cried three times on the way from Atlanta. Three times, because she saw some roadkill that wasn't even identifiable, and couldn’t stop thinking about it. She’s covered in glitter, like, all the time. And so is her stuff. It’s on her face and her hands and her clothes and every surface of her house. Glitter and spelling tests and like, six variations of the same travel coffee mug. She listens to country music as if it’s the only genre of music that exists, and she listens to it all the time. He doesn’t love her. He doesn’t. If he did, he wouldn't have been able to keep it in for so long.

He doesn’t love her, and then she laughs and he can feel it in his fucking gut, feels the urge to laugh even when he doesn’t get the joke, even when he misses entirely what is making her so happy. He wants to laugh because she’s laughing and her laugh makes the world a better place and he loves her so bad it hurts.

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hunn1e-bunn1e · 9 months

Text

Azul Ashengrotto - "Lovely Little Angel Fish"

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

In which a certain Octavinelle dorm prefect is moved to tears by the love he feels. Or; In which Azul Ashengrotto is praised and worshiped until he's broken down into a timid, trembling heap of sobs and sniffles by his adoring lover; You.

Warnings -> Pretty damn suggestive, but there's no smut to speak of in this post.

🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚

"N‐nnmh... [Name]..."

The silver-haired man whimpers as he tries and fails to push your face away from his own with trembling hands.

He looked an absolute mess at this point. Their face was all pink and stained with tears that continued to flow from his glassy grey-blue eyes. Sniffling and whimpering with every compliment that fell from your lips and every kiss you placed on his body. He was shaking like a leaf, tremors ripping through him every time you looked at him like that; with so much love and adoration in your eyes.

"Angel? I asked you a question, didn't I? Can you answer it for me?"

Cooing at him softly, you cup his cheek and run the pad of your thumb just under his eye in a futile attempt to dry his tears.

What a pathetic display he showed you, weakly shaking his head in defiance and continuing to try and push you back. He babbled and whined out words that you couldn't comprehend; you didn't even think he was trying to speak at this point.

"My pretty boy, can you please do as I asked? I've been very patient, you know. It's becoming hard to hold back, my love."

You lean in and mutter into his pink-tipped ear; pressing a kiss to his temple, then his cheek, then his jaw, and finally his neck.

Azul's pretty tear-filled eyes clench shut, burning from crying for hours on end, as he tries to hide his face in the pillows; curling his nude body in on itself. You could practically see on his face what he was thinking; 'this is way too embarrassing', 'Please don't make me say it', 'Don't look at me like that'. By The Seven, he was so cute, everything he did always had you on the cusp of absolutely ruining him.

"'S not true...–hic–...'m not beautiful...haah...p‐please, [Name]..."

The crying silver-haired man whined; his body going limp in your hold from exhaustion after fighting you for so long.

"My sweet little angel fish, won't you please tell me how beautiful you are? What do you love about yourself? I don't have to punish you, do I?"

You purr at him as you gently caress his face with the back of your fingers, peppering sweet kisses all over his damp face.

Azul helplessly tries to follow your face with his own; trying desperately to connect his lips with yours. He opened his puffy redish lids, letting the collected tears spill out as he looked into your half-lidded gaze.

"I‐I'm— I... my eyes... l‐love my eyes 'cause you—... you look at 'em like you love me..."

He sobs out quietly through pants and shuddering breaths, wrapping his heavy arms around your neck and pulling you in to rest your head in the crook of his neck.

You couldn't help but chuckle at his bleary-eyed stare. What a precious boy your little Azul was. No matter how much he fought you at first, he would always turn around and try to make you happy in the end. You couldn't help but wonder how tricked someone as wonderful as him into being your boyfriend.

"That's because I do love you, baby."

You looked at him and wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling sweaty his chest flat up against your own.

"Nnnh... I... I love you too, [Name]..."

🐠•♡•🐠•♡•🐠•♡•🐠•♡•🐠•♡•🐠•♡•🐠•♡•🐠

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

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ramayantika · 2 months

Text

Pag Ghungroo Baje

couldn't find any suitable title :) this title is subject to change later on.

Writing this while revising for Human Anatomy & Physio. My mind is saturated so pardon me for lazy writing and errors if any.

CH-1

I was walking inside our society campus. My dance class got over half an hour ago, and I had decided to take a stroll around the large campus before meeting the biker boy from last night.

My kurti darkened as sweat stuck to my body, and the cool night breeze made me shiver slightly. I could still feel my damp hair sticking to my neck, and I cringed at the stickiness of my sweat-dried cheeks.

I definitely made a great appearance.

As I neared the society park, my heart raced. My eyes raked all over the park to spot the familiar boy. I could see a group of boys, all teenagers, standing beside the slides with badminton rackets. Some middle school kids and their parents were playing pakdam pakdai as their parents chatted with each other. Two girls were swinging on the U-shaped swings. There was no trace of a boy looking out for me.

Fetching my phone from my dance bag, I switched it on to check the time. It was already 7.05 PM, and I had to be home by 7.45 to freshen up and start studying. I had already informed my mother that I would take a walk after dance class inside the campus and then come home.

I began fanning myself with my dupatta and decided to wait for ten more minutes. If no one would show up, I would immediately head home and resume my studies. Scrolling through my news feed, I found an article headline about the stock market, which I ignored. Even the news feed grew tired of me scrolling, and my dry eyes began stinging a little.

I placed my phone back into the bag and looked up at the night sky. A few stars twinkled up there, and with them flew large, floating grey clouds that looked like mists. I traced the stars with my eyes, trying to find a pattern in their alignment, when I felt someone tap my shoulder.

“You are the dancer, right?”

I snapped my neck too fast at the person behind me, causing me to wince a little at the sharp pain. Rubbing the skin gently, I nodded at the boy and said, “Yes, I am the dancer, and you are?”

“The biker.” The boy said it with a straight face that made me raise my eyebrows.

“Your name – Mr. Biker? You said you would tell me today if I met you here in the park.”

Moving a hand through his hair, he replied with a charming smile, “Oh yes, I am Veer. D wing 302.”

Taking a step back, I said, “Woah! I didn’t ask for your address.”

Veer shrugged his shoulders. “I mentioned it because who knows when you might need it? The universe works in very mysterious ways after all, Sameera.”

I bit back a smile. Sameera's lips sounded beautiful, and, may I add, sensual? His deep, gravelly voice sounded poetic, or maybe like that of a romantic poet. His voice repeating my name echoed in my head, and I fought hard to stop a blush from forming on my warm cheeks.

'Sameera, you are pathetic,’ I said to myself in my head.

Veer, who was standing in front of me, was two heads taller than me. Dressed in casual jeans and a t-shirt paired with sneakers, looked straight from a young adult romantic movie by Dharma Productions.

I cannot lie. Veer did look handsome.

On the other hand, I had nothing nice to enhance my appearance. If I were given a little more time, I would have freshened up before meeting him. Maybe fate wanted him to see me in a sleek, sweaty braid, drenched garments, and a mismatched dupatta lazily draped around my neck and shoulders.

“Which block is yours, though?” I heard Veer ask, causing me to drift away from all the handsomeness in front of me.

“Mine?” I scratched my chin. “Yes, it is block A-102.”

Veer’s eyes raked all over me, but it wasn’t a creepy gaze, but rather a very curious one. “You waited for me straight after your dance class?”

I blinked my eyes. Clearly, I hadn’t expected this question. “Uh.. yes. I have to anyway get home by 7.45, so I decided I would wait for you to show up. And if you wouldn’t have, then I would have gone home, and from the next moment onwards, I forgot I met a boy outside my window who caught me dancing.”

Veer opened his phone. “It’s 7.20, and you still have twenty-five minutes. Do you want to spend those minutes with me or spend them gazing at the night sky?”

My eyes widened with surprise. “Were you watching me?”

Veer scratched the back of his neck and gently nodded his head. “Yes, but you were looking cute, so I couldn't." Veer paused and looked at me, his eyes mirroring the same expression as mine. With an embarrassed smile, he said, "Sorry, this might make me sound very forward, but the truth remains the truth after all.”

I couldn’t help but giggle at Veer, whose confident demeanour had flown out of his system. “And now you look really cute this way.”

The boy simply smiled and looked at the ground. His pinkish lips curled beautifully as he smiled, and my smile grew even bigger after watching him smile.

Who knew boys can be so adorable too?

“By the way, what do you dance?”

I sit down on the bench while answering. “I do Bharatanatyam.”

Veer’s eyes lit up. “I have a friend who dances classical too. She does Kathak though.” Glancing at the empty space beside me, he asked, “Can I sit with you?”

“Of course, you don’t need to ask.”

He sat down beside me but maintained a healthy gap between us. “Yeah, but I also didn’t want to accidentally invade your space.”

My face softened. There are considerate people still in this time and generation.

“So, what are you studying?” I asked while removing the dupatta from my neck.

“Engineering. Computer science. You?”

“Biotechnology.”

“Wow. Science and dance go together. That’s really impressive, Sameera.”

There, once again, I felt myself melt. I wanted to savour the sound of my name from his ips, and all of this sounds so weird, but I couldn’t help it. My brain and my nervous system were sending weird signals to each other.

“What hobbies do you have, Veer?”

Veer turned his face towards me. I observed his curly eyelashes fall so gracefully each time he blinks. “Nothing much. I like to read and maybe go sightseeing nearby when I feel like it.”

“That’s nice.”

We stayed quiet. Veer fiddled with his thumbs, and sometimes he would sneak glances at me, which I would ignore while smiling to myself. After a few minutes, I could hear the sound of buzzing crickets and croaking frogs. Veer looked at me, his eyes sparkling under the white street lamp above us, and said, “I moved here a week ago. I like this society. It’s spacious, and there’s a lot of greenery around.”

Moving my eyes around the flower bushes and trees lining the sides of the roads, I nodded in agreement. “That’s true. The nights are really peaceful here.”

He smiled. It was a soft acknowledging smile, which made me smile too. We then turned our faces away from each other and moved our gaze to the front, silently embracing the comfortable quiet surrounding us until my phone rang up.

“Niche hai na upar aate vakt curry patta todke lana toh,” my mother said on the phone before abruptly disconnecting the call. I could hear the loud sound of the grinder, which meant my mother had begun preparing for dinner.

Veer, with a knowing grin, remarked, “Curry patta toh mujhe bhi lana hai. Let’s go together then.”

I pursed my lips and replied, “Do you really want curry patta, or is it just another excuse to spend time with me?”

Shrugging his shoulder, Veer ruffled his fluffy, wavy hair and, with a boyish grin, said, “Oh, I am here only to make friends. It’s my good luck that a pretty girl like you is the first friend I get to make.”

I got up from the bench and straightened my kurti. “Woah! Friends already?”

My mind fixated on the pretty girl comment, but of course I acted nonchalant about it.

“I am not into that acquaintance, then friends bullshit. Do log mile baat kiye hasi mazak hua aur dost banne.”

Shaking my head at Veer, I walked outside the park with Veer following me. “Chalo phir dost. Let’s get curry patta.”

***

[Veer’s POV]

That night I saw Sameera dancing through her window. I couldn’t hear the song, but I could see her movements, her hand gestures and her lovely, bright smile. She was acting as a shy girl in love to whatever song she was playing in her room, but she looked really cute and I couldn’t help but watch her dance with a smile on my face though my rational mind deems it to be a very creepy action.

I watched Sameera lead me towards the small group of trees behind the junction between A and B block from where I could get curry patta. To be honest, my mother too had asked me to get a few curry leaves for dinner and I was about to ask the security guard for it but luck favoured me and I got Sameera.

Sameera, through the window looked adorable and her dance was good too, but in front of me, she looked ten times prettier. Sweat on women does make them appear hotter, though. I could see the light making her collarbones shine and my eyes carefully observed a lone sweat droplet move down her neck as graceful as Sameera’s hand gestures.

Later, when she wrapped the dupatta around her neck and shoulders, she looked even more cute.

Sameera switched on the flashlight on her phone and moved her neck diagonally upwards. Her eyes looked me through the corners and she said, “Just make sure that nobody catches you plucking these, okay?”

She plucked two branches, one for me and one for herself. Handing the curry leaves to me, she said, “Yeh lo dosti ka pehla gift. Curry patta.”

Thanking her, I took my curry patta from her and stepped back to move out from the dense shrubs around us that were brimming with buzzing mosquitoes. Sameera’s flashlight lit my way ahead because the dry twigs could easily make a person trip and fall down if not careful enough.

A few leaves crunched beneath my feet, and as I had barely walked four steps ahead when heard Sameera gasp. Immediately, I turned around only to find her laughing in embarrassment while twirling the dupatta around her arm.

“My dupatta made me trip a little.”

In concern, I asked her. “You sure? No cuts, right?”

She waved her arm, causing the dupatta to fly right in front of my face. “Oh, not at all. I didn’t fall down. It was only a misstep.”

Sameera looked fine enough, so I didn’t question any further. I lit my flashlight too and walked outside the clustered trees and shrubs with Sameera carefully marking her steps in the dark.

Taking a turn, we both now stood in the parking lot of A block. Sameera walked near the lift and said, “It was nice meeting you Veer.” She pressed the lift button and turned to me. “Hope to see you around.”

I loved her voice, especially when she took my name. Her sweet gentle voice made my name sound sweeter, and it made me feel warm in my chest. Giving her a two-finger salute, I replied, “Oh, you will definitely see me around. Until next time.”

She waved at me and stepped inside the lift. I watched her until the lift doors closed in front of me. I began walking back home while whistling all the way, my mind still thinking about the adorable Sameera, her voice and her illuminating smile.

--xx--

Taglist: @alhad-si-simran @ramcharantitties @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @aesthetic-aryavartik @jukti-torko-golpo @kaal-naagin @krishna-priyatama @houseofbreadpakoda @navaratna @to-three-or-not-to-three @oldersiblingcurse (okay why can't I tag you 🥲)@talesinmyhead041022 @yourstruly-sakhi

#samridhi writes #stories #desiblr #fluff #romance #my writing

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kingkatsuki · 2 years

Note

omg overstimming kiri to the point where the fleshlight is just leaking cum 🥺🥺 all he wants is you and your lil pussy but now he’s spent :((

- 🎀

Warnings: 18+, subby Kirishima, fleshlights, one use of the word ‘daddy’.

Nuzzling the stubble on the side of his cheek as you press your lips against his dewy skin, his arm still locked around your waist as he holds you against his side. Fingertips dipping into the plush skin of your hip as his chest heaves, trying to steady his breathing as he pants. Your hand still wrapped around the fleshlight as you slow your motions to a gentle stroke, the toy barely moving from the base of his cock as he throbs inside it. Thick globs of cum leaking from the toy as it settles around the base of his cock, matting his black pubic hair as he tries to get you to stop.

“S’too much,” he mumbles, blinking back tears that cling to his thick lashes, “too tight.”

“Aww, baby.” You coo against his cheek, letting go of the fleshlight as it drops onto his pelvis, his cock still buried inside it, “You know my pussy is tighter.”

The words have a deep, rumbly groan spilling from his lips as he thinks about how your wet, silky walls would feel wrapped around his cock. Twitching inside the toy as your fingers move down to his balls, squeezing them gently as his hips jolt from the bed. Crying out a harsh “fuck” as you let one of your fingers stroke along his taint, watching as he clenched his eyes shut to try and settle his overstimulated body down.

Moving back to pull the toy off his cock completely as more cum immediately drops from the stretched opening, landing all over his abdomen as you see his spent cock beginning to soften, bobbing slightly from the motion as you move your fingers to the hole of the toy.

“Don’t you wanna stretch me out like this, Ei?” Kirishima’s eyes open in slits as he sees what you’re doing and his whole body tingles, eyes rolling back at the thought of stretching you out around his fat cock.

“Baby, please.” Kirishima almost whines when you move from beside him, his arm falling limp against the bed as you swing one of your thighs over his hips to straddle him. Pulling his oversized shirt up over your belly so he can see your bare pussy as you hover above him, no matter how much he wants to stop, that his body screams for a moments respite, he can’t stop looking at you.

You slide your other hand between your thighs to spread yourself open for him, so he can see the translucent strings of your slick sticking to your folds, watching your every move as you lean forward. Pressing yourself against the underside of his cock as you begin to grind against him, your slick mixing with his cum that sticks to his skin as you begin to roll your hips. The movement giving stimulation to your neglected clit while he groans, trying to swing his forearm over his eyes to avoid himself from looking at just how sinful you look above him.

“Don’t be like that, daddy.” You pout, leaning forward to tug at his wrist, his forearm moving onto his forehead as he continues watching through glossy eyes, “I know you wanna make me feel good too.”

“I can’t,” He sounds so pathetic as he whines, his cheeks a warm pink as his cock begins to stiffen beneath you.

“Yes,” You bite your lip as you see fresh pre beginning to ooze from his tip, mixing with the mess already coating his skin as it begins to dry against it because of the cool air from the ceiling fan oscillating above, “Yes, you can.” Swears he can’t get it up again no matter how much he wants to. It’s all too much.

Kirishima swears he can’t cum again, swears that you’ve drained his balls of everything he’s got to give, but the moment he feels your tight, wet, warm walls wrapped around his cock he forgets everything. His cock throbbing almost painfully as he lays against the damp sheets and lets you use him however you please. Watching through half-lidded eyes as you used him to get yourself off, “Just one more, Ei. I know you can— for me?”

#thirst posts #jo thirsts #Kirishima thirst #red daddy riot #🎀 anon

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blondeboyfriend · 1 year

Text

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Zeke Yeager x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] This is the result of my NYE survey. Big thanks to everyone that submitted a response. I couldn't have done this without you guys! [SYNOPSIS ] After your secular boyfriend breaks up with you, the pastor's son invites you to a New Year's Eve party in hopes of distracting you from your heartache. [ WORD COUNT ] 5.5k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, predator/prey vibes, y/n is inexperienced, anxiety, manipulation, sacrilege, alcohol, binge drinking, dubcon (drunk sex, Zeke's manipulative), pet name (bunny, good girl), angst without a happy ending, he sucks on y/n's tits, rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), brief assplay, spanking, degradation (slut), creampie.

Thick drops of rain assaulted the church windows as you tried to listen to Pastor Grisha. They sounded solid, like each drop was a shard of gravel trying to break through the weathered glass. The continuous sharp tapping overwhelmed you, taking over your brain with ease. You were primed for a mindless distraction after hyperfocusing on your breakup.

You had spent the previous days mourning your relationship. Your secular boyfriend, Levi, had left you for greener pastures. You assumed he was tired of your cautious nature and your goody two-shoes existence. Levi wasn’t a “bad boy” by any means. But you suspected he wanted someone with a little bite to them. You were too tame, too soft. He had told you he would only end up hurting you if you stayed together. "Maybe I want to get hurt,” you pathetically cried out in protest.

Despite Levi’s intentions the breakup ended up hurting you, every second an unbearable ache. It left you desperate to focus on anything else and it seemed the rain tapping against the church windows would fill the gaping hole he left in your life.

“Oh,” a voice chirped as a sopping wet hooded figure entered the sanctuary of the chapel. “My bad.”

The pastor let out a hearty sigh and continued on with his sermon. The squeals of the figure’s wet rain boots filled the room, overtaking the sound of the heavy rain. You turned around and saw a very damp Zeke Yeager.

He had just pulled off the hood of his raincoat. It was partially unzipped, his Sunday best barely holding on underneath it. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, a whisper of sensuality.

He made his way down the pews and glanced at you, flashing a little smile. You had been too obvious with your ogling and now you had to suffer the consequences.

Zeke casually took a seat next to you. You wiped your red-rimmed eyes and hoped you didn’t look like you’d spent the entire morning crying. You mouthed a quiet “hi” and pretended to be absorbed in the sermon’s teachings.

Every so often your eyes would briefly drift over to Zeke. His ash-blonde hair was tousled and half-dry from the relentless storm. He smelled like an expensive pine candle; you couldn’t help but lean in a little closer so you could take in his scent.

Your heart fluttered when he removed his raincoat, revealing his closely fitted white button down shirt. He unfastened the wrists and rolled up his sleeves, giving you a good look at his toned forearms. It was like everything he did was to simply entice you, to draw you in. You kicked yourself for being so easy and pathetic. You had known Zeke for years, or rather known of him. He was rather popular, as the pastor’s son was likely to be, and on friendly terms with just about everyone. Like yes, you had a bit of a crush on him but so did everyone else! He was cute and charming in a dorky kind of way. No one could resist him.

But this moment was different. You never felt like you needed him. Suddenly you wanted to go on a date with him and watch a fucked up movie with lots of nudity and swearing and violence. You wanted to kiss him on the mouth and actually have an orgasm. Maybe one day you’d marry him and you’d lead an idyllic, peaceful life in some scenic town.

You shook your head and breathed deep, wrestling yourself away from your fantasies. As you went to refocus your attention on the pastor you realized the sermon had ended.

“That was a boring one,” Zeke said, laughing. He was reclined in the pew, head hanging back. He was gazing up at the popcorn ceiling.

You shouldn’t have been startled, but you were. “Hm?! Um… yeah. I mean, I wasn’t paying… uh, paying attention really.”

His gaze turned to you, grey eyes peering into yours.

“Tsk, tsk. I always thought you were such a good girl.” The honeyed tone of the last two words swept you off your feet. He continued, “You did look distracted though. Is something going on?”

You didn’t say anything, hoping that maybe he would forget he asked the question. He waited before asking, “Are you okay?”

The three words no one uttered to you until this very moment. You briefly hesitated to answer before your heart sprang forth with a rush of repressed emotions. You told Zeke everything about Levi: how he thought you were too sweet, too religious, and how you refused to fuck him again after the first time was too painful and unrewarding. You cried about how lost you felt, how you felt trapped by your feelings, how all you wanted was someone that was devoted and faithful.

And he listened and nodded attentively, taking in your every word. His gaze was empathetic yet calculating, and easy to get lost in. The longer you stared into them, the more you felt yourself being pulled in his direction. It was dizzying. You felt like the walls were closing in around you.

“It’s funny you mention that,” he said, sniffling. “I actually just got out of a relationship as well.”

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

He nodded. “She wanted to move too fast. And she said I was too devoted to God. It hurt my feelings, but what am I going to do? Break up with Jesus?”

You laughed and wiped away a tear from the corner of your eye. It was funny, but his words felt hollow.

“She should’ve known you’d be such a committed shepherd. Your daddy is the pastor… Like what does she expect?”

Zeke licked his lips. “Exactly,” he sniped.

His eyes trailed down your body. They lingered on your breasts and then your legs. Instinctively you covered yourself, feeling far too exposed by his gaze.

“You know,” he said slyly, “what the best cure for a broken heart is?”

“No.” You gulped. “I don’t know.”

He leaned in. “My parents are throwing a New Year’s Eve party. You should come over.”

“I should?”

“Yeah,” he said grinning. “We’ll party the night away and forget about our exes. It’ll be the perfect distraction.”

“I don’t know,” you sighed.

“Do you have something better to do?” He asked haughtily.

“... No.” You bit your bottom lip in a desperate attempt to be cute or coy. “Where do you live?”

Zeke gave you his address and left the room without saying goodbye. You hated how disorienting he was. It was like time slowed down when he was near, almost like his flaxen hair and boyish looks were of Luciferian nature. It was a little unsettling. But you figured the crush you had on him was the cause. Of course you’d feel uneasy around the object of your affection! It was natural. A few perceptual distortions were to be expected.

It was grueling having to wait for New Year’s Eve. You wanted to see Zeke sooner than that, but you didn’t want to seem pushy and scare him off. You weren’t sure that you’d ever have a chance with someone so pious ever again.

When the night came you dressed cute but casual, opting for a tennis skirt with thick knit socks, a sweatshirt, and a big coat to shield you from the winter night’s cruel chill. On the way over you mentally rehearsed various conversations so you wouldn’t say anything stupid around his parents.

Zeke’s house was bigger than you were anticipating. Music blared out the windows, the bass thumping at an ungodly volume. There was someone throwing up on the lawn. You saw a few girls you knew from church sitting on the curb and drooling into the storm drain while sharing a single cigarette. To say you were shocked was putting it lightly. This was not what you were expecting.

You knocked on the door and tried to calm yourself, anticipating either Pastor Grisha or his wife, Carla, to greet you.

“You’re finally here!” Zeke said, forcing his drink into your hand as he opened the door. “Take a sip. You need to catch up.”

He was drunk and wearing sunglasses for some unknown reason.

“I… What?” You asked sweetly.

“Drink up, buttercup.”

“No thank you.” You handed his drink back to him.“Where are your parents? Is this their party?”

You knew it wasn’t theirs, but you wanted to make sure. Plus you weren’t really sure what to say. You were floundering as it was.

“No, their party is happening like three towns over,” he answered. “This is mine.”

“Oh,” you said, clenching and unclenching your fist. “Cool! I… Wow. I didn’t know everyone… did this stuff.”

“Sorry we can’t all be as innocent and as pure as you,” Zeke joked.

“No! It’s not—I just—it’s surprising. I assumed everyone else was more tame I guess.”

You felt silly and small, and wanted to leave. But Zeke’s presence drew you in.

“Well you can be surprised by the bar. Let’s do some shots.”

He guided you through the party, weaving through undulating blobs of people coagulating in the most inconvenient places. The kitchen was crowded, but everyone made room for you and Zeke. He opened a cabinet and grabbed an ornate bottle of mezcal. You pretended to know exactly what it was when he handed a shot of it to you.

“It’s gonna burn a little, but you’ll love it. I promise.”

“I don’t know… What if your parents come home?”

“They won’t.”

You gritted your teeth. “I shouldn’t.”

“Don’t you wanna forget about Levi?” He asked. “Live it up.”

“But it’s a sin, Zeke. ‘And do not get drunk on wine which leads to debauchery. Instead be filled with the Spirit.’”

You kicked yourself for dropping a bible quote.

“God created this so we could enjoy it. He made it so we can feel good. Why would God create mezcal if we’re not supposed to drink a shit ton of it?”

You paused because you wanted to believe him. “You do have a point.”

“Plus, bunny, I’m doing it. Me. The pastor’s son. So it’s fine. Nothing I do is a sin. Let’s just have a good night.”

His seemingly intoxicated logic was hilarious and heretical so you went along with it. On the count of three you both slammed the shot. He was right. It burned like hell, but he seemed to be impressed by your ability to drink it so you asked for another. He was more than happy to oblige.

“Told ya,” he said, filling your shot glass.

You shrugged, trying to act cool. “You said I needed to catch up so you know.”

You knew you were overestimating your tolerance, but you wanted to have fun and keep impressing Zeke. You gulped down the mezcal, wincing slightly as it singed your throat. Your eyes welled with tears.

“Aw. I didn’t realize I was dealing with a crybaby,” he teased.

“It hurts, alright?!” You cleared your throat and wiped away your tears. “I’d like another please.”

He poured you another sizable shot. He tilted his head and stared at you googly-eyed as you downed it without question.

“You’re incredible. Do one more,” he purred.

You took three more shots in front of him, finally cutting yourself off when you felt like the back of your throat was thoroughly corroded.

“How ya feeling?” He asked, hip checking you harder than you would have expected.

“Fuzzy. But great and fun and… nice. I gotta pee though. Where’s your bathroom?”

He laughed. “Down the hall, it’s the third door on the right.”

“Okay. Will you stay here and wait for me?” You asked, urgency brewing in your voice. “Please?”

“Yeah, yeah. You got it, bunny.”

He sounded distracted, but you wanted to believe the drunk blonde had your best interests at heart and would keep his word. As you ran off in the direction of the bathroom you overheard Zeke holler, “Run, little rabbit, run.”

Of course by the time you returned he was gone. Your stomach dropped and suddenly you felt like you were underwater, struggling to breathe. Every face was a blur, a terror. Everywhere you turned was unfamiliar and pushed you further into the depths of intoxication. Zeke was nowhere to be found. Though occasionally you could have sworn you’d see him, lurking around with his grey eyes penetrating you like poison-tipped arrows.

“Have you guys suh—seen Zeke an—anywhere?” You slurred to a group of people you thought you recognized.

“Uh, no,” one replied, eyebrow cocked and voice filled with annoyance.

“S—sorry,” you mumbled before running off like a wounded animal.

You found a relatively quiet corner and tried to pull yourself together. Your palms were clammy and you felt like your face was on fire. The room was spinning and it was like you were hovering an inch above the ground. Nothing in this moment had a hint of stability. There was nothing to hold onto, no way to stay grounded.

“What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?” You repeated like the world’s least helpful mantra.

You thought of every piece of media where a wild party occurred. You scoured your memories for good examples of how to act, how to handle yourself. You didn’t have much to go off of; your sheltered upbringing made your hazy attempt a bust.

You stared into the crowd, thinking maybe if you saw someone familiar you’d be able to wing it. Common ground would surely save you. It took you about ten minutes, but you finally spied someone you definitely knew from church.

You yelled from across the room, “Yelena!”

Your screech startled her, but she smiled and waved you over. She gave you a hug and it felt like someone strapped a lifevest to you. You didn’t want to leave her embrace.

“How’s it going?” She asked.

“Ummm, not great. I mean… it’s fine. I’m o—okay.”

“I didn’t know you drank.”

“I don’t. Well, I do now. But this is m—my first time,” you stammered, almost like you were afraid of this newly adopted hedonism.

“You’re going pretty hard for your first time.”

“Oh! I’m just trying to keep up with, uh, Zeke, you know?”

She gave you a quizzical look and sighed. “Watch yourself around him,” she said ominously.

“Why?”

She shook her head. “Never mind. Don’t worry about it. I have to go.”

She walked away, leaving you with the group of strangers she had been hanging out with. None of them exuded the warmth Yelena had so you wandered off in search of other people to leach comfort from.

Comfort was found in the form of Zeke’s borzoi, Ymir. She was sequestered in his parents’ room, away from the swirling chaos happening downstairs. Their room was an oasis, your savior found after wandering Zeke’s house for what felt like hours. Your mouth was dry and stingy and the sight of their private bathroom nearly made you cry. You stumbled over to it and shoved your head under the sink, taking an hysterical slurp of cool water.

You looked in the mirror and gasped as your red-eyed, dazed expression stared back at you.

“This is bad,” you drawled.

There was some strange comfort in stating the obvious. You crawled on the floor and sat next to Ymir.

“What am I gonna do?” You wrapped an arm around the dog and looked at her. “Ymir, what am I supposed to do?”

She said nothing and licked the tip of your nose.

“Okay. Th–thanks I guess.”

The two of you sat in silence. The only noise was the muffled music that rumbled throughout the house. You dragged your hand down Ymir’s back, relishing in the softness of her lush fur. It wasn’t peaceful, but it was close enough. You didn’t feel as fearful, your face no longer burning. The tension that had bloomed in your shoulders subsided, leaving you pliable. You slumped a little, back supported by the cool wall. This was your sanctuary.

“Maybe th—” you swallowed a gag, “this is heaven on earth… Isn’t it? Close enough,” you mindlessly rambled to no one in a drunken haze.

You usually weren’t one to exaggerate exaltation so blatantly, but you were turning over a new leaf this year. Maybe things would be alright after all.

Just as you were finally enjoying your intoxication a knock on the door brought you back to the harshness of reality. The door slowly opened, its hinges squeaking without mercy. You stared at the doorway, your face losing all color. The anticipation was killing you.

“There you are, bunny.”

It was Zeke. You could barely hide your excitement and relief.

“Where have you been? I was looking for you everywhere.”

Ymir got up and bolted for the door unceremoniously, pushing past Zeke’s dominating form. You looked down at your jacket which was coated in her white fur.

“Around,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

“You said you were gonna wait for me.”

“I say a lot of things.”

You pouted. “I felt stupid, running around looking for you.”

Zeke took a seat on his parents’ bed. He looked down at you and smirked.

“Poor thing. I’m here now though so you can relax.”

Relaxing seemed impossible, even with explicit permission. It was strange. You had spent so much time searching for Zeke, desperate to see his heavenly presence. But now that he was near you, you felt a disturbing sense of unease.

“What were you even doing?” You asked, the words like slow molasses dripping off your tongue.

“Looking for you! And making sure my guests were having fun. This is my party. I have to be a good host. You’re not the center of the universe, bunny.”

You stared at the carpet. “Yeah.”

“The quicker you realize that, the quicker you can escape this pathetic depressive episode of yours.”

“Pathetic?”

Zeke chuckled. “C’mon. Look at you.”

You stared at your coat caked with Ymir’s fur.

“You can’t expect to find a God fearing man if this is how you are.” He nudged you with his foot. “Depressed. Insecure. A sloppy drunk. A tease.”

“I… That’s n—not me. I’m not—”

He cut you off. “Are you not drunk right now?”

“Yeah, but—”

“You’re not thinking clearly.”

He was right. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess. It was possible you didn’t know yourself. It was possible that you would drink like this again, and maybe even with Zeke. You were certainly insecure, especially under these circumstances. The party was a wild terrain you barely survived. But a tease? That wasn’t accurate.

“Nnn—not a tease.”

“You stayed with Levi even though you knew you would never fuck him again.”

“That… Wait. I stayed with him becau—” you swallowed the spit that had been collecting in your mouth, “I love him.”

“You didn’t love him.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I did love him.”

“You can’t even get the words out without slurring,” Zeke snarked. “You don’t need to lie to me, bunny. You can trust me.”

Bunny stung every time he said it, like a needle forcing its way into your vein.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling out a pint of vodka from the void that was his pants pocket. He cracked open the bottle and took a sniff. “Let’s have more fun.”

You crawled over to Zeke and sat in front of him, legs crossed like a child awaiting instruction.

“Get in between my knees.”

“Zeke, th—that’ll look really really bad if so…someone sees.”

“Don’t think about it.”

You crawled closer to him and positioned yourself between his long, toned legs. You sat with your knees tucked under you which caused you great discomfort. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. He reached down, lifting your chin.

“Open your mouth and get ready to drink.”

You swallowed hard and tried to ignore the tears still trickling from your eyes.

“Don’t choke now,” he said, as he poured the vodka into your mouth.

Your swallowing was a success and you avoided asphyxiating, but your chin and chest were soaked with vodka.

“Oh no, will you look at your clothes?” Zeke asked with mock concern.

You pulled off your wet coat, hoping it would have got the brunt of your spill. But no. Your sweatshirt was also vodka stained.

“Dang,” you muttered.

Zeke patted the bed, signaling you to take a seat next to him. You got up and tried to make yourself comfortable. To feel the heat of his body against yours made the muscles in your legs burn. It was becoming clear running away from him was the best course of action, but your brain was soaking in a vat of mezcal and vodka. Anxiety shot through every vein as his arm brushed up against yours. It was like being locked in a room with a pack of wolves. In a panic you quickly imagined the situation, four wolves deep. Little movements and expecting the worst but hoping for the best. The goal is unceremonious: survive.

You sat in a daze, trying to make sense of your previous thoughts only to get lost in your shitty metaphor.

“You should take off your sweater,” Zeke said, rousing you.

He tugged on your sweatshirt, a boyish grin adorned his face.

“Mmmmno. I don’t have anything on underneath it.”

“Who cares? We’re going to fuck each other anyway. You might as well get undressed.”

“That’s deplor—depolar—deplorable,” you drunkenly hissed. “In Pastor Grisha’s r—room? Of all places?”

You paused, unable to speak through your shock.

“Zeke Yeager,” you continued. “That is so disrespec—like not okay to do. I mean, wow…. Us? Yo—you and me? Suuuuure. Okay.” You snorted. “No. I mean, maybe. But like no. I mean, I do kinda hav—”

“I know you have a crush on me, bunny.”

“You—you do?”

“I saw the way you were looking at me on Sunday.”

You tried to think if you stared at him that much. You remember glancing at him more than a few times, but you couldn’t have been that obvious.

“You were staring at me. Your eyes were filled with lust.”

“I’m… don’t think so. I was definitely looking at you, but like only two seconds at a time. Like a lil’ gl—glance.”

“Why would I lie about this?”

“Um… I don’t know.”

You couldn’t think of any good reason. You did think he was adorable. Maybe you had been staring at him. You dragged your thumb along your vodka soaked sweatshirt.

“You know you want to,” he purred. “That cannot be comfortable.”

You relented and pulled off your sweatshirt.

“Take your bra off too,” he said, eyes flat like a shark’s.

“Uhhh,” you mumbled as you unhooked your bra and let it fall from your shoulders.

You let out a tiny whine as the chilled air teased your nipples.

“I bet you’d make the cutest noises if you let me suck on your tits.”

His words left you in a daze of disgust and desire. Because you didn’t put up a fight, Zeke took your breast in his mouth and rolled his tongue against your erect nipple. Warm waves of joy enrobed your body. Your sweet moans filled the room. He rubbed your other nipple between his fingers and continued to suck. His other hand had worked its way under your skirt.

“Zeke, we can’t,” you said, pushing him away.

“Yes, we can. Give me one good reason why we can’t.”

“It’s… Your dad.” You groaned, frustrated that talking took so much effort. “He will be so mad at us.”

“He’ll never know.”

“An—and it’s a sin,” you added.

“Bunny,” he said softly before cupping your face in his hands, “If God didn’t want us to fuck, why did He make it feel so good? Why even give us these bodies?”

His fingers reeked of cigarette smoke. The smell was distracting.

“I—”

“How could something that feels that good be wrong? It can’t.”

“No. Like… I stole a piece of candy once as a kid, right? And it felt great, bu—but like… it was still against the law. Me liking it didn’t… didn’t, uh, change that.”

Zeke covered your mouth. “You are so much more fuckable when you shut the fuck up.”

The walls were closing in on you.

“You said you wanted to be with someone more faithful and devoted to the Lord. I’m the perfect guy, bunny.”

It felt strange to have your words used against you. But Zeke had to be right. He seemed to be the ideal boyfriend even if there was an undercurrent of salaciousness to his behavior.

“I could make you feel so much better than Levi.”

His words were beguiling. The more he spoke, the more convincing he was. You were getting worn down by his persuasion.

“Promise?”

“I’d never lie to you,” he replied, words syrupy.

His eyes didn’t match the tone of his voice. They were dark, heavy and obscured. You couldn’t read them, but you knew something wasn’t right. Sadly you didn’t know enough to heed your intuition. You chose to believe Zeke.

You leaned in and kissed him, taking his bottom lip in between yours. He grabbed your breast as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. His mouth tasted acrid, potent with alcohol and cigarettes.

Zeke’s hands made their way to your waist and unbuttoned your skirt, taking his time to pull the zipper down. It was like he was trying to savor every second he had you ensnared. He pulled your skirt off of you and tossed it across the room, far from your reach. He held your bottom lip between his teeth and he rubbed your cunt through your underwear.

You tugged at his shirt, but he quickly pushed your hands away. He broke the kiss and said, “Get on your hands and knees.”

“Okay,” you mewled, adjusting your position.

He got behind you and peeled away your underwear.

“Arch your back for me.”

You swallowed your nerves and obeyed. He swiped his tongue along your folds. The tip of it grazed your clit and you let out a short, high pitched whine. He chuckled before giving your clit a long, languid lick.

“Zeke,” you moaned.

“You like that, huh? Did Levi ever make you feel like that?”

He licked your throbbing clit once more. You grabbed ahold of the duvet and dug your fingers into it.

“N—no,” you muttered.

Zeke smacked your ass, the ache radiating throughout your body. “Louder.”

“No!”

“Good girl,” he said before rolling his tongue against your clit.

You felt yourself collapsing under the weight of your arousal. You hung your head and choked back a moan. Your legs were weak. Waves of warmth reverberated through your body, pushing you closer to the edge. It was a strange sensation. Levi had never gotten you this close before.

“Wa—want more,” you slurred in between your breathy moans.

Zeke forced his thumb into your ass as he rolled his tongue against your pulsing clit. You whined his name as you arched your back more. Your body tensed up as he held his tongue against your clit.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you moaned as your orgasm consumed you.

The tension in your body melted away and you let your body collapse against the mattress.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Ugh.” You buried your face into a pillow. “I just.”

“Use your words,” he said coldly.

“I wanted to last longer, you know?”

He laughed. “Don’t be an idiot. Get up.”

You sighed and sat up, averting his gaze.

“I need you to do something for me, bunny.”

“Whaaaaaat?”

He pointed to his face, his lips and chin coated in your arousal. “You left behind quite the mess. You need to lick it up.”

“Oh, um, okay.”

You leaned in and cupped his face in your hands. You dragged your tongue against his jaw and chin. It was soft for the most part, but there was a hint of stubble. You moved onto his cheeks and then to the tip of his nose. You kissed him on the lips against running your tongue along them. He seemed pleased with your work and wordlessly got up, strutting into the bathroom. You took a deep breath and laid back down. He turned on the sink, and loudly mentioned something about your asshole being pretty clean. You tried to tune him out.

Zeke returned completely naked, his toned body immediately grabbing your attention.

“Impressed?” He said.

You gazed at his erect cock, the tip of it pink and throbbing. It almost looked pained, desperate for the sweet embrace of your cunt.

“Uh-huh,” you said as he got on top of you.

“Flip over,” he growled.

You rolled over onto your stomach.

“Ass up. Now.”

You heeded his word and raised your ass up. Zeke grabbed ahold of his cock and guided it into you. You held your breath and he pushed the tip in deeper. You weren’t sure you could take it all, but you said nothing. He continued to push his cock further inside you, letting out a deep groan once he bottomed out. You again found yourself grabbing ahold of the bedding, clutching the fabric with your fists.

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight,” he said as he began to thrust.

You thanked God it didn’t hurt as much as the first time. It actually felt good to be stretched out by Zeke’s thick cock. His thrusts were smooth and deep. Even the tip of his cock grazing your cervix was bewitching.

“Your cock feels s’good,” you slurred.

“Oh? Does my little slut like getting fucked like a dog?” He asked through a clenched jaw.

You felt yourself tearing up. You wanted to say no. But you couldn’t deny the ardor festering deep inside you, infecting every inch of your pious being. Zeke had overtaken you. You were in his clutches. He had spent the night pursuing you, wounding you, and now he was finally able to collect your body.

“Y—yes,” you mewled.

“Pitiful. You’re disgusting,” he said as he grabbed onto your hips.

His thrusts were more wild and lost their rhythm. He slammed his cock into the depths of your cunt, desperate for friction. You felt like an object, like your participation was nil. Zeke was molding your body to his liking, manipulating it into his favored forms.

Your back was arched to the limit by his urging. You wanted him and God to see just what you were capable of. You wanted them to see how depraved you could get. He kept one of his calloused hands on the back of your neck, forcing your head into a feather-filled pillow.

“I thought you would have put up more of a fight,” he taunted.

His cock slammed into your cervix. You yelped helplessly.

“But you made it so easy,” he groaned. “I thought a God fearing girl like you would require a bit more finesse, but nope.”

He leaned closer and whispered in your ear, “Look at you. Getting fucked like a depraved slut in the pastor’s bed. How does it feel?”

He grabbed a chunk of your hair and lifted your head slightly.

“Good,” you moaned.

“Just good? Don’t lie to me, bunny. Tell me how it really feels.”

“It feels like heaven,” you whined.

Zeke let out a deep groan and fucked you harder and harder. You felt like you were his doll. He had caught you, had claimed you, and now he owned you. You were his toy, if only in this moment.

“Think of how disappointed my father would be to hear that.”

“Zeeeeeeeeke,” you whined, “don’t.”

“What? Does it make you uncomfortable?”

You didn’t answer and instead focused on Zeke’s raging erection and the precum it was leaking into your womb. His thrusts were growing more and more desperate. He held onto your hips, digging his fingers into the tender flesh.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his thrusts deep and relentless. He moaned your name as he filled your cunt with his cum.

Once he finished he rolled off of you and laid next to your fucked out body.

“Don’t worry. I have Plan B in my nightstand. It’s fine,” he said, catching his breath.

You had a vague idea of what Plan B was and simply nodded as his cum seeped out of your cunt.

“Um, okay… I…”

“What?”

“Did… Would you have sex with your ex-girlfriend like that?”

He turned to look at you. “What are you talking about? I don’t have an ex.”

You felt like you were drowning.

“Oh. Okay… Can you… Um. Can you hold me maybe?” You asked.

He laughed. “I don’t really do that.”

You felt yourself fade away. Zeke continued to prattle on about the next position he wanted to put you in, but his voice just sounded like nonsense. It was white noise. You stared up at the ceiling and asked God if this was what he intended, if this was what he hoped for you. When Zeke crawled back on top of you, you decided it must be God’s will.

And it was God’s will you’d obey.

#zeke yeager x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke yeager smut #zeke jaeger smut #aot x reader #snk x reader #attack on titan smut #shingeki no kyojin smut #x reader #reader insert #.fics #.aot #.zeke

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willowser · 1 year

Text

the storm has picked up, by the time you see him.

early summer is torn by lightning, thunder that rattles the bones in your chest until you're wide awake with dread settling in your belly. you know the feeling intimately, can place it as soon as your eyes open; you're not sure what you're afraid of or why it's made you clammy — but it has.

through the slats of your wooden blinds, you watch the sky as it brightens and dies: in the dark, it's an open void, big and menacing and spitting out a downpour that seems unending, and then you're granted a flash of light, thin and tall and painful to witness.

you think you'll never understand gojo satoru. maybe once you thought you did, but he's always been five steps out of reach. on a separate plane entirely. if anyone could explain the mystery of him, it would be—

lightning strikes; out in the courtyard, contrasted against the night. the silence left behind is overwhelming.

you don't bother with shoes, because you don't want to train with damp socks in the morning and you're sure they'll still be soaked, after a storm like this. instead, you hurry out in a robe too expensive for this occasion; maybe that will elevate you somehow, you think, enough to be worthy of whatever he hides behind that blindfold.

you suspect he can hear you coming, especially after you nearly slip on the wet stone and then again on the slick grass, but he's without a teasing remark, this time. the dread returns, given a weight that matches your grief and his.

it's hard to blink up at him, into the rain. he's so blinding, even now: a flash across the sky, piercing through the night. gojo is without his mask and his hair is sopping, stuck to his forehead and down to his cheeks, and even his eyelashes are heavy from the storm. this is clearest you've ever seen him, with his sharp, smooth face, his defined brows and the straight line of his usually wide and open mouth.

you don't recognize him, like this. but how could you?

there's a cigarette between his lips, unlit and folding against the rain. plastic crinkles between you, and you see it there, crushed beneath the expanse of his big hand: a half-empty carton, the brand shoko smokes. the ones she shared with—

"satoru?" you ask, though the robe doesn't help. you feel like a beggar, then, as he keeps his monsoon eyes on the bare night ahead of him. "you're going to get sick, you should come inside."

it's a pathetic thing to say, to the immortal. he's too smart for this, to fall for your feeble bait; in response, you get nothing but another rattle beneath your skull. your teeth chatter and your cheeks grow wet, hot with tears you thought you'd drained dry.

stupidly, you think, if only suguru were here. you could ask how to ascend to the level they're both on, how to slip past the defenses of a god. you are still five steps behind, but now satoru stands ahead, facing the void. alone.

you squeeze your eyes shut against a tidal wave of sorrow, salty with guilt at the very feeling. suguru was your friend, you think, drowning, he was your friend and you loved him, too. whatever you're mourning isn't him anymore and you know that, you do, but—

"satoru, please," you rest your forehead gently against his arm, as if you could soak up his own storm. "please come inside before—"

"if you wanted me in your room so badly," when he turns to look down at you, he is softened, rasping; striking in silence, in the distance, clouds receding. "all you had to do was ask."

the cigarette is gone and both his hands are in his pockets. his eyes are hollow and clear, the curve of his smile a realm away from them. when you say nothing, only gape up at him in surprise, he turns out of your reach, and it's the absence of him that draws attention to the sudden breeze against your forehead. no longer warm, from the heat of his skin beneath his drenched shirt.

"c'mon," he calls over his shoulder, grinning in a way that has only ever infuriated you, though now it turns your stomach. rattles your bones. stutters the beat of your heart. "before you get all sick and full of snot, gross."

behind you, the rain slows, the sky darkening, uninterrupted. quiet, finally.

and gojo is still five steps out of reach.

#i am handing you this quietly underneath the table #on a little square of paper that had been folded very very carefully #and if you ask me about it i will deny ever writing it or knowing anything about what you're talking about #i'd rather eat ROCKS than tag this appropriately but 💀 i just spent so long organizing my blog RIP 💀#gojo x reader #IF YOU ASK ME ABOUT THIS !!!!! I WILL NOT SPEAK !!!!!!#nikuniku this is for you btw #i wrote this like a mad woman idk if it makes sense WHOOPS !!!!#oh well !!!!! good thing it never really happened !!!!#✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: gojo

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blairsanne · 11 months

Text

Pretend to Be Nice - 4 - Quick Pash in the Bog

The Almighty Johnsons - Anders & female Reader 4301 words

Summary: You make good on your word to rejoin Anders and Axl on another night out looking for the Frigg at a club. Anders continues to be handsy and blur the line between friends and 'special friends' until things become untenable.

CW: Language, alcohol consumption, discussion/implication of hookups, sexual tension, touching, kissing. No 'on-screen' sex. Yet.

Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here

You let yourself into Anders’s flat, looking around cautiously.

He had buzzed you into the building, telling you his door was unlocked, but it felt weird not to at least knock.

“Hello?”

You froze when he stepped out of his bathroom in nothing but a towel loosely draped around his hips, his hair damp and unruly.

“Yeah, hey- I’ll be out shortly. Help yourself to the piss in the kitchen.” “Sure.”

He disappeared again, leaving you alone to contemplate the absolutely divine sight you’d just witnessed.

Did he have any idea what it would do to you, to see him mostly-naked, skin shining and the remnants of his shower still clinging to his chest hair? It had been just long enough to catch the curve of his belly and the treasure trail that decorated it - but not long enough to act on the impulse to tear that pesky towel away and jump him right there.

You wandered around the corner into his kitchen in a mild daze, surprised to see that he’d set out an open bottle of your favourite wine and three empty glasses beside a tray of prepared fruit and cheese.

Bit fancier than our usual pre-bar piss.

You poured yourself a glass and stepped over to his curtains, pushing them aside to take in the view of Auckland in the slowly-setting sun.

Meanwhile, Anders was finishing drying off, trying to push away his own thoughts of you.

It was absolutely criminal that he was going out on the town with you dressed like that, knowing it was going to be some pissant mortal who got to end the night with you.

He’d seen you in that deadly dress exactly once before, and it was the night you’d met your last serious boyfriend. You were sure to turn heads at the club.

Is she already moving on, then?

He winced as he tried to get his half-hard cock to sit comfortably in his underwear. He needed to think about something else.

Axl arrived not long later, helping himself to a beer from the fridge instead of the suggested wine as the two of you got caught up.

“You almost ready yet?” he called down the hall toward Anders’s room.

“Seriously,” you tacked on. “I know chicks who get ready faster than you!”

“You’re hilarious!” came his reply.

Axl snickered and started telling you about a movie he’d watched the week before while he snacked on the food.

“You can quit your bitching now,” Anders greeted you minutes later, walking into the kitchen looking like a model in his tailored suit, the black collared shirt slightly open.

Axl laughed, earning him a dimpled grin from his brother.

“You look skux,” you offered, trying to keep your tone light and not wistful. “Definitely worth the wait.”

“Well, after seeing you in this-” He rubbed a hooked finger up your side to indicate the dress you had on. “Figured we were going all out.”

“Oh?” You looked down at yourself in surprise.

Anders nodded, giving you another lookover. His voice dropped into a soft and serious tone you rarely heard, quiet enough that Axl didn’t even hear it as he chugged the last of his beer. “You look great.”

“Ta.” You took a gulp of your wine, looking away as you felt your cheeks warming.

He’s just being friendly, you told yourself. He always remarks on what I’m wearing.

You reminded yourself not to read into anything he did or said. You weren’t willing to lose him completely - pathetic as that sounded even to you - so you just had to find a way to think of him only as a friend regardless of how close you were.

Not long later, the three of you were piling into a cab.

Anders got in first, settling into the seat beside the door before patting his lap. “Got a seat for ya.”

You raised a brow at his self-satisfied smirk, but decided two could play this game. You sat on him, earning you a few surprised grunts from him as you maneuvered yourself indelicately over his lap to get to the middle seat.

“Careful with the goods,” he complained despite the amusement in his voice.

“Get out of the way next time.”

He tucked his lower lip into his mouth as he shut the door, trying to hide his grin.

Meanwhile, Axl was getting situated on your other side and telling the driver where you were headed.

As you pulled onto the road, Anders spread his legs slightly, attempting to find a more comfortable position in the slightly cramped vehicle. His hand landed on your thigh, then slid up just enough to make you shift in your seat as the touch sent a spike of arousal to your core.

You glanced in his direction to see him distracted, but the movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He met your gaze with a smile, his blue eyes duller but no less beautiful to you in the yellow tint of the street lights outside.

You felt a flutter in your chest, pleased to think he was so relaxed and happy. He seemed to be having a good time out as usual, like nothing had changed.

Was it possible that this physical contact was completely platonic and innocent?

It’s not like he never touched me before…

Maybe it would never occur to him to think of you that way, even after knowing how you felt. You glanced down at his lips, not noticing when he did the same.

“You should text us your address,” Axl suggested suddenly, bringing you back to the moment.

“Hm?” You turned to face him.

“That way if you get munted, you’re not stuck being put up.” “Oh. Right. Sure.”

You had to shift a bit to get into your purse, pressing slightly against Anders, which earned your thigh a squeeze. You opted to ignore that entirely as you quickly sent off your info, causing both of their phones to ding in their pockets.

“My bed’s not good enough suddenly?” Anders teased.

Axl checked the text to clear the notification, brows raising in surprise. “Oh, you two are almost neighbours, eh?”

You shrugged, ignoring the feeling in your chest caused by Anders’s comment. “Yeah.”

Anders narrowed his eyes at you.

“So that’s why you always want to meet up at mine. How come we never go to yours?”

You frowned, feeling defensive.

“You’ve never asked? You always seemed so keen to host us, I reckoned you liked it that way.”

Anders matched your expression. Am I always keen to host them? Maybe. He hadn’t questioned it at all before, but now that you said so, he was always happy to host; his people, anyway.

“In any case, my place is the smallest,” you continued, turning to Axl again. “But I was thinking of hosting something at my bach soon. You know, for everyone.”

He grinned. “Mean as.”

“You could bring Zeb!”

Axl let out a laugh. “He’d love that. Ta.”

Anders clucked. “Leading on the mortal,” he teased quietly, feigning that he didn’t mean for you to hear.

You leaned into Anders and batted your lashes at him affectionately. “Relax, you’re still my favourite.”

This elicited a laugh from Axl, but Anders sobered, staring back at you with a serious expression you weren’t sure how to interpret.

This time you did catch him glance down at your lips, and your own smile faded as his gaze met yours. Your faces were so close that he heard you hold your breath, heart in your throat as you wondered what he was thinking.

“Good,” he said at last, immediately turning to look out the window, playing off the comment even as his hand twitched against your leg.

The night continued on in a similar fashion; Axl seemingly oblivious to the near-constant contact Anders kept with you, and you overly-aware of it at every moment.

Still, both you and Anders pretended like it wasn’t happening, Anders talking openly about the three of you finding people to root.

“What about that redhead with the tube top?” Anders suggested to Axl, gesturing to the dancefloor. “Bet you could chat her up.”

“I think I’m still a bit too sober,” Axl admitted as the three of you sat nursing the dregs of your beers at a small table.

“Only one thing for it.” Anders held up his credit card, which Axl quickly snagged. “On it.”

Axl was off toward the bar before either of you could tell him what you wanted, but you shrugged it off.

Anders turned to you with a raised brow and a smirk. “Quick pash in the bog while he’s gone?”

You felt your nostrils flaring as you pushed his face away with one hand, and rolled your eyes when he laughed at your reaction. You told yourself not to be hurt by the suggestion.

“Worth a shot.” He scanned the room. “Guess I’ll have to find someone else, then.”

“I thought we were here for Axl?” “We’re here for all three of us. Everyone deserves to get their end away.”

“And what happens if you hit on the Frigg first, hm?” You tapped his nose playfully.

He smiled, glancing at your lips momentarily. “Eh, I don’t mind sharing,” he quipped.

You let out a small scoff which was quickly drowned out by his bright laughter.

He looked out over the crowd, grinning away. “That said, if she’s here, I’m not getting any alarm bells.”

You hummed. “You know, I’m not convinced this is how we’re going to find her?” “No? You think the Frigg isn’t on the prowl?”

“She could be anybody.” Your face betrayed your pessimism. “With Axl’s luck, she’ll be the one to serve him an eviction notice when Zeb forgets to pay the rent one day.”

Anders tried to contain his laugh, leaning over to press his forehead into your shoulder. “Too good.”

You gaped and nudged him off of you playfully. “It’s not! He needs to make a good impression on her.”

Anders forced a serious expression, though his lips twitched to fight the curl of his smile, blue eyes alight with mischief. “Mm.”

“Don’t you want your full powers?”

His face sobered then, that being one of few topics he took very seriously. He placed a hand on his knee and gave you a firm nod. “Absolutely.”

“Then perhaps hitting random bars hoping to run into her by chance isn’t the most efficient path forward?” “It’s the most fun, though.”

You hummed uncertainly. Maybe for you.

Anders turned his attention away from you as Axl returned with six shots that he was doing his utmost not to spill. “There he is now, our fearless leader.”

Axl grinned. “I come bearing piss.”

You gestured and bowed your head in deference. “Our generous all-father.”

“Generous with my credit card.”

You tapped Anders’s cheek, giving him a mock-pitying glance. “Poor unappreciated Bragi.”

He sneered playfully, though his eyes and voice betrayed his affection for you. “Now you really are turning into Michele.”

You raised your brows. “Well, I don’t know about that.” Michele would certainly not entertain Anders’s flirtatious remarks or his wandering hands to the degree you had. You turned your attention to the shots Axl was divvying up.

“Right, to finding the Frigg,” Axl suggested.

You and Anders each took a shot in hand and held them up, parroting in unison. “To finding the Frigg.”

You took the shot, but shook your head and made faces as the alcohol burned your throat. “Wagh..! Fuck’s sake, Axl, what the hell was that?”

He laughed, though he ducked his head apologetically. “Sorry, I meant to give that one to Anders.” “Oh, real nice, bro.”

Anders threw you a sympathetic glance, rubbing your back. “Just skull the next one, it’ll go down better.”

When you pouted at him, he pursed his lips to stop himself from offering out loud to remove the taste from your mouth another way.

“Why do I keep drinking with you two?” You took the next shot in your hand and grimaced in anticipation.

Anders tapped your cheek patronizingly, mirroring your prior teasing. “Aww, poor thing.”

You batted his hand away, annoyed. “Hey, be nice to me.”

You shut your eyes as you downed the next shot, somewhat consoled by the sweet taste that helped wash away the harsh remains of the first one.

“I am nice to you,” Anders muttered, putting his own now-empty shot glass down.

You pretended not to hear him, though you felt a tightness in your chest as you fought the urge to agree outwardly.

Axl let out an enthused noise before smacking his cheeks a few times. “Okay, let’s dance!”

He pulled your arm, and suddenly both Johnsons were ushering you over to the dancefloor.

“Yeah, yeah…”

The club was surprisingly busy, and there was no shortage of hot young Aucklanders to try it on with.

The three of you had a sort of system; dance together until Axl caught someone’s eye, then split up further as needed. Anders claimed this was so that the Frigg had a better chance of noticing Odin, but you suspected it was so that Axl wouldn’t complain if Anders went after a chick before he could.

The shots had clearly done their job for Axl, who was enthusiastically hopping around to the beat. You tried to stifle your laugh, but he only grinned and grabbed your hands, leading you in a joyful - if not elegant - dance of sorts.

Anders tucked his lower lip under his teeth. Oh, I so wish I could record this.

When the song changed, Axl relinquished your hands, settling into a cheery, but much more respectable set of movements.

You looked over your shoulder at Anders, grinning. “I’m glad I came out,” you enthused.

This brought out his dimples as he nodded his chin upward, proud of having convinced you.

He moved to stand behind you as the three of you continued to dance, his hands ghosting over your hips as he leaned in close to murmur in your ear.

“See? You should do as I tell you.”

You shivered at the way his breath tickled your skin, his echoing Bragi tones stoking the want for him that you’d been trying to quell all night. You took a steadying breath, your grin faltering only briefly before you turned your attention back to Axl.

Axl’s antics hadn’t gone unnoticed, and with Anders moving in to dance with you so intimately, the freckled redhead that Anders had suggested earlier had approached the now-lone Johnson.

As Axl started dancing with her, Anders steered you both slightly away to give Axl some space.

You turned to face him, catching the crooked smile that played on his lips as he looked you over.

“Think that’s her?” you asked.

Anders shook his head, letting out a small scoff. Who cares? “I think Axl’s going to have a good time.”

“Mm.” Your disappointed hum was cut short when his hands met yours, leading you to do a couple spins. You smiled, wincing a bit and feeling silly until he pulled you against himself.

“And so should we, eh?”

As you continued to sway to the heavy bass, the rest of the club fell away, your eyes locked onto his intense gaze, unsure how to reply.

He let go of your hand to pull your hips against his, and you lifted your arms over your head. He leaned in even closer, eyes trained toward your chest, and you smelled his aftershave over the alcohol on his breath. You were vaguely aware of the song changing as you lowered your arms to wrap them around his shoulders.

You wanted to be closer, even as his hands started trailing teasing paths along your sides, up your back, down your thighs.

He pressed his nose to yours, closing his eyes, and as you closed your own in desire, you felt a spike of anxiety; was he going to kiss you? Did you want him to?

He didn’t, instead moving to press his head to the side of yours as he nudged his leg between yours, inching the hem of your dress upward despite the lack of privacy on the dancefloor.

You shuddered, wishing you were back at his flat, knowing in that moment that you’d let him take you however he wanted you.

How many times had you imagined exactly this? Anders working his charms on you just like you’d seen him do dozens of times to mortal women in clubs just like this one. Anders kissing you in some dark corner of a group gathering. Anders alone with you in his flat, his wandering hands finally reaching the place you needed him most.

You let your hands slide down to grip the lapel of his jacket.

“Anders…”

He sucked in a breath, arousal spiking at the sound of you saying his name in such a quiet, pleading tone. He moved to meet your wanton gaze, eyelids heavy as his parted lips inched toward yours.

You inhaled sharply, coming back to reality at the thought of crossing that invisible boundary.

What the fuck am I doing?

You moved to talk in his ear as you pressed your hands against his chest.. “Let’s split up. Everyone will think we’re together otherwise.”

He scowled, but before he could protest, you pushed past him, and he stilled, watching as you walked off without so much as a backward glance.

So that’s it, then?

He didn’t get it; he thought he’d been working you up all night. Did you really think that had been purely friendly?

Had he always been that flirtatious and physical with you without realizing it, to the point that you didn’t see it as a change in behaviour? What more could he possibly do?

And now, though you’d claimed to be ‘in love with him’, you were just leaving him alone in the club? Didn’t you know how he felt? Or maybe you just didn’t care.

Yeah, you love me so much.

Then again, it wasn’t the first time someone had said that and left him alone. He knew how to push away the sting of your rejection.

He took off in the other direction, seeking a warm body to find solace in.

You maneuvered through the crowd on the dance floor, oblivious to the way you drew the mortals’ attention as you tried to calm the buzzing in your head and the adrenaline coursing through your system.

Is he that oblivious?

You couldn’t take his casual physicality anymore. Whether he was actually trying it on, or just teasing you, you weren’t sure what was more upsetting a thought. It wasn’t fair for him to use your confession to spark a meaningless root that would break your heart, and it was just as callous not to realize what that sort of flirtation would evoke in you if he was just taking the piss.

It’s not nice, Anders…

After a moment, you scanned the crowd for someone you could try to be interested in. It didn’t take long for a tall, fit looking man to approach you, long dark curls falling in his face as he leaned toward you to say hello over the music.

Anders watched you from the other end of the room. “That’s my girl…” he murmured, a smile playing on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes.

It was no wonder you’d caught someone’s attention, and he did believe what he’d said; that everyone deserved to get their end away. Still, it didn’t sit quite right with him; once again feeling the unfamiliar churning in his stomach that happened when he thought about you lately.

Not my girl, he corrected himself.

He turned his attention to the women dancing closer to where he was standing. A bleach-blonde in a skimpy dress seemed like an easy mark, her lip gloss freshly-applied, but smudged mascara indicating that she’d been out for a while. The way she was moving, he guessed she was pretty up for it, so he approached with a smoldering look.

As she started to dance with him, he glanced over your way again, only to catch you looking back at him.

Your dance partner didn’t notice you hold eye contact with Anders as you trailed your hands down his chest.

Anders narrowed his eyes, smirking at your teasing. Maybe he’d gone too far earlier, making light of the lust he felt whenever he looked at you, making you think he was joking about taking you to the bog. Now you were throwing it back at him. Maybe that was the sort of friends you were now; working each other up but not acting on it?

She thinks I’m lovable, just not enough to let anything come of it.

You watched Anders trail his fingers up the blonde woman’s side, imagining he was doing that to you again. You glanced up at your dance partner again, who was grinning as you two got closer.

“I’m Ben, by the way,” he told you over the music.

You nodded and offered your mortal name as Ben moved in a way that blocked your view of Anders.

Smart, Anders thought, as he continued on even while watching you. Don’t bother with me. I don’t commit to chicks.

She knows that; she’s my friend.

He pursed his lips as he saw you smiling up at the tall stranger. You always had such a good-natured smile. He’d seen you smile like that at many men; seen them stare at you much like this jafa was. You always thought the best of them. Maybe you were blind to what people were really like, or maybe you were just so desperate for love that you didn’t want to see it.

He raised his brows as his own dance partner let her wandering hands tease him briefly below the belt. He grinned half-heartedly, giving her a bit more attention as he wished that you’d acted more like this earlier.

Not her style… She’s the wife-type. Always looking for a partner, not a root.

He stifled a groan as the stranger’s body pressed against his wantingly, still stuck on thoughts of you.

Why waste her time? Break her heart and everyone would know. Axl would kill me. Michele would literally kill me.

The memory of your pained expression the night you’d confessed flashed through his mind, and he knew he couldn’t do that to you anyway.

No point in making problems. Hm. Maybe that’s what she meant by it.

He shut his eyes, losing himself to the carnal pleasure of the stranger that was grinding against him.

Smart.

He opened his eyes and made eye contact with you again, noting the wanton look on your face.

Ben was standing behind you, his hands sliding down your torso as you swayed your hips in time with the music.

Anders licked his lips, trying to temper the mix of frustration and satisfaction he was feeling at knowing that you were looking at him while having the man dancing with you eating out of the palm of your hand.

That’s my girl.

He watched as Ben turned you to face him, fighting the wince that started as he saw him lean in to give you a tentative kiss.

He whispered in the blonde’s ear, Bragi unrestrained thanks to the lust coursing through him.

Buzzed from the shots and worked up by Anders, you melted into Ben’s kiss, forgetting yourself momentarily. Your fingers gripped lightly at his shirt, and you felt him sigh in pleasure against your soft lips.

When he broke the kiss, you opened your eyes and felt a sting of disappointment that the face that greeted you wasn’t Anders’s.

You took a step back, sucking in a breath as you felt yourself return to reality again.

What the fuck am I even doing?

You glanced in the direction Anders had been, but neither he nor his recent dance partner were visible. You had a pretty good idea of where they had gone, and felt a bout of nausea.

“I’m sorry.” You wrapped your arms around your torso, looking up at Ben guiltily. “I don’t think I’m as ready for this as I thought.”

He raised his brows in alarm, looking you over as though for injury as he took a step back to give you space.

“Oh, my bad- Did I overstep? Didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No- you didn’t. You’ve been-” You felt your cheeks flush with heat. “Great. I’m just- still sort of- caught up on my ex.”

“Aw, that’s a shame.” He gave you another lookover, more pitying now than lascivious. His smile was genuine as he tilted his head at you. “When you are ready, I’d love to dance with you again.”

You flashed him a bashful smile, unsure how to reply at first. “Um- sure. Ta.” “Pleasure’s mine.”

You let him talk you into giving you his number, then found your way back to where Axl was leaning against the bar.

“Oh, hey!” Axl’s warm grin put you at ease.

“Hey. Listen, I’m feeling a bit unwell. Think I’ll call it here.”

“Oh- Are you sure?” Axl looked over the crowd, trying to find Anders. “Do you want us to take you home?”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll just cab. You stay.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, Anders is in the bog I’m pretty sure. And you look like you’re still having a good time.”

Axl pursed his lips, still unconvinced. “You sure you’ll be right?”

You forced a smile. “Yes. Go find your Frigg.”

He laughed, not expecting that to happen, but nodded. “Alright. Ta.”

You waved him goodbye and headed to the front of the club, pulling out your phone to shoot off a text.

‘You free?’

A/N: Surprise, I still write things. May was a lot, and June was recovery time. But here we are. Back to work on my (36 as of last count) active WIPs. :D

Tags: @laurfilijames @the-poldarkian @i-did-not-mean-to @the-butterfly-blues @fortheloveofdurin @ichoosechoasandbeingqueer @missihart23 @gayles55 @spngingerbread21 @midearthwritings

As always if you’d like to be added or removed from tagging (for a specific character/fandom/everything) just let me know any time!

#the almighty johnsons fanfiction #the almighty johnsons #anders johnson #anders johnson fanfic #anders johnson x reader #anders johnson x female reader #anders johnson x goddess reader

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phillippadgettwrites · 2 years

Text

Lapis

Rated X \ 1913 words \ posted on AO3

It’s a Sunday. She’s post Mass and brunch with her mother, still in her church dress as she putters around her apartment. Lapis blue, the sales girl had called it, paired with a white cotton bra and panties. Good, modest church clothes. Her mother had said she looked lovely.

She’s almost called him half a dozen times, even picked up the receiver once or twice before setting it back down. It’s been less than twelve hours since she slipped out of his apartment under the cover of darkness, her lips swollen from his kisses and the insides of her thighs stinging from the scrape of his stubble. The gusset of her panties is still damp from the trickle of his cum, and yet it’s all she can think about. His mouth, his tongue, his fingers. The steely press of his erection against her belly when he pulls her close. She’s overwhelmed by how desperately she wants him, how persistently.

She’d intended on taking things slow, wading incrementally from the bone-dry shore of their carefully platonic relationship into deeper waters. Toes, and then ankles, and then knees. Pausing to adjust, to decide whether to continue out further. She remembers the first brush of water over her skin in the form of a searing kiss, and her surprise that there was no shock of cold to recoil from. Suddenly she found herself submerged, drowning in the smell of his skin and the feeling of his weight on top of her. She doesn’t know which end is up, in which direction she should swim to break through the surface for air. But even more concerning is the fact that she can’t even bring herself to try.

She picks up the phone again, her finger poised over speed dial 1. She feels her heart beating between her thighs, a hunger that can’t be satiated by food or drink. She presses the button and brings the phone to her ear, closing her eyes against her own shame.

This is Fox Mulder, leave a message and I’ll try to get back—

She hangs up, her cheeks flaming with relief that he hadn’t answered. She’s not even sure what she would have said if he’d picked up.

Hi Mulder, I was just wondering if you could swing by on your way home from the gym and fuck me, if you’re not terribly busy.

Mulder, it’s me. I know you made me come twice last night, but apparently I’m insatiable, so could I trouble you for one more before the work week starts?

Pathetic.

She decides that her vibrator will have to suffice. She strips off her panties and lies down on her bed, letting the dress pool around her hips as she switches it on. It rumbles to life, rattling against her fingertips and mocking her with its rubbery exterior. She thinks of the smooth, velvety skin of Mulder’s cock, and the thought alone is enough to send her hand between her thighs. She sighs and wriggles, finding the sweet spot while her mind wanders over the handful of encounters they’ve had thus far. Straddling him on his couch, the stretch of his cock nearly splitting her in two as she lowered herself onto him. Slipping her hand down the front of his sweatpants while they pretended to watch a movie at her apartment. His mouth on her cunt, the stuttering flick of his tongue making her breath catch in her throat. She arches up off the bed, frustrated at how insufficient this is. In all the years she touched herself while imagining it was him, she never had the real thing to compare it to. Now that she does, she wonders if she’ll ever truly enjoy masturbating again.

The phone rings, but she ignores it.

This is Dana Scully, I’m not here right now, please leave a—

The caller hangs up without leaving a message. Within seconds, her cell phone begins to ring from the kitchen. She groans in frustration and turns off the vibrator, leaving it on the bed as she rushes out to catch the call before it goes to voicemail.

Incoming call from Fox Mulder.

Her heart leaps, and she feels a bit like she’s been caught in the act. She clears her throat and answers, attempting to put on an entirely neutral, casual tone.

“Scully.”

“Hey, Scully, it’s me.”

She smiles reflexively at the sound of his voice, leaning against the kitchen counter with both hands cupped around the phone like it’s midnight and her mother might hear her.

“Hey, Mulder, what’s up?”

He sighs.

“Nothing. Just wondering what you were up to.”

Her eyes flash towards her open bedroom door.

“Um, nothing. Just…running errands,” she lies.

“Sounds like you’re busy,” he says, disappointment in his voice. “Sorry to bug you, I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“I’m not busy,” she says quickly, straightening up. “Did you need something?”

There’s a heavy pause. She can feel the weight of what he’s not saying coming through the line, and she presses the phone more firmly against her ear as though she can make it out if she just listens hard enough.

“I was just—” he starts, then a frustrated sigh hisses in her ear.

“What is it?” she asks, on the edge of her metaphorical seat.

She hears a soft thunk against her front door, and a half a second later a matching one sounds gently through the phone.

“It’s nothing, nevermind,” he tells her, and her eyes widen as she recognizes the muffled sound of his voice in her hallway.

Holding the phone to her ear with one hand, she walks to the door and quickly disengages the deadbolt, then pulls it open. Mulder stumbles forward head first, dropping his cell and nearly knocking her over as he attempts to regain his balance. Scully steps around him and closes the door, then leans against it, watching him intently.

He’s sheepish, his mouth smiling while his eyes give away the embarrassed cringe behind it. She takes in his fitted jeans, snug white T-shirt, freshly showered hair. She pulls in a deep breath, catching hints of his deodorant.

“I thought you were running errands?” he asks, quirking his head.

Her mouth falls open and her face grows hot, and she looks at the floor.

She hears his footsteps as he approaches, and she lifts her head to look at him. He’s smiling shyly, and she can’t help but return it. He touches her waist and her hands go to his shoulders reflexively.

“I just wanted to see you,” he admits. “But I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.” She lifts her eyebrows, and he chuckles. “Crazier than you already thought, anyway.”

She nods, licks her lips. She could just leave it there, let him think that he’s the only one who’s been hovering by the phone all day. But she’s already seen a sliver of what it looks like to truly open herself up to him, and it’s only made her crave more of it.

“I picked up the phone to call you about a dozen times today,” she says bashfully, twisting her mouth to the side.

Mulder shakes his head slowly back and forth, his smile becoming playful. Impish. Confident.

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” he asks, his hands sliding down to her hips.

She leans into him, pushing up on to her tiptoes as he cranes down and their lips connect. She sighs with relief, humming and sucking at his mouth, arching her back when his hands run down the sides of her thighs. He finds the hem of her dress, gathering it in his fists until his palms are on her bare ass cheeks, squeezing and pulling her close.

“No panties?” he asks breathlessly, stooping down and hoisting her up into his arms.

Her legs wrap around his hips, her hands in his hair as he carries her to the bedroom. He lays her down on top of the comforter and pushes her dress up to her waist, meeting her eye briefly to ask for consent before he drops to his knees and buries his face in her cunt.

She whimpers, scratching at his scalp and biting her lip in an attempt to hold back. He stuffs his tongue inside her then drags it up over her clit, and she could cry over how good it feels. She’s lost again, swept along the ocean floor by the push and pull of impossibly strong currents, no longer resisting. She feels his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, the rough scrape of his chin against her perineum when he opens his jaw. The intimacy of it all—the full light of afternoon, her legs spread open wide, his eyes flashing up to look at her face when a moan escapes her lips—feels terrifying and exhilarating. When he slips two fingers inside, she breaks.

All her carefully curated restraint falls away as the bright light of orgasm blinds her to self-consciousness. She cries out, clamping her thighs against his ears and cradling the back of his head in her hands. The most willing prisoner, he continues to lick and suck and finger her steadily, slowing only when she does. Crashing waves become powerful swells, fading to the gentle lap of dopamine and oxytocin that leaves her sated and sleepy.

When time and space come back to her, he is dropping soft kisses along the creases of her legs, the insides of her thighs, the smooth skin of her lower belly. A flood of emotion swells in her chest, making her eyes burn. It’s not that she’s missed this, in all those years of inadvertent celibacy, but that she’s never known it at all. To be so adored, so doted upon, her pleasure the top priority rather than a begrudging afterthought. He’s far from perfect, but sometimes he gets it so right she can’t help but be grateful that somehow they found their way to one another.

She touches his shoulder and he looks up, returning her smile. She beckons him to her with the slightest tilt of her head, and he crawls up the bed to lay beside her. He tugs the skirt of her dress down, smoothing the fabric over her belly, and his hand finally comes to rest on her waist.

“I like this dress,” he says, his eyes wandering up to her face. “You look nice.”

She smiles, amused by their persistently odd order of operations. Trusting each other before they’d even had a chance to become friends. Falling in love before they shared their first kiss. The slick of her pussy is still glistening on his lips, and he’s just getting around to complimenting her outfit.

“Thanks,” she says demurely, then follows his eye up to the head of the bed.

There sits her abandoned vibrator, just beneath her pillow. Somehow, she manages to feel embarrassed, even in light of what they’ve just done.

He gives her a questioning look, and she shrugs.

“Guess you got here just in time,” she says bashfully, and his smile broadens.

She reaches for his belt, though she knows that he’s not expecting reciprocation. It’s the lack of obligation, the knowledge that he drove across town and made her come because he wanted to, not as a means to an end, that makes him so endlessly desirable.

He peels her dress off over her head, lapis blue fluttering to the floor.

tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fic

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moriiartist · 2 years

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CANDLEWICK

Masterlist

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PAIRING: Witch!Karl Jacobs x GN!Reader

SUMMARY: You get caught in the rain and Karl comforts you. That’s it. That’s the fic.

WARNINGS: Mild language

A/N: Hey y’all! First installment for the Halloween series (insert confetti and streamers here)! This is a bit lighter to start with, but the series will gradually ease into more horror elements. I’m very happy to be posting this, so I hope that you guys enjoy it ‘:)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the weather did not give two shits about being convenient. The weather does not care about you, your kid’s soccer game, your new job interview, or whatever sporting event you might want to attend. It’s the weather- it’s not sentient, no matter what (some) people might say.

So, there’s only so much you can blame it when you forget your umbrella at home.

You closed the apartment door behind you with a kick, exerting enough force the rattle the picture frames. The grocery bags hanging from your arms felt ten times heavier than they normally did, and you groaned as you let them fall to the floor with a thunk. Water dripped off the plastic, pooling into the floors.

No doubt your neighbors would complain, but at that moment you didn’t care. You just wanted the day to be over.

If you had to hazard a guess as to what you might look like right now, you would say something akin to a drowned rat. Your clothes, your grocery bags- seemingly every part of you had been soaked. All because of a sudden rain shower right as you were leaving the corner store.

You tipped your head back and groaned. Damn it.

To be honest, today had not been one of your best days. First, you had slept through your alarm, launching you into a mad scramble out the door in an attempt to get to work on time. You hadn’t, and consequently had to sit through your boss’s entire lecture on ‘proper work ethic’ and ‘respecting your job’.

Then, one of your coworkers was sick, so you and the rest of the poor sods on your shift had to scramble in order to complete their missing colleague's work as well as their own.

Finally, as you’d mentioned before, you’d been caught in a rain shower right as you left the grocery store. Seeing as it was several blocks away from your building, you had the same chance of remaining dry that a kindergarten teacher has with corralling a horde of overwrought children; none.

Your tiny studio apartment was a sight for sore eyes, despite the fact that it was, well… tiny. Only about 750 square feet, if you were remembering correctly.

The room that greeted you was dim and bathed with swathes of gray, only barely illuminated by the weak light that filtered in through the windows. Rain pattered gently against the glass, filling the space with a placid ambiance.

The blankets on your couch were still in disarray from how you’d torn through them to get to your bag in a rush to get to work; some of them were left half on the ground, pathetically sprawled across the thin rug that padded the small living room.

Behind it, unseparated from the living room, your bed wasn’t much better. Your pillows had somehow been knocked off the mattress and were pinned between it and the nightstands, exploding out from the small space in a kerfluffle of white and cream. A seal plush- a favorite of yours- stared accusatorily at you from where it was perched at the foot of the bed.

Toeing off your soggy shoes, you flopped onto your couch with a heavy sigh. The old springs squeaked as you rolled onto your side, arms flopping limply over the edge of the cushion. You sighed. Stared dead-eyed at your reflection in the empty TV screen. Then you reached into your pocket for your phone, the screen damp, but relatively untouched.

There was one person that you could always turn to whenever the universe decided to screw you over. The same person that had been your best friend since high school- that had stuck by your side through messy breakups and college finals.

Karl.

You slid open your messages, fingers moving on muscle memory toward the most recently texted contact on your phone.

You just now hey :(((

It only took a few seconds for his chat bubble to pop up, and within a few moments, your screen vibrated with a notification.

Karl 🥺💜 just now hello???? are you ok???? :(

You just now i got caught in the storm and now i’m all wet and all my groceries are all wet and it sucks :(

You frowned, shifting. You were getting water all over the couch.

Karl 🥺💜 just now oh gosh

You just now yeah </3 can you call me? please?

True to form, it barely took a second before your phone rang, belting out the main title theme for ‘Adventure Time’. Karl’s icon was magnified as it popped into view- a blurred-to-hell selfie of the two of you, taken at some college party that you’d attended. You were both laughing.

“I’m literally going to beat up the sky right now.”

You couldn’t help your snort.

“Hello to you too, Karl.”

“I’m not kidding. I’ll beat it up. It’ll wish it never even thought about making you wet.”

“Really?” you said. “The sky thinks about that?”

A pause, before he giggled. You could already imagine the flush that must be making its way up his cheeks, painting his face in pretty shades of pink and red. Just hearing his laugh made it impossible to prevent a smile from blooming on your face; it was like a button that flooded your brain with serotonin.

“Oh my god,” he cackled. “You’re literally the worst. You’re supposed- you’re supposed to be sad! I feel lied to.”

Rolling your eyes, the grin that’d stretched across your face lost some of its luster. “Don’t put me into a box, Karl.”

Sensing the undercurrent of exhaustion that permeated your voice, his own softened.

“No, but are you actually okay? ‘Cause it doesn’t sound like it.”

You shifted in place, getting up from the couch and padding toward the kitchen.

“I don’t know,” you murmured. “Part of me wants to lay on the floor and do nothing, but I don’t think that’s doing myself any favors.”

The tile was cold under your feet, and slightly sticky. Opening the cabinet over the sink, you retrieved a glass and filled it with water, shifting the phone so that it was pressed between your shoulder and your ear.

Karl was silent for a moment. In the background, you could hear something (maybe wind rushing?) before he spoke again.

“That really sucks.”

You sighed, shutting off the faucet and downing your glass in one gulp.

“Yeah.”

You grimaced at the suffocating sensation of the fabric of your sweater clinging to your body like a sopping, itchy second skin, and, without hesitation, pulled it off and flung it to the side. It landed on your kitchen counter with a wet ‘shlap’, looking more like a sad squid than an article of clothing as it clung to the granite.

It didn’t do much to help in the end, seeing as the tank top you wore underneath it was soaked as well, but it was progress. Sighing, you pressed your thumbs into your eyes, feeling the residual drops of rain that dropped off your eyebrows and ran down your face.

“I think I’m gonna have to take a shower,” you said. “I’m feeling pretty gross.”

Karl made a soft noise of affirmation. “Oh! Then… we should probably hang up.”

“Uh,” you started, face slackening in surprise. “I don’t have to do it now.”

A rustling noise emanated from the other side of the line, and you could’ve sworn that Karl cursed softly under his breath.

“No, no- don’t let me hold you up.”

Your mouth twisted to the side. It was a bit childish, but… you were hesitant to hang up when you’d only just started speaking. A part of you panged with hurt at Karl’s easy dismissal, but you pushed it aside. He was busy, and you’d called out of the blue- it wasn’t his fault if he was busy.

A finger hovered over the ‘end call’ button. You bit your lip. “Bye.”

“Bye!”

Sighing, you watched as the screen of your phone went dark. So much for that.

Imagine your surprise when, about fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang.

You paused in the middle of drying your head with a towel, popping your head out of the bathroom and looking toward the source of the noise. Steam curled around your face and clogged the air, filling the rest of the apartment with the scent of tea leaves and lemongrass.

Frowning, you wrapped

Wrapping the towel around your neck, you crossed your living room with quick strides. You only took a quick moment to check if you were decent before you swung open the door, barely catching it before it slammed into the wall and made a ruckus again.

You blinked, eyebrows shooting up so high they might as well have entered the stratosphere.

“Karl?”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say your best friend was a sentient stack of candles and mason jars instead of a man. His arms overflowed with the things, and you spotted a separate bag that you knew was chock full of more stuff slung from the crook of his arm. The only evidence that he was human were the two long, skinny jean-clad legs that kept the mess upright, and the brown curls that peeked out from over a bottle sealed with wax.

“What are you doing here?” you asked. Then, wrinkling your nose, you paused. “And why did you bring over an entire Hobby Lobby?

“First of all, rude,” he started, and you knew that he would be glaring at you if he could. “How dare you assume I would buy anything from Hobby Lobby?”

“I don’t know. Where else would you get all this stuff?”

He sniffed haughtily. “Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?”

What.

Before you could process the reference, Karl was barrelling on:

“Second of all! You seemed down over the phone, so I brought stuff to help you cheer up!”

You raised your eyebrows in an expression that might’ve been disbelief if it was anyone else, but it wasn’t. It was Karl.

“Wait- so you drove all the way out here. Twenty minutes from your own place. To cheer me up?”

The same Karl who, incidentally, had revealed to you that he was a witch at the two-year mark of your friendship.

“Duh.”

Now, it was fair to say that you were a naturally skeptical person. In your mind, everything had a proper scientific explanation- even phenomena that might appear supernatural at first. An eerie wail on a ghost-hunting show? Probably the wind! Multiple mythologies about vampires from many different cultures? The fact that wildly different societies throughout history had similarities between their mythologies wasn’t that outlandish, and certainly wasn’t an indication of anything supernatural.

So, naturally, you’d told him to prove it.

Imagine the shock you felt watching as purple-green-white flames danced in the palm of Karl’s hand, fizzling like a firecracker and burning without heat. His eyes, so normally soft and brown, were a kaleidoscopic, whirling mix of every color conceivable. Alight with a power that you could not even begin to understand.

You’d passed out, and Karl had proceeded to freak out until you awoke a few seconds later.

It is a truth acknowledged solely by you that your best friend is magic. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Karl is a witch.

Lips curling up into a shadow of a grin, you stepped aside, allowing Karl to finally come clanking into your apartment. A jar fell down from the pile, hitting the ground with a loud clink and rolling until it hit the base of your bed frame.

You winced. If the neighbors weren’t going to complain earlier, they definitely were now.

“Oh my God,” you chuckled incredulously, leaning against the back of your couch as you watched him arrange his infernal goodies on top of your coffee table. “You are literally insane.”

Now that his arms were free, you were able to finally see your best friend instead of a walking amalgamation of craft stores. There were three things that had never changed about Karl, no matter how hard he might’ve tried: the unruly, wild tangle of brown curls that fell over his face without regard for his vision, the deep, puppy-like eyes that caught all of your attempts to cheat in Monopoly, and the peach-soft shape of his face.

He was wearing one of his sweaters today- one of the old ones you’d given him while you were still in uni. The fabric that’d once been a vibrant sunflower yellow was reduced to a faded lemon; it was soft with age, covered in mysterious stains, and looked like it was one more wash from coming apart.

Karl shot you a toothy grin. “Yeah.”

Scoffing, you turned so he couldn’t see the helpless smile that spread across your cheeks. What an idiot.

“Seriously, though,” you started, pushing away the butterflies fluttering in your stomach to fix him with a deadpan stare. “You didn’t have to come over, Karl. I know we’re besties, but you don’t need to drop everything to come comfort me. I just hope there wasn’t anything important this time.”

One of the things you’d grown accustomed to throughout your friendship was Karl’s constant need for movement.

Having arranged all of the things he’d brought over, Karl’s hands were everywhere- playing with the hem of his sweater, tucking in and out of his jean pockets, running through his hair, drumming against his thigh… it went on. However, at your statement, his actions seemed to somehow grow even more frenetic.

You watched curiously as his face pinked, tugging at his collar as if to fan himself. Or hide. You couldn’t meet his gaze, Karl seemingly taking immense interest in the weave of the rug.

Both your eyebrows went back up.

“Karl, is there something important you should be doing right now?”

“I need to renew your wards,” he said, still refusing to meet your accusatory glower. “The full moon’s coming up soon.”

“Karl.”

He looked at you guiltily, looking more like a scolded puppy than an actual adult person, and you sighed. Leaning forward in your seat to pinch the bridge of your nose, you looked up at him through your lashes.

“You are an idiot.”

A sheepish grin. “I’m your idiot, though.”

It didn’t take long for Karl to light all the candles he’d brought, lighting each with the barest flicker of power. The scent of rosemary, lavender, and lemongrass filled the apartment, but it wasn’t suffocating- rather, calming. You weren’t sure how he was able to have so many candles lit at once without giving you a headache, but one day you were going to find out.

The bed dipped under Karl’s weight, protesting shrilly, and you slid towards him another half-inch. His knee pressed into your thigh, but you allowed the contact, much more interested in the stone that he offered to you.

Recognizing it, your eyes curved into half-moons. “Rose quartz?”

“Oooh!,” Karl beamed, eyes blazing purple for a moment before they cooled to their usual dark hue. “You’ve been paying attention!”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, duh. If magic’s important to you, I’m gonna at least try to remember something about it.”

Karl paused, a complicated mixture of emotions twisting over his features, and you took the opportunity to tangle your fingers with his. He flushed again, this time turning an impressive shade of rose.

“Plus, it would be really hard not to, since you ramble about it all the time.”

His jaw dropped, his eyebrows furrowed, and he honestly looked so offended in that moment that you tipped your head back and laughed. You couldn’t find it in yourself to stop, even as he wrested you into a headlock, breathless and endlessly pleased.

“Stoooppp,” he whined, breath heady against the back of your neck. His arms loosened, but instead of pulling away, you tipped back and rested your head against his collarbone, humming.

Karl froze for a moment, then, after a few heartbeats of hesitation, rested his hands against your thighs. You watched them as his fingers began to move, tracing lines and tapping patterns. With every stroke of his skin against yours, glowing white lines, thin as spider silk, were left in the wake.

His head dipped down, hair tickling your cheek, and allowed his lips to press against your temple. You grinned privately to yourself, glancing up to catch the way the corners of his mouth quirked up into a small smile and his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks.

“Do you want to watch Hocus Pocus?”

Karl startled, flushing to the roots of his hair and abruptly scooting away with a nervous giggle. “Uh- sure? I mean, that sounds good.”

You smiled secretively to yourself at his flustered expression. It might take him a while to admit his crush. He might never. No matter what, you weren’t going to let him go. Not when he was your best friend, and first love.

@blufr0st @itsonlydana @amearla @bapthadapper @redactedsouls @sina-the-idiot @icarusthefoolish @blockyshieldmaiden @lunarheartsposts

#mori's monster series #a meal for the children #dream smp x reader #dream smp x you #dream smp x y/n #dsmp x reader #dsmp x you #dsmp x y/n #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #mcyt x y/n #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs x you #karl jacobs x y/n #c!karl jacobs #tw: mild language

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whumpcloud · 1 year

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Tea With Honey

taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg @gala1981 @whump-in-the-moonlight @ohwhumpydays @morning-star-whump

content: sickfic, fever, references to creepy/intimate whump, (lady) whumper forced to be caretaker, pills (painkillers)

Of course he caught it from Nicolas. Ophelia doesn't get why her brother is like that with Derian, and mostly she doesn't care, except that it means he won't leave Derian alone, and inevitably this was going to happen.

Except that Nicolas is tired and coughing, and Derian is feverish.

Nicolas snorts through the phone. "I spoiled you."

"Stop being a dick and-!" Ophelia lowers her voice when Derian whimpers. "Just tell me what to do."

"The internet is free."

"As if you would fucking know."

"I use email."

"I had to teach you how!"

"Not the point. You'll figure it out, baby sister."

He's lucky she can't see the smug, teasing smirk she knows is on his face. Ophelia groans in frustration and hangs up on him. Fine, she'll figure it out alone. She feels Derian pulling at her sleeve, whining softly, and it sounds piercing.

"Look, just-" Ophelia exhales. It's not his fault that he's sick. "Relax, okay? I'll get you some water."

Derian clutches at the blankets. He wants to peel off his sweat-coated skin, but more importantly he wants comfort, and in a state like this he can convince himself, just a little, that a pillow or a blanket is a person.

"Stop doing that, you're already overheating-" Ophelia almost growls at him when he tries to snatch the blankets back. "Give me-!"

"Please," Derian whispers, and it isn't even pathetic in a fun way. It's just pathetic. "Please, I d-don't care. Please, p-please."

"Jesus, fine." Ophelia feels… bad. Derian holds the blankets crushingly tight to his chest. "Come on, sit up."

She has to help him up, and it isn't as though she hasn't done it a dozen times, but it's so utterly pitiful that she can't bring herself to enjoy how weak he is.

His hands shake too much to hold the glass, so she sighs, but holds it to his mouth, and lets him tip as much as he can drink down his throat.

"Thanks," he mumbles.

"Stay like that," she says. "I'm gonna… figure out what to do."

"You… don't know?" Frowning hurts.

"Nicky deals with all this stuff!"

"L-Lower your voice, please," Derian rasps.

"Sorry."

Derian's head falls back against the headboard. He needs to think, as hard as it is, and presses his clammy hands to his face.

"Tylenol," he mumbles. "You've got some in the bathroom cabinet. White bottle with the red label."

Ophelia struggles with the child lock. It would be funnier if Derian wasn't desperate for some kind of pain relief. He can feel all his joints when he moves.

He swallows the pills dry, rubs his eyes, breathes out. "Thanks."

Ophelia fidgets. "Is there anything else I can do?"

Derian shakes his head, immediately regretting it when his vision swims. "Fuck."

"Can you walk?"

"If you'll hold me up." It's half a joke.

He didn't actually expect her to grab him under the arms and pull him to his feet. She takes no care dragging him down the stairs, his feet limply hitting every step on the way down. He just succumbs to this now. Even when Ophelia tries to be gentle, which is an oddly increasing amount as of late, she never quite manages it.

She sets him down on the sofa, and the sudden drop makes everything spin. The world feels like a sauna. He raises a hand to try to pull his sweat-damp hair from his skin, and can only weakly brush it back a little before he's overtaken by a coughing fit.

During it, Ophelia returns with the blankets, and tries to lay them over him. Derian doesn't have the energy to even wonder what she's doing when she disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes and comes back with a mug.

"It's tea," she says, holding it out to him. "With honey."

He eyes it.

"I haven't put anything else in it, if that's what you're thinking." She shakes it a little, and some of it spills over the side. "Take it."

It's warm, but a comforting warm, and Derian takes a small sip and holds it in his lap. He blearily watches Ophelia wrestle with the television, a banged-up thing so old that you could plug headphones into it, and then brush the dust from the DVD player.

"What are you doing?" Derian asks.

"Putting on a movie." Ophelia pulls one from the shelf. "Oh. Do you like action movies?"

"They're okay."

"Cool." She shoves it into the player. "It's my favourite movie. Nicky always made me tea with honey and watched it with me when I got sick."

"Is… is this you trying to be nice?" Derian sips the tea again, to keep down the coughs.

Ophelia gives a very non-committal shrug. Is she trying to be nice? She feels bad for him, but on some level it's only because she isn't the one hurting him. If she had gotten sick and he'd caught it, she'd probably laugh at him.

Derian knows that too. But frankly, he doesn't mind. Her awkward arm around his shoulder is better than nothing. Better than Nicolas.

"You're going to spill it," Ophelia says.

Derian tips the mug the other way, hands still shaking, and resolves to just lean down to drink instead of lifting the mug up.

#polly's prose #derian rodriquez #ophelia wainwright #whump #whump writing #fever whump #sick whump #athazagoraphobia

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donnerpartyofone · 2 years

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The top floor of my building should have been a floor-through apartment that our genius landlord sawed in half to accommodate a steady stream of dissatisfied and newly claustrophobic renters, while the bottom two floors have washers and driers and dishwashers that are actually hooked up properly. We've never been close enough with our usually-creepy neighbors to ask to use their utilities, so when the first floor people just moved out, I got the bright idea to do some laundry before somebody else moved in. On their way out they warned us that the drier "sucks", but I had no idea what I was in for. First of all I fucked myself over by picking the wrong spin cycle on the washing machine that's too complicated for my caveman-ass brain, so everything came out wetter than any load I have ever taken out of any laundry machine ever. I thought I could get away with this by just resigning myself to running the clothes through the sucky drier more than once or twice, or for just however long it took, but hours later it's still just tossing all my shit around in a deep non-draining pool of warm, filthy-looking water. I eventually took about half my stuff out, hoping that would help, and hung it around my apartment which makes it look like a pipe burst in here. Still deciding whether to just keep re-running the same clothes on the incredibly pathetic "high/very dry" cycle until they're just extremely damp instead of soaking wet, or if that is an eventuality that will just never, ever come to pass and I'm just finding out that I'm an even stupider piece of shit than what I knew this morning. OH WELL.

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cryptidwritings · 2 years

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Dark Water

Chapter 2: Devil's Grin

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TW: mention of death, starvation, dehumanization, restraining.

He awoke with a groan trapped in his throat; lips dry from the salty air and skin damp from the thin layer of water that had made its way under him in the night. Moss laid there, letting the bilge water sway with the ship, soaking his tattered pants; too cold and tired to care even as the footfalls that sounded like a stampede above his head suddenly came to a halt.

The swaying continued, and Moss watched the water move, skirting between the barrels and disappearing through carefully drilled holes in the walls and floorboards.

He groaned and contorted as his stomach twisted. It replied with a bubbling growl before settling back into itself like a deflated balloon.

“All hands hoay!” Adair’s voice yelled above.

“Aye!” was the thunderous reply.

Moments later and the ship began to move again. Moss stared out of the bars as the fresh bruises lit fires across his body, crawling into his bones as the boat swayed and teetered in the choppy water. Moss reached his hand out and swept a fingertip across the grains of wood, lingering on a hole where the water found its escape.

His thoughts were interrupted by boots nearing the stairs. Multiple voices descended along with the horrid sound of footfalls on the landing.

“Open this one.”

Moss paused. His ears burned as the commanding alto voice filled the silence.

The sound of splintering wood was immediately followed by shuffling and multiple sounds of disgust as a foul stench quickly filled the hold.

“Scupper that and mark one less for port,” the voice said again, “and have the cook flogged. This one comes out of their wages.”

A group of voices chorused, “Aye, aye.”

The boots approached closer as others ascended the stairs.

“Get up, rat,” Adair ordered from behind the slightly smaller frame, “yer Captain's aboard.”

Moss dragged his right arm underneath him and pushed himself onto his knees. His vision immediately tunneled as he slowly gained his footing and stood, unable to do more than a pathetic hunch as he held onto the bars.

“Upright, sailor,” the Captain jeered.

Moss swallowed hard as he caught his breath, looking at the two dimly lit silhouettes. One with the presence of a wraith, the other a bull. Adair stepped forward aggressively, causing Moss to stagger backward in fear.

“Yer Captain gave ye an order, bilge-sucker,” He warned as Moss pressed himself against the back bars.

“What did you do to it?” The Captain asked.

“Nothin' more than it could handle,” Adair answered. Technically true, but the words made Moss want to yell and scream that he was a liar. As if that would have mattered.

The Captain stepped forward now and clicked their tongue, “hey, you want this?”

Moss knew better, and yet the smell hit his nostrils and he turned his head; eyes locking on the Captain’s hand that extended through the bars, holding a handful of dried meat and a half rotten apple.

“There we are… Come on now.”

Moss’ body shook, protesting each movement. He looked back and forth from the Captain to Adair, slowly inching forward until he found himself within arm's distance from the front of the cage. He reached out, and The Captain pulled back.

“Let me see you. Come closer, then you can eat.”

His heart was racing now. He warily inched forward, pulled by the promise of something to quell the fierce growling in his stomach.

Finally, he reached the front of the cage and shakily moved his scabbed hand through the bars and towards the food. In a flash, The Captain grabbed onto Moss’ wrist and pulled, slamming his face and bad arm against the bars.

“Ack! Mmf…” Moss’ breath hitched. The Captain chuckled, grinning widely with bright teeth that seemed to reflect the small amount of light in the hold. That smile, finding pleasure in pain and fear, was what gave Captain Isola Watts her fierce reputation.

Wiry hair tickled Moss’ arm as her face came closer, eyeing his subdued left arm.

“What are you trying to protect, rat?”

The food fell to the ground and she latched onto Moss’ aching wrist, pulling it away from his body, taking note of the new red and swollen welts that littered his arms and torso.

“Gah!” His ears rang as his vision clouded over, blinded by pain as his arm joined the other one.

“Look at me.”

The order went unnoticed. Isola grimaced and twisted his hand. Moss unleashed a scream of pain that ripped his throat as his knees gave, his bones hitting full-force onto the floor.

She repeated, twisting his arm a bit further, “Look. At. Me.”

He did, blinking back the sweat cascading down his brow.

She smiled, pleased, “You’ll be happy to know that we’re heading to Talon.”

Moss’ eyes widened.

“Even bruised and broken, some drunken scallywag might want an easy fight-”

“-K-kill me…” Moss begged.

Isola’s grin faded, “what?”

Moss coughed as his aching lungs fought against him, “I-I’m not going to… I can’t,” he choked on another wave of pain shooting up his left arm and grimaced, lips trembling, as he locked eyes with the dimly lit Devil’s Grin of Captain Isola.

“You heard me!” His voice cracked as tears welled in his eyes. He ground his teeth together, “kill me."

Adair slammed his hand against the bars, creating a loud bang that hit Moss in his jaw. Isola’s icy gaze locked onto him, and he bit his tongue and turned, walking away with his fists clenched tightly at his side.

The Captain looked back down at Moss and let go of his right arm. He tried to get away, but it hurt… god did it hurt.

The Captain dropped to Moss’ eye level, keeping her gaze on them. Her eyes were cold with a thousand corpses beneath them.

“Death is too good for a rat like you,” she stated, “so you’ll do as you’re told.”

She increased the grip on his injured wrist and held him in place as he struggled, watching his eyes dilate and skin pale a sickly white, “if I want you to kneel, you’ll kneel. If I say bleed, you’ll bleed.”

She twisted his arm behind his back, pressing it against the bar that landed between his shoulder blades. His fingers flexed as he choked back another scream.

“And don’t worry,” she continued. Moss could hear the joy dripping from her lips as she pushed his arm up until his shoulder threatened to pop, “when I get tired of you, I'll throw you overboard myself.”

#pirate whump #captivity whump #captive whumpee #whump writing #whump series #sadistic whumper #tw mention of death #tw starvation #tw dehumanization #tw restraining #female whumper #multiple whumpers #male whumpee #dark water by jovi #writeblr #originalfiction

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