#inevitable and terrible and yet still completely fresh

[dangerscully]

the ending of the last two episodes has been 100% inevitable as soon as the scenes began.

we knew without uncertainty that kim would turn her car around. we screamed at the screen for her to keep driving regardless, to go to her meeting.

we knew without uncertainty that howard was done for as soon as lalo showed up, as soon as the gun came out. we screamed at the screen for him to leave regardless, to escape, to live.

#and the ending of 6x06 played 100% into the ending of 6x07 like this episode wouldn't have had a single lawyer scene play out like it did #if kim had just gone to that goddamn meeting #inevitable and terrible and yet still completely fresh #the surprises all make sense in hindsight and the obvious things don't feel stale #i hate this show so much (affectionate) #bcs #bcs spoilers

[gaytotaldrama]

Since you asked about prompts, while I haven’t got to World Tour in my rewatch, the thought comes to mind of a Gwortney piece where Courtney believes Gwen’s claims that was the one who Duncan kissed her rather than blaming her for “stealing” him

thanks for the prompt! hope you enjoy

also on my ao3

"Uh, I saw Duncan and Gwen kiss!"

In just a few words, Tyler Tucker had completely ruined Gwen's life. She knew she couldn't really blame him - the guy was clearly under Alejandro's crafty spell. But if he'd just stuck around for literally two seconds longer the night before, he would know the truth of what had actually gone down.

Gwen should be so lucky.

Duncan was on the ground, out cold from Cody's sucker-punch to his jaw. Gwen couldn't care. Serves him right, she thought. I told him to fess up to Courtney himself, and now the jackass has dug his grave even deeper.

As Cody and Tyler began to take flight, Gwen realized with a horrible clarity that since Duncan was out of commission, Courtney was headed straight for her. 

"I hate you!" she was screaming, flailing like some sort of enraged marionette. The only thing preventing her from tearing Gwen's face off was Sierra's  - surprisingly expert, though definitely slack - chokehold. "How could you?! I thought we were friends!"

"We are!" Gwen exclaimed, instinctually taking a few steps back. "Courtney, you have to believe me, I didn't want - "

"Oh, sure you didn't," Sierra sneered as Courtney continued to wriggle in her grasp. "You've been all over Duncan since season one! It was only a matter of time before you tried any funny business."

Gwen stamped her foot in frustration, gritting her teeth together. "I do not like Duncan! I never have! I was with Trent in season one, remember?"

But her defenses appeared to fall upon utterly deaf ears. "You," Courtney seethed, steam practically pouring out of her nostrils like a raging bull. "Are so eliminated."

"Look, if I could just - " Gwen started in a panic, but by then, Cody had already won the tie-breaker, and the wave of relief that crashed through her nearly knocked her down to her knees.

Back on the plane, things weren't pretty. Duncan was still passed out somewhere in economy - was Cody's punch really that strong, or was Duncan simply prolonging the inevitable? In any case, Gwen felt terrible. She was being looked down upon by her fellow contestants. She hadn't gotten to say (sing?) all she'd wanted Duncan to hear during their boar challenge, hadn't let him know just how pissed she really was. Not to mention that the person who was angriest with her right now was the very person Gwen wanted to - 

Whatever. Like that was gonna happen now.

And yet, she knew she had to try.

Leaving the confessional (the lock was still busted, if this show weren't so fucking cheap, if McLean wasn't such an asshole, none of this would have even - ), Gwen steeled her resolve and made her way back to first class as slowly as possible. Cody tried to catch her eye as she entered the cabin, but she steadfastly ignored him, ignored the daggers Sierra was shooting her way, too. Courtney was curled into one of the seats, sobbing uncontrollably as Heather patted her on the back. If Heather was now appreciated more than Gwen, she didn't know what she would do.

"Courtney, please," Gwen said softly upon approach. "I can explain everything to you."

"I don't want to hear it, boyfriend stealer!" Courtney screamed.

Gwen winced, shook her head. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I just need you to listen to me. Can we go out to the cargo hold or something?"

"What, so you can go spy and make sure Duncan hasn't been eliminated?!" At this, she fell prey to a fresh bout of tears.

"If you really want to talk to Courtney, then you can say whatever it is in front of us," Heather said, crossing her arms. "And if that juvie punk gets booted, then I say Good riddance."

"Fine!" Gwen threw up her hands, exasperated. "Fine, I'll just say this here." She hated to air more of her dirty laundry on TV, but that had always been par for the course with Total Drama. "Courtney, I didn't kiss him."

"Yes you did you little - "

"Duncan kissed me," Gwen all but yelled. Her cheeks burned shamefully at the memory. "Tyler didn't see the whole thing, but I pushed Duncan off of me almost as soon as it had begun. I didn't expect it to happen. I didn't want it. And when I rejected him, he got all grouchy and left."

"Oh, yeah, like we're gonna believe that!" Sierra shouted. "You stab Courtney in the back and then can't even own up to it?! You are soooo getting voted 'Least Popular Contestant' on my blog!"

But Cody, looking at Gwen with puppy-dog eyes, asked, "You're being serious, Gwen?"

"Yes." Gwen ran her hands through her rough hair, not even caring if she pulled out any strands. "I wouldn't lie about this. Ask Chris to show you the footage." She scowled at the floor. "And if Duncan gets kicked off tonight, I'll sleep as snug as a bug in a rug."

Silence, for a moment. Heather seemed about to say something. But then - 

"Oh my God," Courtney croaked. "She's telling the truth."

If Gwen had felt relieved when they won the Greece challenge, it was nothing compared to this. "Yes," she repeated, voice breaking. "I swear to you, Courtney, I am. I'm telling the truth."

And Courtney nodded, not meeting Gwen's gaze, her eyes rimmed with red. But it was enough for Gwen to know she believed her.

The others, however, weren't so easily convinced.

"Oh, come on, you two have always been close," said Heather. "If you're not into Duncan, then I'll marry Alejandro."

"I'm not," Gwen said emphatically. "So happy trails, Heather, you two will be perfect for one another." She turned defensively to Sierra. "And I guess you're gonna tell me you totally saw this coming and there's no way I'm being genuine, right? Because since you're an expert on this show, you must know me better than I know myself, huh?" When Sierra didn't answer, Gwen knew she had her pegged. "Ugh, you guys, I am not in love with Duncan! And, sorry, Cody, I'm not into you, either." At Cody's heartbroken expression, Sierra growled at her, but Gwen kept going. "Just because you all have complicated love lives doesn't mean I have to!

"You are so obviously into Alejandro," she continued, rounding on Heather. "But you won't admit it because you're too proud to own up to the fact that there's actually a perfect guy for Heather Hamada out there, and he's just as evil as you are!" Before Heather could splutter her way through a half-baked excuse, Gwen spun to level with Sierra. "And you - if you actually took a second to care about what Cody wants, you would know that you are always overstepping his boundaries!" She contemplated raking her nails down her face, so strong was her frustration at the people around her. "I won't deny that Duncan and I have a lot in common, and I won't deny that he has some sort of feelings for me. But I don't feel the same way. I was into Trent, I'm into Courtney, but I am not and never will be into Duncan!"

Finally, she broke off, heaving, throat drier than the stupid path to the Nile had been. She'd said her piece. She was finished, and if they still decided to send her home next time the Amazons lost, then she'd just learn to live with it.

But no one seemed angry anymore. In fact, they all seemed to be experiencing variations of different emotions, none of them hatred. Sierra's eyes were blown wider than usual, her jaw slack and her fingers twitching like she was itching to blog about something. Cody looked crestfallen, and Gwen felt bad for being harsh, but it had been three seasons and the guy still couldn't deal with the fact that she was never going to date him. Heather, meanwhile, was staring at Gwen with her hand pressed over her mouth and...giggling? It felt wrong to attribute such a cutesy word to the Queen of Mean, but there was no other way to describe the sickening sounds she was making. And Courtney...

Courtney was looking at Gwen like she'd just seen a ghost - and a real one at that, not Harold's stupid soccer ball-bedsheet combo.

"You," Courtney started and swallowed hard - Gwen tried not to track the bobbing motion of her throat. "You like me."

At last, Gwen's brain caught up with her stupid mouth, and she realized what she'd just admitted. Oh, shit...

It was at least a small comfort to know that no one would be asking her about Duncan again any time soon.

#my writing #td #gwourtney #td fanfiction #td gwen #td courtney

[sinkat-arts]

Daisuga WIP Wednesday

Context: It's the day after their Interhigh loss against Seijoh, and Daichi's still recovering from a pretty bad night, which included an argument with his mother. Daichi's just bumped into a guidance counselor who was looking for Suga. This leads up to the stairwell conversation that happens in canon. Also, it's pre-relationship.

--

The spiral descended again. If the counselor wanted to talk about the rest of the schoolyear, Daichi reasoned, that could really only mean one thing. The timing worked out for it to be a discussion around Suga’s plans to keep playing, anyway. They’d said they’d keep playing - all three of them promised, but… 

Does going to nationals get you into college?

His mother’s words, aggravating as it was to have them in his head right now, did merit consideration. Even more so for Suga than him, he figured. In his estimation, he wasn't much to write home about, but Suga was smart. It was easy to forget, and Daichi doubted that the rest of the team understood just how smart he was, but it was clear every time test scores were posted. He was always in the top 5-10, which meant Suga was in a completely different league. 

He’d be first… no one could touch him if he didn’t spend so much time practicing… maybe it would be better for him to focus more on his future… maybe our time really is done… 

Daichi shook his head, gripping his phone in his hand. “Done” was a word like “last” and “final.” It was a reminder that change was catching up with them - that they were very close to saying goodbye. A low panic started to burrow into his chest - his heart was beating just a little too fast and his lungs were just a little too empty for comfort. He had to… he needed to… do something. Anything. Whatever kept his hands busy and his mind distracted.

And he had to do it away from his best friends, else risk letting them see how shaken he really was today. He decided on a destination and shot off a message to Suga.   

Daichi: Sorry. Looks like I’m missing lunch today.

Pocketing his phone, he turned and headed straight for the gym. He felt the inevitable notifications - probably Suga asking why he was missing lunch - and made a note to make up a believable excuse later. It wasn’t unheard of to get waylaid by a teacher or underclassman over the lunch break, after all. Daichi was a terrible liar, but if he really was doing something productive, it wouldn’t be a total lie. He was sure there was something he could do in the gym… make sure all their gear was in order for tomorrow’s practice, for one. As far as excuses go, it would be flimsy, but…

“So you’re standing me up. Today?” A familiar voice interrupted him as he made his way down the stairwell. Suga stood there, looking more than a little aggravated and out of breath. He must have run straight there from the courtyard. 

“No?” Daichi answered, reaching the landing where Suga stood, “I was just going to go… check our equipment. Fresh start tomorrow, right?” He struggled to keep his face and tone within the bounds of his usual attitude. Judging by the unimpressed look on Suga’s face, however, he knew he was failing. 

“Because nets and balls have a tendency to escape in the night?” Suga asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“You can’t be too safe,” Daichi replied, and even he had to admit how lame he sounded. Very unconvincing in front of yet another person who could, more often than not, read him like a book. 

“Daichi, come on. What's going o…” Suga started in a softer tone, taking a step towards him.

“Suga?” came a voice from below, accompanied by heavy footsteps, “Did you… did you find him?” Asahi had been following, then. Daichi’s mission to avoid them while he was feeling like shit had failed spectacularly.

“There you are,” Asahi said, smiling, but it faded when he sensed the tension between his two friends. “What’s... what's up?” 

“Daichi was just making up a reason for skipping out on lunch,” Suga answered, looking intently into Daichi’s eyes. It was a clear challenge… he was definitely angry, and maybe he had a right to be a little mad, but… coming at Daichi this directly was… it didn’t make sense. 

Daichi found that he couldn’t meet that gaze for too long, not when Suga was absolutely correct about his failed lie. Sighing, he turned to look out the window. 

“Sorry, you got me,” he relented, “I’ve just been… thinking.” 

“About?” Asahi asked, lifting the boxed drink in his hand to his mouth to take a sip. “Is everything ok?”

No, everything is not ok. 

Daichi was officially backed into a corner. How could he tell them what was really on his mind? How could he frame it in a way that would make sense… but wouldn’t let them know just how much of a mess he was? Indecision clogged up the works, making it hard for his mind to find the angle, the right way to approach this.    

“I think it’s best that we back out here,” he finally said, opting for something close to the truth. He still wasn’t sure, but thinking about his mother last night and then the guidance counselor today… maybe pulling out now really was the best course of action. For all of them.

#daisuga #sawamura daichi #sugawara koushi #daichi #suga #haikyuu #haikyu #wip wednesday #fanfic #there's a reason beyond this that Suga's mad #also their stairwell convo seemed kinda odd for Daichi #that he'd consider backing off #so I started to think of what his reasoning might be #which is part of why I began this fic in the first place

[casspurrjoybell-18]

Mutual Desire - Chapter 20a

*Warning - Adult Content*

Never had Damien's cheek witness a kiss so... 

So what?  

Sensual?  

Intimate?  

Full of evocations? 

Damien couldn't describe this kiss on the cheek. 

In fact, he was unable to define or even go as far as elucidating what had happened in the limousine with Nabokov. 

Yet, he had barely managed to sleep, since he couldn't stop remembering the things that took place or preventing him from doing so. 

And the few hours of sleep he had, had been exhausted in an almost erotic dream where he and Nabokov were in action. 

In the dream, Nabokov's lips had reached Damien's and then a fiery kiss had promptly and intensely formed. 

A mix of tongues that had attained its climax when Damien found himself straddling the Russian man, kissing him with ferocity almost worrying. 

The dream had came to an abrupt end when Damien began undoing Nabokov's fly.

Even his own dreams seemed to be self aware of going way too far and interrupted the critical moment where everything was inevitably going to go beyond all that was known to follow a kiss. 

When he woke up, Damien's manhood was in full erection and he knew it had nothing to do with a customary morning wood. 

When he awoke, Damien let out a sigh of relief when he realized that Craig was neither on the other side of the bed nor in the room. 

He got up from the bed, wearing his erection with shame and stalked to the bathroom.

Arriving there, he quickly brushed his teeth and then he rushed into the bath, having purely in mind to get rid of this unwanted erection. 

He poured the cold water on him, while his hand gripped his hardened member where he began some slow back and forth movements. 

His breathing gasped as his hand became more aggressive on his shaft, activating the movements with brutality and impatience. 

Damien only wanted to think of Craig during the perverse act he found very shameful. 

He genuinely wanted to have in mind, the times Craig had made love to him but these personal memories didn't appear.

Instead, it was the very fresh imageries of Nabokov kiss on the cheek that was performing a show in Damien's completely lost and incoherent mind. 

He would have never thought a simple innocent kiss would cause his erection to go away. 

Was it because he was sexually frustrated? 

Granted, that might have been a valid reason a few days ago when he could barely see Craig and hadn't been touched by his man for ages. 

However, this was no longer the case since the two men had made up after their argument.

On the contrary, Damien was currently wonderfully sexually satisfied and his desire for Craig had hardly lessened. 

So why had he dreamed erotically of a man other than his? 

This question was just as much as a mystery as Nabokov's kiss. 

Damien saw no valid reason why he was making a big deal out of a lucid dream. 

A dream remained a dream. 

Something no human on earth could control. 

So, he didn't need to feel any guilt or blame himself for the inexplicable products of his brain.

 A brain that gave the impression of being rather impulsive lately. 

Damien satisfied his urgent needs by coming in the bath, a minute later, on the memories of his dream about Nabokov exploding all over his head. 

He didn't look at his manhood, his eyes remaining carefully closed throughout the act. 

Damien took a moment to regain his breath, which was still panting.

After another minute, he quietly washed, while a feeling of terrible shame seized him. 

Though he couldn't control his dreams, he nonetheless had control over the thoughts that could represent the cause of him reaching orgasm. 

And the fact that it was another man who was responsible for it was something that Damien couldn't accept and believe. 

Was it somehow a form of cheating? 

Damien quickly chased his absurd thoughts and questions away and finished washing. 

He went to the room to dress. 

He rummaged through Craig's drawer and he lent an Adidas black jogging pants to his boyfriend but didn't take any shirt to cover his upper body, deciding to stay shirtless. 

He was on his way to get out of the bedroom but stopped when his cell-phone that was charging on the bedside table, vibrated. 

He took the smart phone where Eric's name appeared on the touch screen. 

Eric rarely called and Damien sensed something must be wrong.

"Hey Eric."

As soon as he spoke, Damien Clark realized his voice had turned hoarse. He cleared his throat gently.

"Did you just masturbate?" Eric asked clearly unbothered by the nature of his question.

Damien began to giggle nervously. 

Eric seemed to be the only person in the world who could make his lack of tact appears somewhat of a quality. 

At least Damien secured confirmation that nothing bad had happened.

"What? No. Why do you say that?" Damien asked, a smile on his lips.

"Your voice sounds like someone who has just masturbated."

"No, I just got out of the shower and..."

"So, I'm right, you just masturbate," Eric said, confirming his own assumptions.

Damien's nervous chuckle turned into laughter.

"You called me to make this observation?" Damien asked with a big smile.

"Yes, it's a new hobby of mine."

If Damien didn't know Eric for more than five years and someone had told him that his close friend was a former lawyer, Damien would have laughed hysterically. 

However, Eric did indeed do this profession but one day he decided to dump everything to become a bartender. 

His life as a lawyer was unbearable and he wasn't happy. 

But everything had changed when he had alternated professions. 

Being of a social nature and possessing a gift of being pleasant to be around with, working in a bar was the ideal job and the most important was that he was now a content man.

"So, what"s up?"

"I won't bust your balls any longer and I'll let you go back to your masturbation session."

"That's very nice of you," Damien said with a grin.

"Julia and Sam's fiancée decided to organize a bowling night between couples tomorrow."

Damien was surprised to say the least by this information, considering how bad the evening went the last time the couples had a night out between them. 

Damien didn't expect another date like this one to be organized anytime soon, but it looks like he was mistaken.

"Well, thanks for the info. Bye, Eric," Damien said, trying to save himself from an invitation to a bowling night.

"If you hang up, Dam, I'll post the picture that Dimitri took of you at the Las Vegas strip-club."

Damien barely had any memories of that infamous night at this Las Vegas strip-club two years ago. 

The only images that were memorized in his head were some videos and an abundance picture taking. 

Some of those pictures being of himself, not exactly flattery and downright embarrassing.

"Wow, you're blackmailing me, now," Damien retorted falsely shock.

"Don't be selfish. Don't let Sam and I be the only ones to suffer. We need your support and Craig's, man."

Unlike his friends, Damien didn't really have anything against a night out between couples from time to time. 

But his friends didn't share this idea, far from it. 

They found this type of date totally uncomfortable and cringe worthy. 

And the fact the previous couples night went sour only accentuated the scorn that Damien's friends had for this kind of outing. 

During the last date between the couples, Dimitri was accompanied by his one-night stand of the moment who, Julia, Eric' wife wasn't feeling at all. 

The two women suddenly got into a minor altercation that turned into something of a few seconds fight. 

Alcohol really had the gift of fucking everything up.

"Let me see with Craig, and I'll get back to you."

"We're counting on you, Dam. We need whatever support we can get, man." 

Damien smiled.

"Yeah, I'll see what I can do."

[theworstcreature]

hey do you guys remember the immortal snail? Because I do and I want to write about it so here we go

I sat on the cold stone cliff, looking out at the dangerous, cold, yet empty ocean. Today, my dirty navy blue hair was tied back in a large braid- the type the the rich and beautiful wore. I remembered all the kings and queens, empowers and empresses, rulers both good and bad. I had seen humanity’s steady decline right before my eyes. Seeing people tell incorrect stories of witnessed with complete confidence has always annoyed me. I thought back to the simpler times when I would write down history and either be fully listened to and deemed as true or ignored and have my writings never see the light of day. I ran my hand across the long skirt of my gown. I had always loved this one. The soft sunset colors always reminded me of my first home. My true home. “I wish she was still here” I sigh, remembering all the times we had danced in the flower fields and her dark brown hair and how gorgeous she looked on our wedding. She gave me this dress. It was my 24th birthday and that was the moment I fell for her. I knew we couldn’t be together forever. That I would inevitably outlive her. But I still let myself fall in love. No other love has ever felt as strong as my love for her. It may of only lasted 6 short years but it was one of the few times I have been truly happy. I sighed. Why must I always be stuck in the past? She would never of forgives me if I told her of my immortality. That we would never be able to be together till the end of our days. She died too young. Far. Too young. It may of been centuries ago but I hope I never forget her face. Falling for her was the best and the worst mistake I ever made. I was ripped away from my thoughts by a sudden noise. I look around and see a small fluffy creature. Is that- no it can’t be. I thought they all died out like most other life. The creature walks closer and I realize that yes, this is a small black rat. I carefully step closer, trying not to scare it. Surprisingly, it lets me get close. I pick it up in my hands and it chitters. It sounded happy. “Hey, little buddy.” I bring my little fluffy friend into my cave and set it on my makeshift bed. I turn on my food materializer and make some fresh perfectly ripe strawberries. I was thankful for my energy generator I set up in the ocean below. It lets me use what little technology I have and lets me stay warm during the harsh, unsurvivable winter months. The rat squeaks excitedly as I hand it some. As it eats, I sketch my new friend on my tablet. It’s an old invention but thankfully this one was built to last. At sunset, I scoop up my little buddy and go outside to watch the sunset. The sun is much brighter than usual. Maybe it’s finally time. I pull out Perhapse one of my oldest items- a purple iPod from when I was a child. I had always found ways to keep it going. Now, it had been upgraded so much that it barely was even the same thing. Sure I could use a more modern music device but this one reminds me of my childhood. Before I signed the contract. Before I got this terrible endless life. Why hasn’t that snail shown up already? We sit on the cliff and I gently stroke the rat as I listen to my music. Now, the sun is getting much to bright. I can feel it getting hotter and the ocean is beginning to steam. My headphones start playing “so this is Christmas”. I look at the world around me, wondering if I will outlive this planet when I see him. I watch as the snail approaches me. When it’s close enough, I pick it up. “You caught me. Took ya long enough.” I say, shaking. “The war is over..” I say as the sun burns out, devouring the world around me. I listen to the last seconds of the song as I feel my heart stop beating.

#Immortal snail #its not trendy anymore but idc #War is over #So this is christmas #writing #writeblr #snail

[remywrotethis]

The First Born

The Children of Sorceress

A College of Wizards

The First Born

Maura placed the seeing stone amulet into her mouth and took Roens outstretched hands. Leaning ford, their elbows pressed firmly against the cluttered library table crumpling some of their notes. They stared deep into the palimpsest. Despite herself Maura noted how soft his palms felt  as she drew the ruins of seeing with her middle fingers. Before she had time to dwell on the feeling, the scent of a hard driven horse and an uncomfortable warmth drove it from her mind.

Lord Asmit rode hard through the dry heat and glaring sun. Thick dust billowed up from heavy hoof beats on the dirt track. His humid sweat and that of his destrier commingled and hung thick in the air creating a smothering ora around them. Rivulets of that same sweat trickled down his neck staining his richly embroidered purple cloak and condensed on the inside of the golden mask which fully obscured his face. Still he rode on harder, faster, even the heat of midsummer was no match for the heat of his desire, of his pride. 

He had ridden for days and now finally his goal was in reach. At first all he could see was the forest canopy breaking over the horizon but as he continued to approach the trees seemed to grow before his very eyes, soaring to startling heights. Immens oaks with heavy boughs draped in semi-sheer curtains of moss loomed up before him obscuring all that lay beyond. He could taste it now, completion and success only marred slightly by the bitter rage he felt at needing to embark on this quest at all. Dismounting from the war horse in one smooth swift movement he landed with practiced ease. Taking the creature by its rains as he stepped between the trees.

The gloom of the forest was immediate and just as oppressive as the heat. All around lord Asmit the shadows stretched and warped, clawing at him trying to dissuade him. Dense flora over grew his path making it nearly impassable and yet Asmit pressed on fervently despite this unforgiving slog. Abruptly he found himself falling, having caught his boot on one of the many thick roots which slithered and knotted beneath the undergrowth. Stretching his hands out before him he managed to catch himself with more than just a little chagrin at the fresh stains on his previously spotless riding gloves.

Grasping around for his horse's reins he discovered he was now alone in a forest that was getting progressively darker. Finding his footing he resolved to persevere, he could not waste time on such weaknesses as loneliness when his quest was so nearly finished. Continuing on the path devolved further being covered thoroughly in dead leaves and other detritus. Soon he was knee deep with the repugnant smell of soil filling his nostrils. He pushed on raging against these leaves till he was waist deep, then shoulder deep, then thrashing ford in utter rage Lord Asmit went under. 

The filth pressed in all around him as he lashed out at it. Struggling and squirming impotently he lost all sense of direction yet he yearned to move ford. Exhaustion finally took him and in a fit of anger he opened his mouth to curse this cruel trick but before he could make a sound icy water rushed in hitting the back of his throat. Choking Asmit opened eyes, he had not realized they were closed, to see the inky darkness. For a moment he hung there lost and confused, suspended in the lightless depths.

Something shifted in the darkness. He could neither see nor hear it but Asmit sensed its vast shape moving all around him. Without intention the creature buffeted him, sending Asmit hurdling into the nothingness. Now It knew he was here and the terrible presence of this awesome beast began to menace him. Asmit unsheathed his sword, stilling himself for the inevitable attack. 

For the first time fear began to creep into Asmit's mind, distorting his pride to shame and weakening his resolve. As his grip loosened on the hilt of his sword his lung ached desperate to finally exhale. Asmit felt regret knowing that all he had strived so hard to achieve would come to not, devoured by this unseen beast. Gritting his teeth he refused the inevitable lord Asmit would not be the last of his line. Not in spite of his flaws but because of his pride he would overcome all that lay before him. He would embrace his pride and wear it as armor and it would shield him from dying in doubt.  

In the instant Asmits resolve was restored his vision was as well. Far above him a rippling silvery light began to emanate from an angelic female form. A young woman of unearthly beauty with radiant golden hair and smooth pale blue skin descended towards him stepping through the water as if walking down a grand staircase. In her majestic light Asmit could finally glimpse his assailant. A giant, pink, writhing, fleshy worm covered in eons of filth with an enormous jagged toothy maw. 

The hideous thing recoiled in the sudden light then in palpable rage it struck at Asmit. Now with his senses restored the unwieldy beast was no match for Asmit. Despite its gargantuan size he dodge aside with ease bringing his sword down upon it. As he did the same silvery light that imitated from the maiden extended down the shaft of his blade and cleaved the head of the beast clean off. For a moment Asmit floated there content in his victory, the body of the giant worm drifting flaccidly away into even greater depths. Almost gently Asmit drifted into unconsciousness, his lungs still burning for air.

When Asmit awoke he found himself sitting up in a straight backed wooden chair at the center of a sumptuously embroidered rug in the middle of a cozy study surrounded by walls covered in books from floor to ceiling. Before him behind an ornate but well worn dark wooden desk sat an athletic looking woman with fair features who could not be much past her maiden hood but had the unattractive silver hair of an old crone. 

“What is it that you desire of my Lord Asmit?” she said in a voice that was at once soft yet deeply powerful.

“Tell me, are you the sorcerous?” He snarled almost instinctively.

“Yes that is one of my titles your lordship, now please how may I make myself of use to you”

Looking around once more to ensure they were truly alone, Asmit said in a hushed tone “If the stories are true and you are a great healer I must continue my line”.

Thinking for a moment the witch muttered to herself. After an unbearably long instance she finally responded “I am able to do this for you but in return my patron will require sacrifice, she demands you first born as her own that she may claim at her discretion”. 

"I will consent to these terms".

 The sorcerous leaned back in her chair removing a small mortar and pestle from some hidden drawer behind the desk. Speaking incomprehensible words she caused a pure white flower to grow spontaneously from the palm of her hand and drew silvery water from thin air. Mixing the elements of her potion together in the mortar she gestured for his mask. Acquiescing he handed it to her and with a final incantation she crushed the gold into a fine powder which fell into her concoction. Asmit snatched up the potion which he greedily imbibed. With the potion consumed she tooking him by the hand and led him from her study up an impossible staircase which twisted and wound like a gnarled tree. 

Finally they came to a room obscured by a semi-sheer curtain of moss and pushing through Asmit found himself alone with the sorceress in her bed chamber. The room was plain, containing on one side a simple bed and a single wooden wardrobe and across at the opposite side a veranda with doors flung wide. Even from his vantage point at the entryway he could see that the veranda overlooked a pool of crystalline water which now reflected a sky full of radiant stars. 

"Lord Asmit all you must do now is lay beside me in bed for the night and your condition will be cured" said the sorceress in a kind soft voice.

So for the night Asmit slept beside her. He slept a heavy sleep filled with warm intimate dreams which were visited more than once by the golden haired maiden. When Asmit awoke he was alone completely naked on the bed with his clothes clean folded neatly beside him. Dressing himself hastily he noted with satisfaction that the witch had not lied his condition was indeed cured. Asmit ran down a now perfectly straight set of stairs and into the light of day to find his steed saddled groomed and ready for him. Leaping astride his it with practiced ease Asmit could swear he heard the cry of an eagle as he rode off toward his destiny. 

Jolting back in her chair Maura spat out the seeing stone and stared bewildered at Roen who in turn stared bewilderedly back.It took Maura a while before she could remember herself and form a coherent well mostly coherent thought. 

“What and who but also mostly why?”

“I’m as lost as you,” whispered Roen.

“I don't understand how at all this relates to the college's history or desires. I know I performed the magic flawlessly. This must be the closest relevant thing the stone could show us. There must be powerful wards in place.”  Brushing the bright red curls from in front of her eyes Maura leaned forcefully back in her chair tilting it till it almost tipped over. Roen shook his head and then just smiled infuriatingly at her like she had told a joke that she herself  was still unaware of. She would find the pieces to this puzzle and she would fit them all together and after that she would find out what was so damn funny.

#adventure #fantasy #short story #original fiction

[sugrbugz]

𝙰𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 ~ 𝙺𝚞𝚛𝚘𝚘 𝚃𝚎𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚘𝚞 ♥︎

a business man kuroo x femboy!male reader concept!

TYSM FOR 100 FOLLOWERS <3

ok females calm down i know everyone’s horny for kuroo, which is why i’ll be posting a female version of this too! i’m just a male who is indeed horny for kuroo soooo….i see u men

CW: heavy degradation..like HEAVY, oral, anal, pet play, bdsm, a little bit of somno (literally just touches your ass while ur sleeping that’s it), face fucking, dycraphilia, lotsa swearing hehe, hate fucking essentially.

was it his fault? not entirely. kuroo had been at the end of his rope before he even walked in the front door. having to deal with corporate executives who thought they were actually useful all day was a chore in itself.

kuroo loved his job, loved his company, loved the money even, but most importantly he loved you. he loved everything about you. he loved how you’d come running down the large staircase when he came home, ready to receive a plethora of hugs and kisses from you. you were the only part of today he was looking forward to.

so when he came home to an empty house, not one with the sounds of your music or your feet rushing down the hall to greet him. he was honestly disappointed. “baby?” he called out loud enough, looking around the main floor a bit before going upstairs. now the sight before him made his heart squeeze, you curled up in the blankets of the bed with your head buried into his pillow? he wanted to cry.

that’s when he noticed it, your clothes. kuroo is as bisexual as it gets, he’s quite literally the poster child. however, in your mlm relationship it was very apparent the type of boys he was into, femboys. with a slight gulp he pulled the blanket back just a bit, careful not to wake you. the large pink night shirt that cling to your body with the literal pair of panties nearly made him pass out.

“even when you’re sleeping you aim to please me..” he mumbled running his fingers down your back before cupping your ass cheek with one hand. no movement from you yet. you two had talks about kinks before, it wasn’t uncharted territory and sure enough he remembered what he was doing right now was okay, you’d given him consent multiple times to do it but even then he still wanted fresh consent. maybe you fell asleep because you weren’t feeling good or were having a bad day and needed to sleep it off.

he lightly shook you, “hun..” he whispered leaning down to kiss your cheek softly. smiling when you whined softly. “you okay babe..? anything wrong?” he asked softly. you opened one eye, making him smile wide. “mhm…’m okay” you mumbled sitting up slightly, your shirt falling off your shoulder slightly. “that’s good..now…i have a favour to ask, kitten”

after the petname you knew what that favour was going to be. “anything for you.” you smiled softly, shifting your position so you were sitting on your knees in front of him. you knew what came next and so did he.

“sucha good boy” he praised softly, hands finding the collar around your throat. “you didn’t take it off since last night? that’s cute..maybe i’ll get you something similar that you can wear in public?” he hummed.

you knew better than to speak unless he was genuinely asking you a question but you still gave him a gently nod to show your interest.

“what a good pet…to be completely honest with you, i’ve had a terrible fucking day. you know how i get when i’m not having a good day don’t you angel?” he asked, a hint of cockiness to his tone.

“i’ll be back. by the time i am you know what i expect to see.” with that he kissed your forehead and left the room. you didn’t want to test him today, sometimes you’d be a brat but today was not that day.

you quickly stripped down, clothes folded neatly placed on the side table so they were accessible for aftercare. your hands found your lap, pressing your hands in between your legs to hide the inevitable boned that came with him using you like he wanted to. surely he wouldn’t know if you gave yourself a little attention right? it was just so hard to stop yourself..it would feel too good.

snaking one hand down you grab onto your own length, gently stroking it. you shiver a bit at the feeling, both your cold hand and the sexiness of know that if you’re caught kuroo would make your life a living hell for a couple of hours, was thrilling.

when you and kuroo started getting into bdsm he put rules in place, ones that you needed to follow in the bed and even in regular life. one of the big ones? always ask your master permission to play. it was almost like you could hear him saying it back in your head, the guilt was starting to set in but it was just too late. right as you went to stop your movements, the door opened again, leaving you and kuroo in a very long intense gaze.

“well..what do we have here love? is my good boy breaking the rules?” he simply walked over, tossing the lube among other things he brought to the side chair near the bed. “n-no i didn’t do anything!” you whined in protest.

kuroo slowly leaned down, hand gently cupping your face, “i don’t fucking believe you.” he whispered before bringing the hand on your cheek back a bit to give it a smack then quickly taking the stinging skin back in his hand. “one thing i hate more than a whore who doesn’t fucking listen is a liar.” he spits.

he could quite literally get off on the shocked expression on your face currently, “now let’s try this again. did you break a rule?” he asked, eyes literally begging you to try and lie again. “yes master..” you sighed in defeat, you knew the punishment would be bad.

“do you know what happens to naughty boys that don’t listen and lie? do you kitten?” he let go of your face now, walking over to some of the things he brought up to the room. “they get punished” you replied quickly, not wanting to give him any other reason to punish you harder. “they do…you’re so smart baby..” he came back over, shoving you flat down on your back before using a flogger over your pretty pink tip.

“if only you weren’t a needy dumb slut.” he laughed striking again. you were left there to just wiggle and take it, whines and gasps leaving your mouth like a gospel. “i just wanted to come home and have a good time with my pretty kitty..and of course your stupid cock had to ruin it.” he sighed, peering down at you slightly just to see if you were still okay but judging by your face you loved it.

“i can’t wait any fucking more. get on your hands and knees, and you better arch that fucking back” he grumbled leaning over to grab the lube. this is how you knew kuroo was stressed or upset. even if he was punishing you he always took his time giving you what you wanted but now it was straight to the point.

“god look at that beautiful ass..too bad it’s attached to a cumdump like you, it’s going to be fucking tortured today i promise you that much boy.” he hissed giving it a rough slap. you flinch forward from the sting, a loud whine leaving your mouth. that only makes him do it again, harder this time. so hard it’s already formed a raised little imprint of his hand.

with every smack you jolt forward causing your cock to rut against the blankets, there was just so many sensations at once that you couldn’t help it when you came untouched, load seeping out onto the bed.

you’re fucked.

“did you just fucking cum?” he laughs loudly, one more extremely hard slap coming down, basking in the way you scream and whine about being sensitive. “you’re fucking pathetic. is that all you need? the bare fucking minimum?” he cussed at you. “you better fucking apologize” he grunts out.

“i-i’m so sorry! ‘m sorry master i-i didn’t mean too! it just feels soo good!” you practically sobbed, babbling like an idiot about how much you love him and that you’ll do better. he loved breaking you like this but he knew it was also emotionally taxing. “what do i always tell you baby?” his voice was a bit softer now, wiping a stray tear that did slip from your eye.

“t-this is just for fun..you don’t mean anything you say” you sniffled looking up at him with those cute little eyes of yours. “that’s right. good boy” he praised, “colour??” he asked immediately after. “green” you smile giving him a little thumbs up.

with your confirmation kuroo quickly grabbed you by the small amount of hair you had, pressing your face against the tent in his pants. “good..then it’s only fair i get to cum too yeah?” he smirked, stroking your hair gently.

“yes sir you do..i promise i’ll do good for you!” you ramble quickly, tiny hands working on his dress pants buttons. he watched you with hooded lids, just admiring how quickly you were trying to please him. “maybe your punishment will end if you’re good enough, but remember kitty it won’t be easy” he smirked knowing exactly what he was going to do.

you didn’t reply, just gave him a tiny nod. if you had to work for it then you would. you pull his cock out of his pants, kitten licking at the top a few times before licking a long strip from his balls all the way back up to the tip. to say you had a oral fixation, especially when it came to kuroos cock, was an understatement.

“that’s it…g-good boy-fuck” he praised, hands roughly gripping at your hair. holding you in place when you tried to take most of his length into your mouth, what didn’t fit your hands fumbled with. however kuroo was determined to make it fit.

kuroo roughly pulled your head down onto him, basking in the sound of you choking and gagging on his cock, “awh what’s the matter? bit off more than you can chew??” he smirked fucking your face with aggression, hips snapping up flush against your cheeks.

the tears that rolled down your cheeks made him unbelievably horny that he couldn’t stop himself, grunts and moans leaving him mouth while he used yours as a person fuck toy. you knew he was close when his perfect rhythm faltered a little and his grip on you was even tighter. to show him just how bad you wanted it, your hands found his balls, rolling and playing with them.

“goddd~you want this l-load so bad huh? hm? nggh! fuckk! you want it? yeah? fucking taking it stupid slut.” he sounded so unbelievably hot you can’t even help the bit of precum now leaking from your sensitive tip. soon after his statements you felt a warm sensation flooding down your throat, almost choking and coughing slightly since there was so much.

kuroo was still letting out loud moans of exctasy, ending with a soft hum he pulled his cock out of your mouth. the second you were freed you let out a gasp for air and a little bit of a cough but kuroo didn’t care. he grabbed your chin, opening your mouth with his other hand to make sure not even a drop of his cum went to waste. “good kitty..you took my cock so well…maybe you do need a reward?” he hummed, laughing deeply when you nodded quickly.

“face down ass up pretty boy.” he stated, having no problem jerking his still sensitive cock back up into a full erection. you did exactly as he asked before feeling a cold piece of metal against your back, you knew it well. the lead that attached to your collar. after it was clicked into place there were a few kisses up your back before you heard his raspy breath in your ear, “if you cum again without my permission this ass is going to be so fucking bruised and sore you won’t be sitting for months.” he whispered softly before biting the tip of your ear.

your breath caught in your throat but you nodded quickly, “yes sir..i’ll be so good i just really need to feel you..” you whine out, having to force your hips not to rut against the bed. “it’s cute when you’re so unbelievably pathetic for me” he smirked before gently rubbing the tip of his cock against your hole. “you’re clenching around nothing..so pretty..”

you choked out a tiny sob from just how needy you were, he always did this. he liked to break you down before even touching you, you loved it. “a stupid whore” he laughed loudly before giving you another harsh smack. with that he lubed his cock up, groaning a bit from how it felt.

with that he pushed inside, moaning when he bottomed out. he had this plan where he was going to make you cockwarm him for a bit just to tease you but the second he thought about all the stupid shit he had to deal with today? his hips snapped up and aggressively into you making you scream out but he wasn’t listening.

he was stuck in his own head, mentally cussing out everyone he worked with as he fucked all his anger out into his pretty kitty. “a-ah! da-mm! daaddyy!” you whine out nearly snapping him back to reality fully. “what? can’t handle it? is it too much for you?” he spat quickly, his pace not letting up. “everyone’s-nn-fuckin’ disappointing me today! i’m not taking it from you kitten.” he seethed, basking in the sound the bed made as it smacked off the wall.

“daddy! fuckk! ‘s soo goodd” he listened to the way you moaned out, his cock twitching so hard inside you that you could feel it. “yeah? you like it when i fuck your stupid boy pussy” he grinned knowing the way that made your heart skip a beat. “come on then, prove it. show me how much you love this fucking cock, stupid bitch” he smirked smacking your seriously irritated ass cheeks.

that sparked something inside of you, your hips throwing themselves back onto his cock. your moans so loud for him it sounded like screams. “p-please!” you managed to scream out between the loud babbling that left your mouth. “please what kitty?” he grunted, doing his best to focus on you and the squeezing your ass that was practically trying to milk him.

“plea-hhng! please c-cum daddy please!” you screamed, thank fuck he didn’t have neighbours. he smirked and shoved you down so your head was pressed again the mattress, holding your head there he let out a loud fucking moan before completely stilling. you could feel it shooting out in ropes, it felt so good that you came instantly and once again untouched.

“hmm that was cute~” he hummed almost immediately back to his normal self. “colour my love?” he asked gently rubbing your back, wondering if there was possibility to go again. “red” you murmur making him nod before slowly slipping out of you. “are you hurt? was it too much?” he pouted softly, gently rolling you onto your back to keep eye contact with you.

when you couldn’t reply he gently scooped you up and carried you into the bathroom, “it’s okay baby..kuroos got ya’”

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurō #kuroo imagine #kuroo headcanons #kuroo x male reader #haikyuu masterlist #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu thirsts #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut

[mcmansionhell]

Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response. 

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car. 

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake. 

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

 “Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light. 

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house. 

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers. 

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.” 

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.” 

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that. 

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging. 

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic. 

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.  

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.” 

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs. 

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better. 

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.  

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#architecture #design #fiction #las vegas #underground house

[infernalrevenge]

Lady D confronting Y/N who is going to College and has a lot of anxiety and fear(Weird request,lol)

This isn't weird at all! I think everyone who went to college, especially those who had to move far away, would have liked a bit of comfort from someone about going into a new environment. I don't know if this was what you felt, anon, but I hope the comfort of Tall Pseudo-Vampire Lady would suffice.

Side note: I wrote part of this while drinking wine soooooo yeah. Maybe I made some parts to be a little too emotional.

Placed under read more for length (yes I definitely got carried away with this one, again.)

------------

Alcina had been keeping a close eye on you the past few weeks, especially since she was aware of your eventual departure.

You were frazzled and a bundle of nerves, to put it lightly. You constantly went over your flight details, checked the school website whenever you had internet access with a mix of wistfulness and dread on your face, you visited the Duke often for supplies you "might need, just in case" -- plenty of things that might have set off the alarm that you weren't doing so hot mentally.

The Lady was feeling similarly, though she wasn't sure if it was because your energy had rubbed off on her or that these thoughts had always been there but they were coming to light now that the inevitable was going to happen.

She was as excited as you were when you got your letter of acceptance, and even threw a little celebration for you with her daughters. She knew how hard you had been working toward this goal, and to see things finally unfold after months of anticipation and anxiety made it all worth it.

She was already aware that you had to move away from them for a while, she had accepted this. Or at least, she thought she had. Because as much as she trusted that you would do well for yourself there, wherever you may end up, she was still worried.

Mostly for your safety and well-being, but also (rather selfishly) for herself. She couldn't be with you while you went through with this new chapter in your life, and for some reason that didn't sit right with her.

At first, she did try to talk to you and convince you to go somewhere a little closer to home. She wanted to be able to visit you and check up on you instantly. She was going to miss you, and she didn't want to miss out too much on this part of your life.

She had the comnections anyway, she could pull strings to get you anywhere you wanted within the area. But you were put off by it -- you worked hard to get to where you wanted to go, not only would it feel like a waste to put it off but also disingenious to take up her offer of networking to get somewhere where others had to work for too.

Surely Alcina, a woman of her own making, could understand that, right?

If you're adamant and insist on going to your choice of college, then she might relent. She'll be petty about it for a few weeks but she will eventually accept that this was your wish.

But seeing you now, barely able to sleep weeks before your trip to the new area and campus, it didn't help quell her fears.

Part of her thinks this will pass; after all, if you were stubborn enough to stick to your guns about going to your college of choice, then she should trust your judgement... right?

She watches you in silence for a few days, seeing how you deal with this new stressor. She listens when you start to rant lightheartedly about how many classes you're going to have to take, which electives you want to take up, how big the school is and how you hope you won't get lost.

She also offers a comforting gesture every now and then when you start to ramble, perhaps a hand to cup your cheek or one placed on your knee, just to ground you. And it helps. Sometimes.

Three nights before you were going to leave, you found yourself staring at your acceptance letter and registration details, when you were already supposed to be asleep. It was nearly three in the morning, but your mind was more awake than ever.

It brought forth all your insecurities and fears about going to some place new -- what if you don't make friends? What if you flunk out on your first year? What if this letter wasn't even meant for you and it was all a mistake and your planning would have been all for nothing once you got there? Why did you even bother?

All of them came crashing down on you and finally... you sob. You crumple the letter in your hands and cry into it, soaking the paper with snot and tears. The voice in your head telling you you shouldn't go was ringing louder than ever before. This was a mistake, this was a mista--

Alcina placed a gentle hand on your back, crouching next to you on the chair you sat on. You feebly rubbed at your tear-stained cheeks and inhaled loudly, your vision slightly blurred as you tried to stop the corners of your lips from pulling down any further.

"Darling, come to bed. Let's talk." Her tone didn't leave much room for argument, but you were also too tired to anyway. Feeling like a child, you let her take your hand to make the short trip to your shared chambers.

Once you got in, you barely had to be prompted before you started voicing out what had been tormenting you the past days -- or at least ypu tried to. Apparently, all Alcina understood in between your sobs and sniffles was "shouldn't go", "mistake", and "lost". It was enough to confirm her suspicions of your second thoughts.

If this had happened weeks ago, she would have taken the chance to convince you again of going somewhere nearby instead. But she hated seeing you like this, not after you spent so long fighting for what you wanted.

She knew you still wanted to go, it wasn't like you to back out so last minute when it was already within your reach. She made sure to tell you this once you had calmed down enough so you would understand her. The stress was getting to you and it was doing a terrible number on your mental health.

All the while, she kept physical contact with you. Suddenly being so small wasn't so bad with your hand completely enveloped by hers.

You took deep breaths, eyes puffy and red, drowsy and barely able to think anymore. You think you got what Alcina was trying to say, but you didn't have it in you to process it all yet.

She quietly settled beside you and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close as you drifted off.

The morning after, you two talked about it again over breakfast in her private study. Her daughters were a bit confused as to why you two didn't join them but Alcina only explained it was a private matter.

She reiterated what she said last night, about your hard work and the mental toll of the new burdens you may have to face. You talk, she listens, and vice versa. It feels very... productive somehow, despite the fatigue from last night still being fresh in your mind.

She mentioned that she was always there for you. You knew that. Sometimes it was hard for you to believe (through no fault of her own) bit hearing it from her helped alleviate that, even for just a moment.

You spent the rest of the day not doing anything related to your departure at Alcina's behest. She saw you were extremely meticulous in the week leading up to it so she was sure you were more than prepared. You needed to relax and let your mind think of something else, lest you implode. Wouldn't want our future college student burning out before the semester even starts, right?

The day you were going to leave, Alcina and the girls unfortunately couldn't leave the village. However, they still bade you goodbye and gave some parting gifts. Daniela was sure to remind you of your promise to return during the holidays, especially since they may not be able to reach you.

You turned to your lover, a small smile on your face as you thanked her for everything. The talk from a few days ago helped. It didn't completely ease your worries, but it was enough to calm you and help you think clearly again. You thanked her for reminding you of your ambitions and dreams.

"You built those dreams all on your own, who would I be if I didn't support the person I love on their pursuits? Even in times you don't believe in yourself, just know that I do. I believe in you always, my love."

Alcina was quite teary-eyed herself, giving you one more tight hug and a kiss to remember her by. It was only going to be a few months, but still a few months too long.

But it was comforting to know you had a family back home waiting for you.

#alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #college reader #anon #inbox #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #re8 #headcanon requests #alcina dimitrescu headcanons

[gryffindors-weasley]

Spare Room

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: On a lazy Sunday morning, you and Draco paint your spare room.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: mild angst, self doubt, fluff, kissing

You awoke to the clock chiming far too close to ear shot for your liking, laying in a position that was rather uncomfortable if you must admit it. Rather, you were more so in a tangled heap as you lay crammed in the tattered leather recliner with the very love of your life. That was more like it.

When you peek open an eye, you open them completely with a sigh at the sight before you. Sitting crooked and near broken on the very tip of Draco’s nose were the glasses he so rarely wore to read, said book on the brink of slipping and falling from his fingertips. You swiped it from his hand before it could clatter to the floor unceremoniously, tossing it on the couch not far from you. The lamp just behind you had yet to be turned off from its use the night before, it’s glowing light a bit too bright in the windows reflection as the clock rang a seventh and final time for the next hour.

Despite the lack of space to allow such things, he engulfed you in his embrace nonetheless, his chest rising and falling against you. His fingers remain loosely entwined with yours as they had been all night you assumed, his breath puffing warmly just under your ear in a way that tickled if you thought too long on it. His hair was an absolute mess of platinum that stuck every which way it had pleased, dark lashes splayed across pale skin as his legs dangled over the arm of the chair. The flannel blanket once laying over you both had just about fallen on the floor completely by that point. You can’t imagine he’d slept for long, not with the way he’d been caught up in his own mind for quite some time. For that reason, you hated to do this, but you felt as though you might just remain permanently in that dreadful position if you don’t stretch.

You release his hand and do so, a soft hum of utter relief leaving your lips at the ever so blissful feeling pulling at the tension in your body. A hum that sure enough caused him to stir from his light sleep; that, paired with your obvious jostling. His grip on you tightened then, his newly book-less hand coming up to rest just under the sweater of his that hung from your shoulders in ruffled heaps of black yarn.

“Good morning,” he mumbles half-heartedly, the coldness of his hand seeping into your skin as it rests further up on your hip.

“Good morning,” you start, squirming at the undesirable shiver it gave you, a frown on your lips, “And just where do you think you’re putting your hands?”

“I don’t believe I know what you’re talking about, darling ,” he murmurs just behind your ear with closed eyes, though his hand splays and lays flat across your stomach now as his laugh tickles against your cheek, any traces of warmth quickly leaving you.

“Draco!”

When you try and wriggle from his grasp your attempts rapidly become futile as you fall back to his chest, trying desperately to stifle your giggles because he most certainly did not deserve the satisfaction. His sleepy smile was immediate as he looked at you, blue eyes tired but full of adoration nonetheless. It was then that you give in and laugh, shaking your head at him.

“What?” He asks, brows furrowed slightly.

“You know, for being twenty-four, you’d think you would remember to take your glasses off before you go to sleep on the very rare occasion you decide to actually wear them,” you say, plucking the brown tortoise colored frames from the tip of his nose. You toss them on the couch to join the book laying there. “How very irresponsible of you.”

He narrows his tired stare at you and your wit, a frown tugging on his lips. Lips you immediately kiss with a soft smile, his halfhearted frown disappearing instantly. A sleepy hum sounded against your parted lips, his hand settling on your cheek. When you pull away all too soon his lips press to the corner of your mouth, finding himself chasing after you for more.

He sighs in dramatic exasperation, tugging you closer and tangling his legs with yours in an effort to get you to stay, his eyes fluttering closed once more as he lays his head back against the chair. You bite the inside of your cheek, holding your laughter at his antics.

“Dray, we’ve got plans today,” you say, tracing your fingertips over his chest. His brows furrowed as he continued to try and sleep.

“Do remind me, darling, just what would they be?”

“We’re painting the spare room, remember?” You kindly inform him, sitting up a bit more in your haphazard position. “You promised you’d help.”

He peeks an eye open as he stills your hand from dancing across his chest any longer, enveloping it in his own as he drops his head to the crook of your neck. You knew what was coming.

“Can’t we just enchant some paint brushes? It’s quite easy really,” he suggests in a groan, his lips pressing tenderly and tiredly up the skin of your neck, the warmth of his breath ironically giving you shivers. “I’ve got much better plans of my own.”

“To what, go to bed?” You counter, laughing softly.

“Precisely,” he agrees, the single word pressing into your skin just below your ear. “With you, might I add.”

You find yourself melting into his embrace, into the kisses proving to be far more intoxicating than you had hoped they’d be. Kisses that moved warmly from your neck to your jaw, from your jaw to your cheek, and perhaps the most delicately to your lips. They were soft and languid, his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek. The feel of his lips paired with the warmth of his arms was nearly far too comfortable and spell binding for you to want to do anything other than what you had been doing. But the excitement of your plans quickly overshadowed that in that very moment.

You break from him with another peck, his lips kiss swollen and pink, dropping to a slight frown at the action. More so when you reluctantly make your leave from his arms. “This room isn’t going to paint itself.”

“Love, it most certainly can!”

You shake your head, leaning down to kiss him once more. “Get up, Dray.”

—

With a lot of complaining and yawning on Draco’s end, you’d finally gotten him to get up and help with the promise of kisses. That always works. He’d tried to enchant his paint roller on more than one occasion but you had insisted to do it by hand, it was far more meaningful that way.

Over the course of the hours you spent, the hardwood floors had since been covered in every piece of newspaper you could find in your home, scattered haphazardly and crinkled. After the first hour, you were convinced there was more paint on yourselves, on anything other than where it should be. Countless spells were used when it inevitably seeped through the paper beneath your feet and smeared over the floor. The record in the player Draco had pulled in the room had spun every song on it at least two times over, and a good thirty minutes had been lost when Draco had taken you by the hand for just one dance, as he put it. One turned to two, and two turned to three with the addition of a myriad of paint smudged kisses pressed on flushed skin and breathless laughter.

The room now smelled of fresh paint and the chilly spring breeze that had filtered in through the open window. Nearly the entirety of the four walls were painted a soft sage green, as well as the splotches smeared across Draco’s cheek in payback for the ones on yours.

You swept the paint across the last bare patch of the wall, turning to Draco with a beaming smile as you set the brush down in the tray.

“What do you think?” You ask with a triumphant yet defeated sigh, twirling in the near empty room with open arms.

You hadn’t twirled so much as twice before his hand grabbed a hold yours, tugging you close to him. He had yet to change from his pajamas, miscellaneous smudges of green mingling with the pale freckles smattering sparsely across his chest.

“I don’t think it’s quite green enough,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear with a playful smirk. “Not the right shade.”

You roll your eyes and turn away from his touch, fighting to stifle your laughter and contain your smile. But the moment you looked at him again, at the softening smile gracing his lips and the hair falling down in his eyes, you knew you couldn’t possibly refrain. “You’re terrible sometimes, you know that?”

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, soft and tender as his laugh puffs against your skin.

“I do know that,” he starts, fingertips trailing down your arms before interlocking with your own. A softer smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his blue gaze bounced around the room. “It’s perfect.”

It truly is. It may have just been a simple matter of painting four walls of a spare room a color that you’d been dreaming of since the day you’d moved in. It may have been a simple moment on a lazy Sunday morning. But it was perfect and something he never thought he’d be fortunate enough to have.

He knows he wasn’t the best person, he knows he wasn’t even remotely so as a child and the teenager he once was. He knows he’s not even the best person now either, not with the memories still taunting and weighing heavily on him. What he also knows is that he hadn’t followed in his father’s footsteps, nor had he done what was expected of the only Malfoy heir. There were no intentions of living in the Manor and throwing fancy soirées, no desire to live within a larger than necessary estate composed of the same gray walls and dust covered shelves, sparsely decorated with expensive furniture and paintings. As much as Narcissa wanted him to continue on the family inheritance, and as much as he loved her dearly—he did not want that for himself.

Now, he’s got a wonderfully sweet cottage tucked away in a neighborhood where no two homes are the same. He lives in a home where every room is painted a different color that didn’t necessarily match from one to the next, where every room feels cozier than the last. He lives in a home that feels lived in, that radiates a kind of warmth and love he could have only ever dreamed of his entire life. One that houses a culmination of each of the things that matter the most to the both of you.

He lives with the love of his life, someone who he felt he didn’t deserve the affections of but received them regardless. He lives a life of matching coffee mugs and 2 am slow dances to a melody unheard. With bookshelves lined with shared tastes in literature crammed together and the occasional picture frame with the two of you captured within it. In a home surrounded by untamed wildflowers and borderline unkempt lawns with deep maroon shutters by each little window. All of it encompassed by a matching wooden fence with an iron latch, the numbers of your address engraved in an old metal slab.

His parents might have frowned upon his choice in living arrangements in noticeable comparison to the luxury of their own, but he no longer cared about their opinion. It was merely that; an opinion.

“What are you thinking of?” You ask after a little while, your voice pulling him back to the current moment as you brushed the platinum strands away from his eyes.

His gaze shifts to you, smile soft and beaming as the breeze sweeping into the open window sifts through your hair. As the late afternoon sunshine glimmers across your skin. "Stay here with me. For the rest of our lives. Stay with me.”

He watched as your expression filled with a delighted confusion, one so adorably curious he wanted nothing more than to kiss you for the rest of the day. You laugh softly, smile bright and eyes sparkling as you took in the loving sincerity of his words spoken so freely, so meaningfully. What he hadn’t known, however, was the butterflies fluttering around relentlessly in your stomach and the racing of your heart. You had known of such things already, but to hear them spoken was something else entirely.

“Painting our spare room really has made you sentimental, hasn’t it?” You jest, your squeal ringing out when he lifts you in his arms and twirls you in retaliation.

Your hands settle on his shoulders as your laughter fills the room, his lips pressing to the column of your throat. He knew you’d say something along those lines, he absolutely knew it. He sets you down but keeps you just as close, his lips continuing to press upon your neck as you continue to giggle at his mercy. He moves to your cheek and bumps his nose against yours, foreheads resting on one another as your dwindling laughter mingles in the space.

“I mean it, darling,” he murmurs, pulling back to look at your expression fully. He looked at you carefully in the close proximity, hopeful of your answer as his heart beat wildly in his chest.

It was then that the corner of your mouth quirks up into a grin. You bring your arms up to rest on his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the very tip of his nose. “For the rest of our lives,” you repeat softly with a widening smile, just to hear how it sounds. “I quite like the idea of that.”

He huffs out a breathy laugh, kissing you again and again, his arms tightening around you as he engulfs you in his embrace so much so he nearly lifts you off your feet once more. But soon there was muffled laughter and a gasp, your gazes traveling to the floor as you’re met with adorably large blue eyes and ever so sweet purring. Ivory.

Her once clean paws were doused in paint after walking freely through the tray without a care for much else, tracking it across the newspaper set across the floor, perfectly tiny paws pressed upon your feet in little sage-colored prints as she walked on you both. You sigh as you bend down and scoop her up, a delighted meow escaping her at the attention she was aiming to receive. It was immediate that she nudged Draco’s nose rather roughly, the action aggressively affectionate as she stood her front paws on his chest. He scrunched his nose at your laughter of the footprints left behind on his skin.

“You’re terrible, you know that?” He says lightheartedly to the feline, using your earlier words as he scratched under her chin. She responded with another nudge, whiskers brushing over his lips.

He smiled fondly, one that was soft and true.

“I love you,” he murmured, his eyes shifting to you once you set her down, a gust of the spring breeze blowing his hair back in his eyes, a shimmering blonde in the sunlight. “I love you in every possible way.”

You smile, cheeks staining a soft pink as your arms wrap around his neck once more. “And I love you,” you whisper, leaning on your toes to kiss him, gentle and sweet. “In every possible way.”

Draco Malfoy lived a life entirely decided by himself for once, and he was destined to make better of it than it once was. He was perfectly content with the one he made for himself now; one with the love of his entire life and the precious little kitty he’s come to love. The three of you stood there, enjoying the simplicity of just merely basking in each other’s company.

He found himself excited to decorate yet another room with your things and his combined. It was more than just a spare room; it was a piece of your home, of a life your own.

—

Tags: @theweasleysredhair @anchoeritic @hahee154hq @amourtentiaa @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime @lunalovecroft

#draco malfoy #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fic #draco x you #draco fluff

[savagesbonergarage]

Are you looking for prompts? 👀 Can I offer you predator/prey kink with Maul (or Savage?) I’ll just... leave this here...

Oh?

I know that @fallenrepublick has already written an excellent Maul one here, but Savage...I can't say I've seen one with the big boye anywhere yet (though correct me if I'm wrong)...

Guess that's my duty now...oh no...😏

A/N: Smuuuuuuuut, it's kinda long, wilderness survival, taking a leak (like just peeing outdoors in general, if that makes you uncomfortable you can skip it), maybe a pee kink though?? Is it a pee kink if there's no real indication of it being one? Someone will have to let me know lol, general roughness, rough sex, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, aftercare

Savage

"Instinct"

The wind rustled softly through the trees, the scent of fresh mountain air and the the temporary security of your height advantage almost offering you a moment of respite. You had stationed yourself near the top of an adequately concealed tree, it's sturdy branches sufficient enough to keep you up and away from immanent danger for the time being.

You were feeling quite pleased with yourself, if you were being honest. It had been a few days that you had managed to avoid his pursuit, a milestone you weren't quite sure you'd ever be able to achieve, and yet here you were. The few wilderness survival tips that you had learned in your youth inevitably seemed to pay off, as you remained cognizant of as much as you could regarding yourself and your environment that could potentially alert a predator. Rarely did you ever touch the ground of the forest floor, opting to remain high up in the forgiving trees that allowed for your nimbleness to be used as an advantage. You moved slowly, always making sure that your sounds blended together alongside the other calls of nature that wouldn't give way to your position, and you always shifted with the winds to ensure that the breeze never dispersed your scent around.

Savage was certainly the epitome of a predator, and an enhanced one at that - however, you'd studied him enough to understand the drawbacks that came with his awesome power. By his very nature, stealth wasn't his defining trait. At all. Were he to get anywhere within your field of vision, you would know about it without a doubt by the flocks of birds that scrambled to the skies in the distance or the cracking of branches coupled with his screams of frustration that filled the open air. You had to admit, you almost found it cute how you were finally getting the upper hand on him for once.

Although, this only meant that when or if he did catch you, you'd be shown no mercy.

It seemed your tactics this time around were working rather well though, and you considered that perhaps after one more day of survival that you'd approach him and declare yourself the victor in this dangerous game. Oh, the humiliation he would feel from his failure...the mighty Savage Opress, unable to hunt down the creature he craved for the first time. It probably irked him terribly that you were remaining relatively stagnant within the treetops as opposed to frantically running about like a frightened animal, which was likely a large factor in the enjoyment of it for him - the thrill of the chase.

Normally, you might have indulged him a bit more and better acted the part that he desired you to play, but this time, oh, this time, you were determined. Back home, he'd jokingly let slip that if you were ever to evade him long enough, he'd don a fluffy tunic and ears and call himself an ewok. That right there was all the motivation you'd ever need - nothing was going to come between you and getting to see what would inarguably be the most hilarious sight in the galaxy.

Dusk was fast approaching, and although there was still no sign of the beast that was hunting you, it was detrimental that you carefully selected a sturdy tree with tall, wide branches that you could conceal with the surrounding foliage nearby while you slept leaning against it. It was hardly comfortable and you could only rest for maybe a few hours at a time, but it was certainly safer than sleeping on the ground. You gathered your necessities and carefully arranged yourself against a wide branch and drifted off.

It wasn't long before the chill of the night air roused you from sleep. You had to admit, the worst part out of all of this was how damn cold it was being exposed to the wind in inadequate layers for these temperatures. You quietly shuffled around in an attempt to get comfortable, but in doing so you realized an uncomfortable truth.

Damn. I have to pee.

This was gonna be tricky. Finding a place to do so safely was half the battle, since you'd be making yourself completely vulnerable for a short while and if Savage happened to be somewhere nearby, no matter how quiet you were, he'd likely be able to smell you. A slightly gross fact, but an important one. He was a predator, after all. You'd managed to get by this far, and you had been avoiding drinking water for this very reason - also, because he would likely wait near the water for you to show up to inevitably drink.

Being tired, dehydrated, cold and full of pee wasn't ideal, and you couldn't wait for the morning to get here so this game could finally end. You were even starting to wonder if this was really going to be worth it once it was over. Sure, watching Savage embarrass himself was always an entertaining prospect, but right now, you just wanted to be held against him and his warmth even more. You sighed. Only a few more hours, and then you could gloat in his face for a second before snuggling up to his blissfully comfortable frame.

But for now, you still had to pee. You debated over whether or not you could potentially hold it until morning, but the answer to that was a resounding negative. It would be fine. You'd survived every other time, and you'd survive this time. Tentatively, you carefully and quietly lowered yourself to the ground, cursing the night for being so dark. Ideally, you'd want to find a place far enough away from here to go so that you wouldn't be literally marking your territory - but you didn't have any light, or Savage's reflective night sight, and you didn't have his other senses that absolutely trumped your own.

For the first time, the fear was finally starting to creep over you. It was times like this that you got so deep in your own head that you started to forget that this was really all just a game, and not an actual quest for survival; but that's how Savage liked it. You scoffed under your breath when you realized this, resolving to unbuckle your pants and simply relieve yourself right where you were. If Savage did happen to come through here, it was likely that he would assume you followed your usual thought process of maintaining distance from where you actually were rather than look up that very tree. That's how you had been operating so far; besides, there were only a few hours left. What were the chances of-

You heard a faint rustle of leaves somewhere behind you, and the panic started to settle in. That could have been anything, you told yourself as you attempted to calm down your anxiety. You couldn't really do much about it right now, since, well, you were already going. If you tried to push it faster that would only make it louder, and if you tried to scurry back up the tree in the middle of it, it would get everywhere and act as a billboard to your location. You sighed quietly, counting down the seconds until it was done in an attempt to quiet your racing heart.

You had that sinking feeling that you weren't alone. Your eyes darted around only to find that you truly couldn't see a thing, and you determined that the best course of action now was to just calmly finish up and quietly scale back up the tree.

You had just gotten your pants back over your hips when an animalistic growl erupted from behind you, and just like that, it was over. Savage had you pinned between his muscular, gargantuan form and the trunk of the tree, your arms bound to your sides in the grip of his massive hands. There was no way in hell you'd be able to wriggle free, and the adrenaline coursing through you in being captured was making you tremble. You could feel the heavy beating of his twin hearts against your back and his hot breath against your neck, and with a growl he pressed his hips against you until you could clearly feel the outline of his massive, throbbing cock against the small of your back.

"I got you. You're mine."

There was a frightening agitation in his bellowing voice that shook you, and the feeling was only worsened when you heard the scrape of one of his long horns against the bark of the tree as he brought his mouth closer to your ear.

"You think you can get away with hiding from me...? Keeping me hunting you for so long, and then teasing me like that..."

You were breathless, unable to utter a reply even if you'd had one ready before one of his powerful hands yanked your pants back down to your ankles. His claws left mild scrapes against your thigh, a concern that he was usually more cautious of, but not this time. It was clear that he was going to punish you for making him wait so long. You could barely squeak out his name when you felt his teeth rip into the layers of fabric covering your torso. With the aid of his claws he tore the garments from your body, spitting the cloth from his mouth as he revelled in the satisfaction of "skinning" you. You shivered, the heat from the zabrak's body the only thing keeping you warm now.

He flipped you so that you were facing him, the harshness of the tree bark against your bare skin making you wince as you watched him pull his monster dick out from the prison of his pants. No matter how many times you witnessed that reveal, your reaction was always the same. You looked into his glowing golden eyes, a predatory hunger there that sent both fear and heat straight through to your core. You swallowed drily, gazing into his face with a submissive look of defeat as he continued pinning you by your shoulders.

"You got me," you breathed, "I'm yours."

That did it for him. Without another word, he palmed the meat of your thighs and hoisted your legs up to hold you in place as your back rested against the rough tree, causing you to hitch your breath as Savage hungrily lined himself up with your entrance, the sheer amount of precum he leaked serving as lube before he pushed his hips forward. It was a little more forced than usual, and on top of that it had been a while since the last time you'd taken him, with your walls struggling to adjust to the stretch in order to accommodate his size. Your jaw was hanging open and your head immediately rolled back as you felt more and more full with each thrust, Savage gripping your thighs harder and exhaling a groan when he finally bottomed out.

There was a brief moment of hesitation, a pause for a reality-check as Savage lightly tapped his fingers against you. It was a subtle way of asking for permission, acknowledging that although this was your "punishment" and his reward, he still needed to know that you really wanted it like this, and that you were okay. Your response was an affirmation in the form of a squeeze on his forearm and a slight roll of your hips, with the look in your eyes pleading for him to take what he desired.

So, he did. With one strong, massive arm supporting you under your ass and the other pulling you closer to him, he backed away from the tree entirely and moved your arms to wrap around his neck so you could leverage yourself while he fucked the absolute life out of you. The noises that were escaping your lips were just as perverse as the sound of skin-on-skin echoing with vulgar, wet slaps throughout the forest, your mind already turning to mush. He was hitting everything, even when he wasn't really trying, so it took hardly any time at all before your eyes were rolling back and you felt that knot building up in your core. He didn't let up, his pace almost quickening with every desperate whine that escaped your throat.

"Savage, I-"

"Not yet," he commanded, pressing your chest firmly against his as he continued, "not until I say so."

You whined even louder, your hands moving up to hold onto his horns as he continued fucking you without mercy, that ache in your stomach growing more and more unbearable the longer you tried to push it back. Your breaths were desperate and rapid, with your face and chest flushing as red as a Dathomirian sunset with every passing second. You didn't know how much longer you could last, but you wanted to try your best for him.

"Please, I can't...!"

"Just a little more," Savage replied, relishing in the way your body was trying so hard not to break as he resumed his deliciously aggressive thrusts. Your hands moved from his horns to dig your fingers into his broad shoulders, your desperation reaching near-unfathomable limits.

"Savage, I can't-I can't-I can't-I'm-!"

You screamed as he finally allowed you to tip over the edge, having timed his release with yours so that you could ride out your highs in tandem. It was almost too much, the ecstacy of your edged climax intensifying with every twitch of Savage's pulsing cock so deep inside painting your gripping walls with heat. Even minutes later you were still quivering, barely coherent as your whines eventually began to die down and your lover held you tightly in his arms, before gently pulling his softening dick out of you once you had stopped clenching around his length.

He pressed a firm kiss against your temple as he waited for you to catch your breath, also ensuring that the majority of the unbelievable mess the two of you had made spilled out onto the grassy ground. Once he was satisfied, he moved one arm beneath both of your knees used the other to support your shoulders, keeping you close to him in this more comfortable position as he planted another long kiss to your forehead. He always thought it was cute when you were entirely spent like this, limp in his arms like a bag of grain as you relaxed in the afterglow.

"Are you alright?" He whispered against your forehead, lovingly stroking your arm as he did so. You responded with a soft smile and an affirmative hum, resting your hands against his broad tattooed chest as you curled in closer to him.

"I'm ready to go home," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

"Agreed. Let's get you some water and a hot bath."

Your heart fluttered, filling your chest with silent praises for him and rhetorical questions of what you did to deserve being here in the arms of this gentle, fearsome predator. He began the trek home, smiling to himself as a thought crossed his mind.

"You know," he began conversationally, "if you wanted to see me dressed as an ewok so badly, you could have just asked. I would have done it for you, anyway."

#savage opress #savage opress x reader #savage x reader #savage opress smut #lemon #star wars smut #why did i title this instinct when that word never actally appears #star wars #star wars x reader #savage opress x you #zabrak #maul #darth maul

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Four

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2960

Warnings: Itsy bitsy amount of angst, bad language words, mentions of phone sex and masturbation

A/N: divider credit- @firefly-graphics

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission

“James?”

You held your breath after you uttered the name into the phone’s speaker. Your heart galloped at the thought of actually speaking to him. You’d be lying if you had said you hadn’t imagined how his voice sounded. You pictured something deep and raspy but drawled and sweet.

In the last five days, you’d imagined many things about James. Not just the sound of his voice, but his laugh, too. Rich and soothing. And of his scent- distinctly his own or a fresh, citrusy cologne of bergamot and tangerines. You imagined his rough, calloused hands sliding over your skin in slow motion.

And how he kissed. You daydreamed about that, too. Often. You couldn’t count how many times you’d stared at his sorry excuse for a selfie. You found yourself drawn to it daily. It was only part of his face, but what you could see was ruggedly handsome. His lips looked soft and delectable. You pictured yourself nibbling on his bottom lip, deepening its color to blush pink.

A sharp sigh escaped through your nose as you waited for his reply. Maybe he hadn’t heard you the first time? “James?” you asked again. “Hello?”

No response.

You pulled the phone away from your ear to make sure you were still connected. The call-time counter ticked ominously second by second on the screen. You tucked the device back under your hair to find the call was still active.

Did he get cold feet and change his mind last minute? He hadn’t hung up yet, so you weren’t exactly sure why he was waiting. Maybe he was tongue-tied? Or hadn’t expected you to pick up?

“Did you butt-dial me, James?” you laughed, trying to dispel some of your anxiety.

You heard a muffled “ shit” and two beeps. You glanced at the phone’s screen again, and call ended flashed in bold white.

Ignoring the hang-up, you immediately re-dialed James. The line rang and rang. And rang.

You weren’t confident you were going to speak with James, the longer the rings continued. He wasn’t ready to talk to you yet, and that was okay. It had only been five days.

Five days wasn’t long enough to build a bond over stupid Would You Rather? questions or form a simmering crush on a stranger that made your stomach flip whenever he sent you a funny cat meme. Nope. Five days was much too short of time for anything.

A generic voicemail greeting clicked over and rudely beeped at you. You took a deep breath and quickly thought of a reason to be calling someone who didn’t want to talk. “Hey, James. Just calling you back. It’s (Y/N), by the way. I’m not sure if you meant to call the first time or if sneaky ninjas have accosted you and somehow did a crazy pocket dial. Y’know, because of the whole military-trained assassin athlete mchottie thing. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. And no pressure! If you’re not comfortable talking on the phone, I completely understand. I’m sweating bullets just talking to your voicemail box.” You chuckled nervously. You were starting to babble.

“Anyway,” you continued. “I hope you’re well. And don’t leave me hangin’. I really wanna know if you’d rather sneeze every hour or burp when you saw a pretty girl.” You laughed again. “Goodbye, James.”

You mashed the end call button and face-planted into one of the throw pillows on your couch. You groaned loudly into the fabric, chastising yourself in your head. If he didn’t want to talk before, he most definitely wouldn’t want to now. You shook your head in disbelief. Sneaky ninjas, seriously? What. The. Fuck?

Hours later, while in the middle of a Say Yes to the Dress marathon (dammit Robyn!) and a self-induced diabetic coma of ice cream and chips, your phone vibrated. You swat at it on the coffee table with a foot, only to realize you lack the limberness or the dexterity in your toes to retrieve the phone. As a result, it tumbled to the ground as you groaned in displeasure. Cursing your luck, you bent forward to pick it up. Awakening the phone’s black screen, a text popped into view.

James Sorry

Your heart lurched for a moment. With every second that had passed since you’d left your voicemail for James, the least likely you’d felt he’d call back or even respond. Hence the pity party with Ben & Jerry and Cool Ranch Doritos.

James My so-called “friends” grabbed my phone from me and led to accidentally calling you.

Ahh, the old “invade-your-friend’s-privacy” maneuver, you thought, shaking your head.

James I didn’t want to hang up on you, but I’m not quite ready to talk yet. I like what we have.

Your heart flopped. You liked what you had, too, but a small part of you- a dumb part- wanted just a little more.

Shaking off the feeling of longing churning your insides, you thumbed over the screen to reply.

You No worries, James. We can go at whatever speed you like.

It was weird to have the guy, for once, want to take things slow. Usually, it was always you pumping the brakes in the relationship. Was this even a relationship, though? Were all the texting and personal questions leading somewhere? Or were you bound to end up friends with an interesting story to tell your other friends?

Not allowing your negative thoughts to curtail the joy of finally texting James again, you quickly punched out:

You I’m just glad you’re okay and not being held for ransom somewhere.

James It would take a whole horde of ninjas to take me down.

You giggled at the confidence contained in this one text, but talking to a girl on the phone threw him for a loop. We are definitely back in junior high, you thought.

You You sound awfully confident for a man who wouldn’t talk to a friend on the phone.

James You don’t want to talk to me.

You pinched your eyebrows together in frustration to form a crease between them. Was he serious?

You Sure, I do. I have a bet going with myself on how your voice sounds. Is it deep and masculine or high-pitched like you sucked in helium?

James Which are you betting on?

You pulled your bottom lip in by your teeth, biting softly. You smirked as you thought of the two options. The former would be nice, but the latter would be pretty damn funny.

You I mean, deep and masculine is very desirable. Listening to the low timbre of a man’s voice is very relaxing for me. But, considering the ridiculous “selfie” you sent me, I’m placing my money on high-pitched.

James What was wrong with my selfie?!

Somehow, you knew that would get him worked up.

You Well, for starters: I can only see, like, part of your face! Did a blind person teach you how to take them??

You And secondly, there clearly wasn’t enough “Blue Steel.” With cheekbones and pouty lips like yours and a chiseled jaw, I’d be blue-steeling the shit out of all my selfies!

A wave of remorse washed over you once you hit send. Had you really compared him to Zoolander? Not only had you objectified him by mentioning how aesthetically pleasing he was (let’s face it- he’s really, really, really ridiculously good looking), but you may have criticized him for his terrible selfie abilities. At that moment, as you waited for the inevitable “fuck off” text to come through, you wished for a giant sinkhole to appear under your apartment and swallow you whole. What were you thinking?

James First off, I’m a selfie amateur. My past line of work limited my contact and/or exposure to the outside world. I didn’t learn what a selfie even was until recently. Remember, I’m also a man of mystery. I’m trying to keep up appearances and can’t reveal too much.

James What is “Blue Steel”? I’m not very pop-culture savvy unless it happened before 1944.

James Did you just call me pretty??

Your cheeks flushed with the heat of a thousand suns. He called you out as you expected him to do.

You Uh...

You Are we gonna talk about the fact you said you didn’t know about pop culture after 1944?? You are a grandpa!

James Nice try with the subject change! Admit it- you think I’m pretty.

You rolled your eyes. Of course, that would be the thing he focused on out of the whole conversation.

You I have no idea what you’re talking about.

If all else fails--deny, deny, deny.

James Right. Sure about that, doll?

Your pulse spiked.

You never did like pet names before you met James, but doll had a goo-ing effect on you for some reason. Everything seemed to turn to mush whenever he mentioned the word.

You Absolutely. I have no reason to believe that if you weren’t a military-trained assassin athlete mchottie, you’d be a male model. None what-so-ever.

James Uh-huh. I’m going to pretend that you aren’t lying through your teeth and getting back to our scintillating game of Would You Rather?

James I’d burp every time I saw a pretty dame, by the way. I wouldn’t want to take my chances with sneezing in my sleep. Would you rather eat only fruits or vegetables for one year?

Several nights after the voicemail incident, you were sitting in Penelope with Robyn after work. She wanted to meet up to decide which centerpieces worked best for the reception. Scattered across the table were three samples she and Kevin had narrowed it down to. With your thumb, while playing with a corner of the hand-drawn example closest to you, a sigh escaped your nose.

Your sister’s talent mesmerized you. Each storyboard showed the intricate detail of the flowers and candles themselves and what the tables would look like next to each other with every centerpiece. You were in awe.

“These are so good, Robbie! They must have taken forever to put together,” you said, admiring a different sample on the table.

“Nah,” she replied, brushing the compliment aside. “Just an afternoon’s time last week.”

“Well, shit. I hope they’re paying you the big bucks at work.”

She quirked an eyebrow devilishly as she reached for her drink. “You know it,” she jested before taking a sip.

You laughed at her cheekiness. Robyn had always been a go-getter. One of the many attributes you loved about her. Never took no for an answer.

“Soooo,” she drawled as she set her glass down. “How have you been?”

You looked up swiftly, eyeing her suspiciously before returning your gaze to the storyboard in your hands. “I’m still alive if that’s what you’re asking.” You set the drawing down to take a drink from your glass. “Haven’t been murdered yet, but the night is still young.”

Robyn rolled her eyes at your petulance. “You know I worry about you. Are you still texting James?”

You smiled sweetly. “Each day that goes by, you act more and more like Mom. You know that?”

Robyn scoffed. “I do not!”

She could deny it all she wanted, but Robyn was turning into the spitting image of your mother. You laughed again. “You do too. Even down to the eye roll.”

She folded her arms over her chest, waiting for you to answer her question.

Two could play this game.

You wiped the corner of your mouth with your napkin unhurriedly. “If you must know, yes, James and I are still texting.”

“Has he sent any dick pics or asked for nudes?” Robyn asked earnestly.

“Yup. We engage in wildly pornographic phone sex every night.”

Robyn glanced around the restaurant with eyes wide as saucers, making sure none of the other patrons heard you. “(Y/N), I’m serious! Has he propositioned you?”

You huffed a small laugh. “Nope,” you admitted. “In fact, he’s the one that wants to take things slow. He accidentally called me the other day and hung up from jitters.” Robyn didn’t need to know the full truth.

“The jitters?” Robyn queried.

“Yeah. I even called him back, but he let it go to voicemail.”

“Then, he must be weird or ugly.”

You grimaced at her assumption. “Ew, Robbie. Don’t be gross,” you chastised. “He’s the opposite of ugly. I might even go as far as to call him handsome.”

“How? You don’t know what he looks like,” Robyn questioned.

You took a quick sip of your drink, holding up a finger. “Au, contraire mon frère. He sent me a selfie in the very beginning.”

Robyn looked at you, perplexed. “You know you just called me your brother, right?”

You waved a hand at her to dismiss her accusation. “Ma soeur just doesn’t have the same ring to it.” You pulled your phone out to offer proof.

“You can barely see his face!” she exclaimed. “What if he’s horribly disfigured on the other side? Or missing an arm?”

You shrugged. “Then, he’s missing an arm.” You got a distant look in your eyes as you recalled the last ten days of texting with James. “He’s different, Robbie. He’s smart and funny and caring. Polite. It feels like he has an old soul. He calls me doll for chrissakes!”

“Are you sure he isn’t some crusty, old man?” Robyn gagged at the thought.

“No, I don’t,” you chuckled in response. The faraway look returned after a moment. “To me, he’s just James.”

Realization dawned on Robyn’s face, lighting her up like a light bulb. “Oh, my god. You like him.”

“Well, yeah,” you acknowledged, “he’s my friend.”

“No. You like him like him.”

Your face reddened quickly with the awareness of your feelings. They weren’t real, were they? Shaking your head, you replied, ”Nothing will happen, Robbie. It’s just a crush.”

Skeptically, she agreed, “Uh-huh.”

“What?”

“I believe that as much as I welcome a cold sore on my wedding day.” She scrunched her nose at the thought of a gross, red blemish on her face for her big day.

“Fine,” you acquiesced. “If I fall head over heels, madly in love with James by your wedding day, I’ll owe you a hundred bucks.”

Robyn raised a sculpted brow in interest. “I’m listening.”

“One hundred dollars. End of negotiation,” you stated. “I don’t have a spare hundred bucks, so it will be a motivator not to fall for James. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”

She smiled smugly, shaking her head in disbelief. “Uh-huh.”

“Will you stop saying that?” you said, throwing a piece of lettuce at her face. “You definitely sound like Mom.”

Robyn huffed in annoyance, back-handing your shoulder softly. “Shuddup! I do not!”

You chortled heartily at the mini tantrum she was throwing about becoming Mom. You’d say anything at this point to get her to forget about you and James.

In all honesty, there was no you and James. Not really. You were friends, but could you move past that?

He was hiding something.

Something big.

And it wasn’t part of the whole “man of mystery” persona, either. James was holding back.

He had a hard time giving up anything personal to you that went beyond his likes and dislikes, which led you to believe he had found it difficult to trust.

It angered you deeply without really knowing why. Something in his past had sparked the inability. You only wish you knew what.

Deep down, you could really see yourself falling for James, and that scared you to death.

Breaking you from your reverie, Robyn piped up, “You know, James is probably jerking off to your voicemail.”

“Oh, absolutely!” you retorted, both of you dissolving into a giggling fit.

After leaving Robyn with a clear choice for centerpieces, you made your way back home. After a fifty-minute subway ride, you popped into the corner bodega for some essentials for the coming week.

Sauntering up the stairs to your third-floor walk-up, you steadied your armful of groceries with each step. It had been a long week, and now with the revelation of how you felt about James clouding your mind, a glass of wine, ice cream, and a bubble bath sounded good right about now.

You could barely see over the bags and juggled them precariously. As you stepped onto your floor, you recognized the voice of your next-door neighbor down the hall. He was talking with someone, but you couldn’t tell with whom or what about.

Blindly, you called out, “Hey, Peter? Can you be a lifesaver and help a neighbor out?” You heard the scuffle of footsteps over tile rush toward you.

Sighing in relief, you relinquished two bags to the arms reaching out. “Thanks, Pete! You’re a pe-”

You stopped mid-sentence when your view was finally cleared. Your sixteen-year-old neighbor wasn’t standing before you but a tall man with chestnut hair tied in a knot. Your lips parted slightly as your eyes widened to take in the figure’s full breadth holding your groceries.

Your eyes flicked to Peter as everything came back to focus. He was adjusting your other two bags in his arms.

“Miss (Y/L/N), this is Mr. Barnes from my Stark internship. He’s a friend. He was helping me with some history homework,” Peter explained, gesturing to the hulking man standing outside your apartment door.

“Peter,” you admonished, “how many times-” Last names weren’t meant to be spoken by friends slash neighbors.

Peter winced. “Right! Sorry, (Y/N)!” he apologized. “This is Bucky.”

Recognition crossed your face at the name. Smiling, you stuck out your hand in front of you. “Bucky Barnes, it’s nice to meet you.”

Bucky shifted one of your bags in his arms to reach out his hand. He smiled softly, “ Li-likewise.”  

Chapter Three | Chapter Five

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#drunk texting is(n't) bad for your health #dtibfyh #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

[dasha-aibo]

Honestly, I feel like putting my thoughts down in the open like that is just gonna be healthy for me period.

I don't promise these updates every day, because I'm terrible at promises. The only one I've kept is not killing myself, which is at least some kind of a victory.

Hi, my name is Dasha and I'm a goddamn mess.

Five years ago my already weird and complicated life completely fell apart and I've been buried under the rubble ever since, slowly getting myself out piece by piece.

Over those five years I've completely destroyed my relationship with food, lost all social connections, got alcoholism and allowed myself to live in a total pig sty while neglecting basic grooming.

The sad part is, nobody is going to get me out of this mess but me.

Usually when I try to start my life fresh, I try to do everything at once and overwork myself, leading to an inevitable burnout a few months in.

That needs to change.

I don't have a concrete game plan yet, because I really need to get some sleep and sort things out in my head, but I do feel like I have a better chance at this whole thing than before.

Or at least I want to believe in it. Let's not discard the power of belief completely.

I filled one garbage bag with trash from around my room and while that made a sizeable dent, there's still enough trash for a bag or two. That's something I'm going to do tomorrow first thing in the morning.

I'm good at honesty for better and for worse. Let's see how far this takes me.

#dasha recovers

[peachy-panic]

Only Temporary: Sebastian Tate

Hello. I was completely blown away by the positive response I got on the first piece of Jaime’s story (title under construction). Thank you to everyone who had a kind word to say about it! You made me really happy I made the mildly frightening choice to post.

In the interest of acclimating to the no-rules, freedom-to-post-out-of-order structure of this community, I wanted to introduce a new piece of the puzzle this time, with a new character that will come into play later.

Also, this piece goes into a little bit of the details, but for frame of reference on the BBU-adjacent thing: this story takes place in a not-so-distant future of the BBU, where WRU has undergone some changes. I look forward to exploring this world building more as I go.

Anyway, I’m rambling again. Thanks for reading. Here it is:

WARNINGS: General BBU warnings, talk of institutionalized slavery, classism, and general terribleness of large corporations. Referenced past homophobia and rough parental relationships, briefly implied/referenced non-con.

When Sebastian reflects on the day he graduated from med school, a sort of emptiness is the memory that first bobs to the surface. Among the cheers and camera flashes in the crowd, white coats and proud smiles, what Sebastian recalls most vividly from that day is looking out into the sea of parents and families and people there to support their loved ones on one of the biggest days of their lives, and not seeing a single person that had come for him.

What should have been one of the happiest moments of his life had been quickly overshadowed by the sinking feeling that none of it mattered as much as it would have if he had someone to share it with. Like there was something so fundamentally wrong with his life, that even something as objectively good and right and decent as becoming a doctor could be dulled over into a feeling of nothingness.

Perhaps, he thinks in hindsight, that moment had been foreshadowing for the following months ahead of him.

Watching rejection after rejection pour in from his top residency programs had felt like nothing short of his own personalized nightmare. He had spent several nights in a row on the phone with Alex, his undergrad roommate and only friend, clamoring back from the edge of many a panic attack, spiraling into all-out existential dread about the future and the past and what all of it meant for him if he couldn’t land an internship, let alone a real job out of school. To his credit, Alex never gave up hope in his friend. Or at least, he did a decent job hiding it if he did. Which was probably exactly what Sebastian needed to get through that particularly dark time in his life, and a good reminder of what a solid friend he had. Even if it was a party of two.

Unfortunately, Sebastian did not have the same faith in himself.

He was able to keep up some facade of optimism as his top five were picked off one by one. Telling himself, despite his devastation, that they were a pretty far reach, anyway. Even with good academic standing, it was famously no walk in the park to land yourself at John Hopkins or Mayo as a first-year. He even maintained a brave face as his first few safety programs reached capacity and moved forward without his name on the roster.

It wasn’t until he received his final rejection letter from some internal medicine place in Bumfuck, Idaho that he felt himself slip into dangerous territory. Sebastian knew himself well enough to know his own depressive patterns by then, and he knew it was only exponential decay from there.

Rock bottom came, as it did, in the wee hours of the night, after a full bottle of wine. Alone in his small apartment, surrounded by half-packed boxes with no destination, Sebastian found himself sprawled out on the floor with his laptop hot against his thighs. He couldn’t have explained why he opted for a privacy browser, but something about it allowed him to justify the words that he typed into the search bar.

It was a new low, and one he had sworn to himself he would never stoop to. Yet there he was.

He gave himself a moment to reconsider, to back out of what was undoubtedly a morally-gray train wreck waiting to happen as his thumb hovered over the enter key. And then the alcohol decided to override his moral compass.

Facility Care is the open secret of the medical profession. It comes with its fair share of stigma, and rightfully so, but it is notoriously easy to break into and pays a decent wage.

There are two types of people who end up stooping to that kind of employment. More often than not, it consists of doctors and nurses who had their licenses revoked or suspended somewhere along the line and needed a way back in. As far as Sebastian understood, they aren’t terribly ridgid about the particulars of each circumstance. After all, in the eyes of the law, the patients they would be treating are a price tag away from being entirely expendable.

The other percentage of Facility Care workers, and the reason Sebastian found himself staring at his too-bright computer screen with a sinking feeling of dread that night, are young medical graduates who find themselves in a tough spot. It isn’t difficult to spell out the logic behind that one when you open the WRU CAREERS tab on the home page and see the bright white words printed across the top of the screen:

LOAN FORGIVENESS.

It is shamelessly predatory and aggressively capitalistic, but Sebastian supposes that particular exploitation is pretty far down on the list of transgressions for an institution of legalized slavery. A few broke and hopeless medical students were hardly going to keep the Powers That Be up at night when they were able to rest easy under the weight of hundreds of thousands of stolen lives.

The whole thing is part of the massive PR overhaul the company did a few years back. In a world that was slowly inching toward civil activism and with the accessibility of platforms like social media to hold them accountable, WRU had to adapt to survive. Adaptation, in this case, took the form of changing the barest of minimums in order to keep themselves above board — to the public eye, anyway. Anyone who dares to take a closer look at the policy changes can see that it’s bullshit.

Changing ownership conditions to a rent-by-contract basis isn’t the humanitarian move they try to paint it as. In the end, it probably just equals out to more money in the company’s pocket when they can get more return on their “investments,” and a larger chance of exploitation for the people being moved around.

Getting rid of the Romantic division is an entirely meaningless gesture when they are still loaning out human beings with no legal rights and the inability to say “no.”

And offering an open job market with good wages and healthcare options to lower class individuals is a pretty convenient way to mute the backlash.

Essentially, you can tie a system of slavery and abuse up in a bow and make it pretty on the outside, but at the end of the day, it’s still fucking slavery.

Not that he has any room to criticize now. Now that he’s one of them.

In the end, Seb tries to justify his decision a few different ways. He is, after all, more or less a young man alone in the world. The odds are stacked against him and have been for a while. With only his own two legs to stand on, the only force stronger than his internal ambition is his instinct for survival, and he’s been running on those fumes for longer than he can count.

He had lasted less than two months under his parents’ roof after he came out of the closet at eighteen. It wasn’t exactly a surprise for anyone involved; Sebastian’s parents had known about (and subsequently bottled) his… urges… since he was in high school. Probably before that, if he is being honest with himself. And Sebastian, for his part, had spent the better part of his teenage years mentally preparing for the inevitable. He can recall long, late nights he had spent crying into his pillow and the perfectly-scripted ‘coming out’ speeches he recited to his mirror when he was one-hundred percent sure his parents were asleep.

Of course, none of the preparation had been anywhere near adequate when he actually found himself wilting beneath the heat of his father’s glare, the weight of his mother’s grief.

But. He had recovered. That is the point he tries to remember when the memories sting fresh beneath his skin, even all these years later. He has more-than proven himself to be a survivor. He has worked harder than anyone he knows for every scholarship, every grant, every dollar to put himself through school. Sacrificed nights out and real relationships for night shifts at shitty diners and long weekends cramming for exams. It hadn’t been easy, but he considers it the price he had to pay for his independence. For freedom, to live the life as the person he is meant to be, despite his unfortunate odds. He spent years telling himself it would be worth it. That one day, his hard work would pay off.

He can’t stop now.

Sebastian doesn’t have the luxury of taking time off to reroute when his navigation has gone amiss. He is walking the precarious line of rapidly accruing interest and student loans and a dwindling savings account, and there is no safety net below him.

Beggars can’t be choosers, and as it turns out, beggars sometimes have to compromise their moral integrity in order to survive.

It’s only temporary.

That is the mantra that gets him through the (half-drunken) application process and the (disturbingly lax) interview process. It is a job. One job. In the medical field, though the details are up for debate, and it is real-life money for rent and food and a savings that will hopefully be sizable enough to get him where he really wanted to be. Which is… really, anywhere else.

He can do ‘temporary.’ And perhaps, some misguided part of him thinks he can do some genuine good from the inside, too. ‘Be the change you want to see’ and all that.

It is a far jump from the floor of his apartment, sloshed and exhausted and desperate, to the cold, sharp reality of walking into his place of employment on his first day of work. Ironically, it feels a lot like an echo of the emptiness from his graduation day.

‘Sterile’ doesn’t quite cover it. ‘Sterile’ is the expectation of any well-respected medical establishment, but the inside of the facility walls has been wiped clean of far more than bacteria and germs. It is completely devoid of humanity. The long corridors that connect the medical wing to the general ward are windowless and dimly lit by flickering fluorescent panels that had make his head pound for the entirety of his first week.

He is given an office, though it is a term he, himself, might use loosely, as it is more akin to what was probably a storage closet before the old prison had been converted into the state’s training headquarters. It leaves him just enough space for a small desk and two chairs. On his first day, he asks if it is okay to bring in some personal items to spruce the place up. The older, balding doctor who had been assigned to show him around merely shrugs, and Sebastian decides to take that as a yes.

The small, pink-framed photo of a six-year-old Sebastian Tate in his grandfather’s white coat and an old-school stethoscope around his neck is hardly enough to make the place cozy from the corner of his desk, but it’s a good enough reminder of why he has to make this work.

‘It’s only temporary.’

‘Be the change you want to see.’

He will do his best.

#Sebastian Tate #bbu #like bbu adjacent? #tw: human trafficking #tw: slavery #implied noncon #whump #Do No Harm: Jaime & Sebastian

[free-pool-trash]

maybe - stiles stilinski

This is for all my Stiles bitches who are afraid of love ❤️ @makeusfreefromthisfandom ;)

word count: 2k

warnings: angst

summary: the last thing you wanted to do was fall in love (the bridge of all too well obviously set me off)

masterlist

“Maybe we got lost in translation...”

You weren’t sure at what point you’d gone wrong. Each time you recounted your footsteps, every step was calculated and perfectly placed. Perhaps you hadn’t done enough. Or maybe you hadn’t given enough, if you were to ignore the fact that the girl you were before was almost unrecognisable to you now, that option seemed most likely.

For months and months you danced around each other, balanced on the tightrope between friends and more than that. It seemed all of your show stopping smiles, all of your time and all of your willingness to be at each beck and call had been wasted on the relationship that had been doomed from the beginning. But, of course, you were only now hit with that epiphany.

Truthfully, yet somewhat shockingly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to take on the blame for losing your potential other half. Yes, your heart had been completely and utterly torn to shreds in a way you’d never experienced, it was the kind of hurt you hoped you’d never have to brave again. But it wasn’t your fault that falling always felt like flying. It wasn’t your fault that he’d wormed his way through your barricades, there was nothing for you to do but surrender to the sudden ambush that was falling in love with Stiles Stilinski.

Falling in love was never something you wanted, in fact, it was something you tirelessly avoided. The notion of giving someone the power to destroy you brought you nothing but terror. Then there was him.

Stiles Stilinski. Clever, sarcastic, kind, cute and terrible at lacrosse. He’d broken down your every defence, not even knowing he was doing it in the first place. Maybe you were fooling yourself but you truly thought you’d broken down some of his walls too.

What other explanation could be given to the times when he’d show up at your house looking for a shoulder to cry on, specifically your shoulder to cry on. Or the times he would throw you a packet of your favourite sweets before school with the reasoning of “Well, I was getting gas and I know you like them. So I got them.” As if it was the most obvious thing ever.

Those being construed as more than platonic could definitely be considered wishful thinking, but the scene currently playing in your mind had to have meant something more.

In your mind you played it back, it’d started fairly normally. Stiles had shown up in his rickety jeep, told you to hop in and he drove around until he found somewhere private and quiet to park. You’d gotten food on your way to the empty parking lot, he knew your order off by heart, butterflies erupted in your stomach as he called it into the speaker with complete confidence. Dazed, you remember asking, doe eyed and almost breathless, “You know my order?”

The boy had huffed out a puff of air and looked at you incredulously, “Of course I know your order, come on.” He shrugged off your shock and the night moved on as it usually did. It was when you were sitting in the parking lot, quietly picking at your food that he spoke up.

“Hey. Can I ask you something?” Sparing him a glance you only nodded, continuing to pick at your food as you listened. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, by the way.”

With a raised brow you turned your head to look at him, his hands were drumming on the steering wheel rather anxiously, “Alright… what’s your question?”

He’d turned his body to face you as best he could in the small space and clapped his hands together, “Ok, theoretically, if someone was trying to woo you… how would they go about doing that?” He cleared his throat as he finished and if it was possible your eyebrow arched higher.

It was a loaded question. How do you woo someone who's never wanted to be wooed? You wanted to tell him, but instead you shrugged your shoulders and deflated against the passenger seat.

“I don’t know, I’ve never really had an interest in being wooed. Never really thought about it.”

The irony of the situation, looking back on it, he’d been wooing you without even trying and what’s more is that you hadn’t even felt it happening. Only now realising you’d been falling once your body hit the unforgiving concrete beneath it.

“Oh come on! There has to be something! Flowers? Chocolates?” Stiles proded, wiggled his eyebrows and he whined half heartedly when you tossed a fry at him.

You remember how you’d rolled your eyes, “Seriously, I don’t want to be pursued by some guy.”

“Blah, blah, blah, I know. I said theoretically, ok? Theoretically, if you did wanna be pursued, how would that go?” His tone went from sarcastic but melted into uncertainty towards the end of his question.

Your eyes narrowed at the boy in front of you, “Why do you even wanna know?”

His gaze softened and there was something so gentle behind his eyes, an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint and the words that fell from his lips were the catalyst to your inevitable plummet.

“You deserve someone to love you. I want you to have that.”

Bringing your train of thought back to the present, you tried your best to focus on the meeting at hand. Scott was talking the pack through a battle strategy, something about Gerard and Monroe but you weren’t paying attention.

You were internally kicking yourself, of course he’d end up with Lydia after all of this. You were so caught up in the short term sparks, the momentary hopes, that you’d forgotten about the bigger picture. Even still, you wouldn’t lie, you were feeling as though you’d been strung along.

There was a set of eyes scrutinising you from across Scott’s kitchen and it was only when you met Theo’s curious eyes that you noticed you had zoned in on Stiles’ and Lydia’s intertwined hands. The kamara gave you a knowing look, quietly moving towards you once the room broke into chatter.

“You know, if you keep oggling at them they’re going to notice.” He told you, leaning towards your ear as his legs rested against the counter beside you.

Sighing you looked at him, completely exhausted, “I really wish I was heartless like you.”

Theo chuckled, tilting his head as if he knew something you didn’t, “Well, according to Stiles, you’re pretty cold hearted yourself.”

“And Stiles told you that?” You snapped, arms crossing over your chest apprehensively.

He nodded his head, pulled his lip between his teeth and then leaned his head back towards your ear again, “He also told me that you were the kinda girl who needed someone persistent.”

Your stomach dropped, you had an idea where he was going with this. “Why? Why did he tell you all that?”

“Must think I’d be a good match for you.”

It hurt, that someone you considered a friend, more than a friend, would talk you up to someone he absolutely loathed, someone he didn’t trust at all. You’d been so wrong about the feelings Stiles had for you recently and you couldn’t help considering that maybe you fell into the same category as Theo. Just another cold hearted fool.

There was a lot to be said for Theo Raeken. Was he necessarily a good person? No. Was he trustworthy? Absolutely not. Yeah, that’s definitely the sort of person you deserved to have love you.

“I’d be offended too.” He chuckled, watching your face carefully. The way it contorted in confusion, how your lips dipped downward and acceptance settled on your face.

You hadn’t noticed Stiles looking at you from across the room, inspecting the scene before him carefully. He had this sort of anxiety flooding his chest as he watched you deflate as you spoke to Theo.

There was no denying that he was in love with Lydia but before he’d inevitably ended up with the strawberry blonde, he’d been building something quite special with you. He knew you caught onto it too and that’s what was eating away at him.

“You’re being ridiculous.” He told you, shaking his head in disbelief.

You scoffed in return, “It’s called self preservation, Stiles.”

“I just don’t get it.”

You looked at him before shooting into an explanation that he’d heard a million times before, “When you fall in love with someone you give that person so much power over you. They can either make you or break you. I don’t ever want someone to have that kind of affect on me. I don’t want someone that feels like fresh air in my lungs because if they leave I’d be the one left suffocating. Doesn’t sound all that magical to me.”

Stiles looked at you sadly, he understood what you meant but he believed in the goodness of falling in love, “What makes you so sure they’ll leave?”

“Because they always do.”

And he’d done everything you tried so adamantly to avoid. Knowingly made you fall and then knowing left you to crash and burn and prove yourself right.

You stared at him, from across the room, something about the look on your face told him that his last stitch attempt to save face had only pushed you over the edge.

He hated Theo, he really did and you deserved better than him, but he was the only readily available person that he could think of in the heat of the moment.

Theo liked the chase and you liked to run, it made sense on paper. But the look of betrayal on your face as your eyes met sent him spiralling.

Without another word you left the room, stalking towards Scott’s front porch and settling down on the steps.

It was quiet for a while, your hands busied themselves raking through your hair as your elbows rested against your knees. Were you really as bad as Theo? Was that really the impression you gave off? Sure, the boy had improved since you’d first met but that didn’t change the fact that he’d literally been sent to hell for his crimes. Did shunning romance seriously make you that evil?

A familiar presence joining you shook you from your thoughts but you didn’t move to greet him.

Stiles clearing his throat broke the silence but you kept your gaze on the empty street ahead of you. “So, uh, Theo-“

You cut him off with an empty laugh, giving him the meanest side eye you could manage, “Don’t.” You demanded though your voice sounded weak.

“You seemed upset- just wanted to check on you.” He told you lamely, rubbing the back of his neck, watching as your eyebrows pulled together.

Turning slowly to face him you let your hands fall limply against your knees, “I have a question.”

He only nodded. Preparing himself for whatever you were about to throw at him.

“Was it all in my head?” There was anger creeping along your tone but it was the desperation for an answer that took the forefront.

He swallowed thickly but shook his head, “Nah. It wasn’t in your head.”

You pulled your lip between your teeth, fighting the urge to scream as you posed your next question, “It was always Lydia. No matter when or where it was always going to be her. So why?”

His heart sank at the question, his will cracking just as your voice did when you spoke, “Why what?”

“Maybe you didn’t mean to. Maybe you were bored or maybe we just got lost in transition but I trusted you. So I guess my real question is; why did you try so hard to make me love someone only to walk away at the first given opportunity.” You wondered, quickly brushing away a tear that fell from your eye.

His silence could’ve killed you, he looked so very lost. Completely devoid of an answer he just stared at you as you inhaled a deep breath and stood up shakily.

“You know, maybe you were onto something with that Theo thing. At least if he screws me over I’ll have seen it coming.” You told him bitterly, walking inside and leaving him on the step.

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf #just some senseless angst because i felt like it

[long-cosmos-overhead]

James Norrington x Reader

Prompt: I was thinking about this one for a while but if you're ever in the mood for writing PotC could you maybe do something with Barbossa or Norrington? Maybe something with a build up like a first kiss or the first time the character and the reader fight someone/something together by each other's side, and their coordination on the battlefield gets tested for the first time and perhaps it strengthens the connection or leads to taking certain measures like training/teaching how to use weapons and react under pressure

I’m going to split these into two parts this one is for Norrington the other will be for barbossa

(I do not own PoTC or its characters/ gif not mine)

Your hand gripped the hilt of the sword. If it were a warm sunny day the blade would’ve reflected the light back out into the vast port just like it did for the past few weeks. The sky was a dark grey possibly setting to rain making the atmosphere cold and dreary. The type of cold to get in your bones and latch on tight until the golden sun tore through the clouds again.

Your knuckles and fingertips turned a harsh red and your wrist ached from swinging the sword only to clash with his powerful defenses that returned in sending pain right up your wrist in swift pangs. You had concluded the moment James first swung at you, that you could never truly appreciate the extent of skill, concentration and pain it took to seem so effortlessly fluent in a field unless you yourself have tried to walk the same path with the same motive.

The more you attacked and defended from what would be fatal blows out on vast seas or faced with a man or woman with the intention to maim or kill, the more energy flowed out your body. You were drained. It felt like water passing from a stream downhill and into dry land most likely to never be seen again. You had improved since first starting you could barely lift a sword back then however your grip still faltered when you lost energy and your movements still became sloppy and delayed.

Your mind trailed away. A dangerous move much too dangerous. Once your mind and body was out of sync you had written your death sentence.

A kick to your legs dragged your mind back down. It was a harsh reminder that you had once again failed to meet your standards the reality knocked down the platform your stood on like a fire against wooden beams. You fell to the ground your sword clattering somewhere in the distance. Your hip instantly throbbed in pain, your wrist and elbow followed suit in acquainting themselves with the hard floor below you.

“Y/n!”

You hadn’t realised your face scrunched up in pain until you opened your eyes to meet the owner of the deep voice. James’ eyes wore worry like a new pair of shoes and his hand trailed inches away from your body before softly resting uncertainly on your cheek almost pleading you to react to his touch instead of pain.

“Y/n I am terribly sorry, I didn’t-”

Your words cut him off saving him an apology and you the salt being rubbed in the wound that you managed to be taken down by a kick to the legs.

“It’s fine James, I wasn’t paying attention, I’m at fault here.”

James picked you up from where you lay gently placing a hand round your arm and one under your waist. If anything standing up made it hurt a little more. Your eyes met James’ face, an almost unreadable expression settled on his features. Only a little readable emotion bled through. It read love however undertones of desperation and want. You weren’t sure what was going on and in all honesty you didn’t feel in the state of mind to be able to piece together such heavy emotions.

However you did pick up on how attractive he looked. Even fresh from a fight you couldn’t deny he was a beautiful man. The way the light caught his eyes and made them appear like the stars beaming in the dark. The way his facial features only seemed to compliment one another, the way he treated you as the most important and valued thing in his life. James Norrington was perfect to you.

James stared back at you and by all the grace of you gods he loved every part of you. The way your skin felt when it touched him, the way he could hold you, the way you made him feel safe and enough in such a plagued world. He was so proud of you. The way you picked up sword fighting the same way as his men once had despite the ridicule from ladies and hours of straining physical movements. James wanted you safe, as safe as you could be. He would always be there by your side to fight off evil but should the time come where he wasn’t he couldn’t even think of what he’d do without you.

His eyes wandered to your lips and it shook him at just how much he wanted to kiss you. To share all his love through such intimacy and feel your body against his and despite the looming cloud that stole all your energy and the dull throb in your side you wanted the exact same.

You two were entranced into a void where only each other existed, time slowed till the point where every little thing was almost slow motion and the intensity of the gases which you looked at each other were immeasurable. Your heart beat irregularly in your chest almost as if it were trying to meet James’ or to drag you closer and by all the power in the world you could not think to move away.

Nasty twangs of pain at your side bled into the void you and James got caught in. Your face suppressed the obvious uncomfortableness that seemed to follow blunt force injuries however as much as you tried James noticed. He had a thing for noticing things. He never let on that he observed far more than the average man or he picked up inconsistencies but you knew.

“Y/n if I may.”

He reached out a hand for you to take asking permission to touch you and lead you to your home. No matter how much you protested he must be tired, James always walked you home. He wanted to know you were safe and be able to share some sort of intimacy with you, to slip his fingers between yours and warm your cold hands.

It may not have seemed like much holding his hand but even the most simplistic touch from James was euphoric. Some days you walked down cobbled streets laughing, today James was pretty silent just focusing on you and on the way you walked with a slight limp to your step. James felt guilty, a growing guilt that thrived the more he looked at you. He shouldn’t have swiped your legs it was not only wrong in terms of fighting with honour - it was misconduct, it was cheating. However his mind wasn’t all too concerned with that. His priory, his true priority was that he had hurt you. He never loved anyone the way he loved you even if you hadn’t kissed yet but that was no way to treat you especially since he is supposed to make you feel safe.

You looked over at James. His strong features never failing to entrance you. You were more than disappointed when you reached your door. Your house was pale in comparison to James’ yet he never seemed to mind. Before you knew him you assumed he was wealthy, commanding and rather uptight however you discovered none of the sort. He was kind and ever so gentle uncaring if he was seen away from well kept and otherwise anything he wouldn’t be associated with. He’d even offered money for upkeeps or repairs yet still left it after you declined.

“I trust you will be safe here Y/n.”

“I will always be safe at my own door, James you need not worry.”

He took your hand in his lightly pressing his lips to your knuckles trying to ignore how cold and tense you seemed. However he failed to notice how your muscles relaxed under his touch and how your eyes almost sparkled from how it felt as if you had been flushed with serotonin.

The feeling ebbed away as quick as it came when he walked away. His long coat that wrapped around his shirt fluttering at the end from the wind. You didn’t like being away from him it felt as if a part of you left with him even if it were only for a few hours. You couldn’t let him just leave. The kiss to your hand was like a spoonful of magic but you wanted more. It seemed selfish but you’d never loved anyone the way you loved him.

“James.”

He turned round to met with your arms around his waist and your body against his chest. He felt happy. Much happier than he’d ever felt you in his hold felt right and for once he could look around the port and see something beautiful. His arms came around your body pressing you a little closer to him. James was warm much warmer than you expected yet he felt far warmer with you despite the cold taking claim to you. It was like the warmth spread across his whole body. He was utterly in love with you.

Neither of you wanted to pull away but eventually you did but this time even when the cold settled back in your body you felt comfortable. He made you dizzy on love.

“Goodnight Norrington.”

It took him a while to break from his lovesick trance.

“Goodnight Y/n.”

You lay in your bed, the soft sheets encasing you like battle armour braving the war against the cold. Yet it seemed like a losing battle your fingertips red and your breath releasing from your mouth as white whisps, the way you imagined a soul would part from its physical being. A shaky breath parted your lips as you rubbed your hands together in hope that the friction would spark some ounce of warmth. Faint drops of rain hammered in the distance, the first few drizzles making way for an inevitable harsher forecast and despite the rain making you feel that bit colder and worried for the wood of your house you felt calm.

You turned on your side. The rustling of sheets almost silenced by the downfall outside. The last pieces of warmth you owned were slowly leaving your body. However the only thing you could focus on was how it would feel to be in James’ embrace. You wished to lay in bed with him and instead of slow dancing with the bitter cold you would be embraced in his warmth. To be completely domestic in each other’s arms. James made you feel warm. A nice warm like bathing in the soft evening sunlight. Your lips tugged upwards slightly and your hands rubbed together once more to grasp the heat amoung the cold before the white whisps parted your lips and wrapped around the candles orange flame releasing darkness through your room.

You awoke with a hammering at your door. It was clearly not a sophisticated knock at the time you weren’t even sure it was a knock however it woke you up immediately. Light shone through the gaps in the wall illuminating strips of your skin. You heard the shouts of men and the screams of woman. Metal on metal rung in your ears until the silence of death were clear, dominating any other sound you could hear.

You shakily stood up, eyes still fixed on the same spot as earlier. You shifted on your feet slightly tripping on the uneven floorboards that was until you heard the distinct voices of the navy men.

“Groves, Mullroy man the east ports.”

James. Something about his voice hit something within you. All your nerves that froze you in fear dissipated. They weren’t replaced by rationality if anything blind need to help, not just James but every man, woman and child took the main stand.

The hilt of your sword gleamed in the dreary light beconing you deeper into your mind with its persuasive grip. The vision and need blurring its lines to rally your body to take the cold hilt of the blade into your hand.

You didn’t acknowledge how the cold metal gripped you back however rushing outside your house you felt bare to the world. You felt small like you were back in your mothers arms again. Men were fighting left and right, some laying on the floor clutching dyed clothing. Smashed glass and splintered wood covered any remaining road. In the distance you heard the fire of guns and cannons which, had they been any closer, would’ve reigned superior to your hearing.

Strangled shouts and chokes were no longer shielded by the walls that you lay in and for a minute it was already all too much. The thought of James and the ever present survival instincts kept you from cowardice and you took your first step into the heat of the fight.

James boot kicked against the chest of its opponent. Water bled through the thin shirt and for a split second he seemed dazed enough for James to get the upper hand. Yet his mind and body were travelling in different wave lengths, his body urging for defence as desperate as a drowning man but his mind was focused on you. James was practically pacing from worry. You were alone without him or anyone to watch your blind spot. Even your home was bordering on the ever expanding outskirts of the gruesome battle and he’d seen firsthand how vicious and merciless pirates were, if you got caught you would not be spared.

The blade swiped all too close to his eyes slicing a stay stand of hair parting it from the others. James sword clashed on the second offence and continued to create the devils music until the blade was wedged in the oppositions lower abdomen. Shock contorted to pain and for a moment his eyes cleared and it was just two men with complex lives staring at each other. It was perhaps the most cruel curse that only a step away from death were people remorseful. His eyes held the heaviest emotions until they glassed over with nothingness. His body fell limp and he stared without seeing. James tugged his arm removing the support on the body allowing the man to finally rest.

James’ head whipped around in every direction he was surrounded by chaos but he needed you, by his side or not he needed to know you were safe.

Your body ached worse than you’d ever felt previous. A gash at your side created a passage for blood to freely travel out of and you wished you stayed in the safety of your home. You were almost fully doubled over in pain and your hand pressed against the growing red stain on your white shirt. The pirate infront of you grinned baring his gold teeth you could smell the alcohol on his breath and his movements read tipsy yet experienced with the blade. You knew the final hit was coming.

You surged any bit of energy that still remained within you to block the attack. Both swords clashing together sending ugly throbbing pains through your hand and wrist, they faired far worse than the ones while training. You barely saw the confusion on the pirates face, he was a rather big and muscular man easily outmatching you. You swiped your foot hitting the back of his knee sending him to the floor where your blade struck true.

You couldn’t tell how long or far you’d been walking through the carnage. Puddles rippled and quaked beneath your foot. Your sword gripped in your hand, the hilt somewhat warmed however still plagued with a different kind of a cold. Your wound had since clotted somewhat just not enough to offer taking away the need for medical care. Your hand had been placed at your side so long it too was beginning to cramp and lose its abilities. Fights were ugly affairs and you just wanted James.

James had been searching for you for longer than his liking. His stress and worry grew each passing second he traced the port unable to find you. Tears sprung to his eyes, he was overwhelmed sometimes the love he held for you overwhelmed him. Being faced with a hideous reality of losing you without even sharing a kiss coupled with the ever growing pit of fear and frustration never ceased to tip him closer and closer into the dangerous territories of his mind.

James blinked back the moisture in his eyes forming a warm uncomfortable gloss over his waterline. His chances of holding you once more grew thinner and thinner thoughout the fight and if it were a physical concept he may as well be walking on string. Pirates swung at him left and right most clearly tipsy and some outright drunk which lessened the danger equipped to them. They had since taken their retreat leaving devastation upon the port but leaving immeasurable torment within James.

“James.”

Your breath was strained, the rise and fall of your chest tortured your side. Your body bent at such an angle it seemed as if you had been sliced in two but you found him you finally had him.

He was disheveled, his hair fallen out of place to hang loosely infront of his eyes, clothes wet and sticking to his body at odd angles creating little shadows patterning his chest, his body was tired and his eyes still searching for the comfort of finding a lost thing so close to your heart. But he was beautiful.

The second the words parted your lips James turned around glossy eyed and mouth slightly parted. He felt his body lose hidden tension he didn’t realise he held onto. His demeanour shifted from relieved to grief stricken once his eyes laid on the red of your shirt. After the red pattern revealed itself to his eyes, the rest followed; the way your body shook in the bitter cold, how the tiredness trickled from your skin, how pleading you seemed to be relieved from such a horrific ordeal.

James couldn’t even acknowledge himself gravitating towards you until you were in his arms. He too shook however out of pure fear for your condition.

“My love, oh god.”

His words were jumbled as his hand ghosted over the wound at your side unsure to touch you or not. His mind too scared and filled with adrenaline to think logically.

“Y/n-,”

His words died in his throat when he felt you launch yourself into his embrace. His chest sparked like a flame kissing wood and fuel was generously added when you buried yourself deeper into his warmth. He had you in his arms right where he yearned for you to be.

“James,”

Your voice came out weaker than you anticipated and tears gathered in your eyes.

“I went out for you.”

James felt his heart fill with pure love. You had trained before but going to battle among pirates was an entire new level. He knew then as he stood with you in his arms that you were his keeper.

His hand gently traced the outskirts of your wound, it had almost entirely clotted itself up now, giving James some peace of mind however he still dare not touch you to cause more harm.

“Does- does it hurt, my love.”

His fingers traced around your skin sending electric through your body despite having barely grazed it.

“A little but I would suffer a thousand times if it meant I could come back to you.”

James couldn’t resist himself any longer your words touched something so deep within him breaking down the wall that restrained him from you. His hand came to slide around your lower back and the other around the back of your shoulders perfectly avoiding anything that could cause you pain. He tugged you towards him, his grip so tight and protective yet gentle and considerate. His lips connected with yours and if you could describe how you felt it would be as if all the warmth and love in the world channeled through your body at once. It was a simple kiss nothing alluding but full of passion and love, the ultimate outlet for all the events that took place a short time ago.

When the two of you parted you were left dizzy searching for air get already addicted to the feeling you had felt in such sheer quality.

“Come back with me,” he almost pleaded. “I want to keep you safe at least for tonight.”

You responded by leaning further into him your mind and body were exhausted yet somewhere in the back of your mind there was an urge. James saved your life, if it weren’t for his countless hours spent teaching you defence and offense and his constant patience you would surely have not survived.

“James, thank you,”

He looked down a slight bit confused for a moment.

“If it weren’t for you I’d surely be dead.”

“I’d spend the rest of my life teaching you if it meant you were safe.”

@lau-rae-lei

#james norrington fluff imagine #james norrington x reader angst #james norrington angst #james norrington x reader #james norrington #potc #ask #request #it’s so late