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outoutdamnspark · 1 year

Text

Human

Inspired by the Robo!Submas x Reader au by @nc-eikin - because this bitch (affectionate) has a death grip on my soul. I’m such a robophiliac, you have no idea.

(Was listening to Matsudappoiyo’s cover of Talk of the Past while writing.)

*cracks knuckles*

AIGHT. Robo-romance, here we go!

(Cw: Panic attacks and mentions of dissociation, brief themes of ableism(???) Tenderness, non-sexual body [hand] worship, pining. Robots in love. Shifting narration focus. Reader is called “lady” but is left genderless. Submas x Reader.)

soa have mercy this got so out of hand. no pun intended.

===

The entire day has been awful from the start.

You’ve suffered through bad days before - many times - but no matter how many, you’ll never quite get used to the extra long shift, or the endless slew of technical issues that all seem to spontaneously appear back to back to back, or the people being rude as hell when you're just trying to send in a report or a request for replacement parts. (And you’ll never, never, get used to how, on top of all of that, the miserable weather, dreary, wet, and cold, is causing your phantom limbs to ache.)

You’re exhausted by the time your shift is at its blessed end, fed up, in pain, and nearly ready to break down in frustrated tears as you quicken your pace towards what you desperately hope is safety in the ‘Employees Only’ corridors.

But it is not to be.

You'd always been so careful of your gloves, making sure they were as well-maintained as the delicate mechanisms your grandfather taught you to build and repair. Any loose thread, any thinning seam, and you were quick to repair or replace the fabric barrier between your prosthetic limbs and the judgemental world around you, and this meticulousness had served you well for oh so long.

But even the most vigilant of individuals can fall victim to blind chance, and blind chance is exactly what puts the snagging ends of a frayed wire in just the right place inside your pocket. It catches on the side of your glove as you pause in your walking to reach in and search for your employee pass. The tiny copper fingers seize your glove, hold it, tear it, find a weak spot in the seam and break it open. You pull your hand back out of your pocket to the soundtrack of shredding fabric.

It’s bad; the way the thread had pulled had ripped the seam in both directions, leaving the entire side of your glove split apart and the metal of your prosthetic beneath it to shine in the overhead lighting of the subway platform. You grimace. Not wanting to endanger the remaining material any further, you peel it off.

You hope no one notices.

(You hope in vain.)

“Wow, cool!!”

A small child - maybe seven or eight years old - dashes in front of you with sparkling, excited eyes trained directly on your exposed metal arm, blocking your path to the employee door just as you start to try and move.

“I didn’t know they had a lady robot here, too!”

A lance of ice and clawing shame plunges itself between your ribs and straight into your lungs, knocking the breath from your lips. Suddenly you’re shaking, too aware of how loudly the exuberant child is being, of how crowded the platform actually is.

Heart rattling, you say nothing to the child as you attempt to step around him, to cross the last few yards to the employee door and the eyeless hallway beyond. Unperturbed, the child simply moves along with you, keeping pace, darting erratically from your side to practically under your feet and then back - and all the while his incessant questioning gets louder and louder, like he thinks you can’t hear him.

“Hey! Hey lady! You’re a robot, too, right? What kind are you? How come you don’t have fake skin like the other robots? Are you broken? Can I see your hand?” He nearly trips you when he gasps and stops close enough to your foot that he’s practically standing on your shoe. “Can I have cool robot parts, too?!”

You don’t mean to almost knock him down, you really don’t.

You don’t mean to slap his grasping fingers away as he reaches for your metal limbs, nor do you mean to bolt like a wild animal towards the employee door, abrupt enough to earn you the child’s (loud, loud, so loud!) cry of surprise and his nearby mother’s angry reprimand.

They couldn’t understand. No one ever has.

Because while it may have seemed like an innocent enough encounter on the surface, just like always, you can feel the eyes of everyone within earshot turning towards you, burning along your skin. Just like before. Just like always.

(You're so, so tired of being stared at, of being bombarded with questions, of being the focus of pity and fear and morbid curiosity.)

Without slowing down, you smack the pad beside the door with your ID, barely waiting for the latch to click and the light to flash green before yanking the door open with more force than flesh-and-blood limbs would ever have allowed.

You nearly sprint down the corridor, taking the turns through sheer muscle memory as your vision blackens at the edges, until a familiar (safe-safe-safe!) door comes into view just up ahead.

It’s empty when you enter, but that’s okay. You don’t think you want your friends to see you like this - you don’t want to tell them why.

You reach the far corner of the little room the Station Masters call their own and brace yourself against the wall. Shaking, you slide to the floor and try to get your breathing under control.

They’re ashamed that it takes them almost an hour to find you.

There hadn’t been cause for concern at first - they’d simply realized you’d never clocked out, which meant there might still be a chance to see you again before you left for the day. It had been a happy thought, one that had them eagerly sneaking away to go and look for you.

But you were nowhere to be found.

They’d checked everywhere they knew you’d had work to do that day, thinking that maybe a task had run longer than expected. Then, they’d checked the live camera feed to see if they could spot you that way. Still nothing. Thinking perhaps you’d simply forgotten to clock out and had already left for the evening - which would have been horribly unlike you - they’d resigned themselves to waiting until the morning to be graced with your presence.

And then they’d gone back to their storage room.

There, in the corner, tucked away where the camera’s eye didn’t quite reach, was you.

The Station Masters hover nearby, processors overloading with concern as they watch you, unresponsive, sitting hunched against the wall and staring at nothing with the remains of tear tracks still drying on your cheeks. Your gloves are clenched so tightly between your fists that the fabric looks on the verge of tearing as you hold it, twisted taught between your metal fingers. Dissociation, their automatic index tells them; trace indicators of sweat and adrenaline, their cursory scans conclude.

A quick bluetooth conversation is had between them, and they determine that no, they've never seen you like this before, this isn't normal.

They approach. You don't react.

(The twins wonder if this is what it feels like to wish they could cry.)

‘Should we contact medical assistance?’

‘I... don’t know.’

They look to one another, silently hoping their brother will have the answers they do not.

(Now that they know where you’ve gone, they search back through the security logs and follow your path in reverse, tailing you backwards until they see...

Oh.)

“Oh.”

You’re peripherally aware of the twins as they step in perfect unison to flank you, slowly kneeling at your sides until they no longer tower over your crumpled form. You want to move, want to respond when they call your name, let them know you can almost hear them - but your body refuses to cooperate.

Instead, you stare at the empty space between the far wall and the floor and try to collect enough pieces of yourself to find your way back towards their light.

“Darling?” one of them calls - it doesn’t matter which.

“Can you hear us?”

Barely, but yes. You can make out their words as though from some far-away shore, muffled and weak. It’s a comfort, regardless.

(You trust them, you think. More than you ever have another human being.)

Through foggy ears, you listen to them speak. They murmur, coax, gently plead, come back now, please, you're scaring us, are you alright? They tell you they saw what happened, how they’re sorry they weren’t there - but that’s silly, you want to tell them. It wasn’t their fault; there was nothing they could have done to circumvent what always, always happens.

(It doesn’t stop a tiny piece of your heart from wishing they had been there beside you, with kind words and protective stances.

Maybe then they wouldn’t have to see you as you are right now.)

There is movement.

Gently, so gently, the brothers lean into you. You can feel them pressing their arms against your own, the contact oddly warm from their internal functions. Your skin prickles at the touch - but pleasantly so, instead of the crawling bad that physical contact usually brings.

With deliberate, worshipful slowness, they each take one of your mechanical hands in their own, weaving their fingers together with yours, loosening your grip on your gloves until they can be safely pried from your grasp. One of them, maybe 3MM-ET, carefully lifts your hand and brings it to his lips, resting it there reverently. The other, probably 1NG0, lifts your other hand and gingerly uncurls your fingers so he can press your palm against his cheek.

Neither one of them speaks for a time. 3MM-ET brushes his lips over your prosthetic fingers repeatedly, ghosts of kisses he isn't wholly brave enough to properly give; 1NG0 closes his eyes and holds your hand to his face with both of his. He nuzzles into your touch, lips gliding across the heel of your palm but never pressing down.

"Beautiful," one of them whispers.

"Verrry beautiful," the other agrees.

You don’t know how long you all stay like that, with your heart gradually thawing with each and every word that spills from the speakers hidden in their throats. Their warmth and the weight of them grounds you, little by little pulling you back towards that distant shore. Your lungs work without you to fill with fresh air, replacing the stagnation that’s settled deep inside while you’d been lost to the void inside your own head.

The twins continue to murmur praises, reassurance, fondness, steadily growing into whispers of devotion in between the spaces of their spoken words. They adore you, they say, you're wonderful, so human and so alive and so very, verrry lovely; you don’t realize at first that they're talking about you.

It’s like a riptide when you do.

You gasp as you slam back into your body from that foggy mire inside your mind, the burn of a sharp inhale rivaling the way it feels like something’s finally been released inside your ribs. Freed, lanced like an ill-healed wound.

Out pours the blood and pain of years of bottled emotions, of facial expressions you trained yourself not to make, of the shards of at least one barrier you’ve held tall and strong for an age. And with it all there comes the pent-up toxins of the day, spilling out over your eyelashes in a new wave of tears, tracing down the paths left behind from before. It hurts. You’re glad it does.

You don't just sit there silently as you blink the saltwater from your eyes this time; instead, they pour like a swelling river over its banks, and you lean forward with the weight of them. A low, pitiful sound pools inside your mouth and slips past your teeth before you can stop it - a quiet, keening whine that breaks and stutters into a single sob.

Then another.

And then a third.

Your shoulders jerk as you start to drop, but before your body can fold itself in half, there are arms around you, gentle and firm, holding you steady.

Your hands are relinquished and the arms cross one another over your chest like a brace, their own hands coming to rest on your shoulders opposite where they each kneel. A second pair of arms wraps around your back just above your waist. The duo hold you upright, keep you from falling, pull you close in perfect equidistance between them; one rests his cheek on the crown of your bowed head, the other rests his chin in the dip of your shoulder.

You shake as you cry, letting out the long stretch of the day, your hitching breath the only sound you make through clenched teeth, and through it all they hold you. Even as five minutes turn to thirty and the tears finally ebb, and you can feel yourself slot back into place within reality, the arms encircling you stay, the murmurs continue, their presence remains.

They ask you if you're alright.

You simply nod your head.

With a glance at one another that holds another private conversation, you’re sure, the androids slowly shift, slowly stand. Their arms do not move, and you find yourself pulled along with them as they lift you from your spot on the floor and guide you to a battered old loveseat along the wall - something your grandfather must have brought in years and years ago.

In perfect unison they sit, bringing you to rest between them so close that their sides, their thighs, their shoulder all press against your own once more with comforting pressure.

"I should...go. Let you recharge," you say at last. You make no move to get up.

3MM-ET hums, thoughtful. He lets his arm slide from where it crosses your chest like a seatbelt and gingerly takes your hand. Warm, gloved fingers slip in alongside yours, soft leather against sleek and shining chrome, and 3MM-ET runs the sides of his fingers back and forth between your own like gently rolling waves. With each pass he gives a light squeeze so that you can feel the hidden ball joints of his knuckles. He delicately pinches your ring finger next, your middle, your index, twisting them ever-so-slightly as if examining them from different angles. Despite the strength you know his artificial body contains, his touch is never anything but kind.

(From anyone else, you might find it uncomfortable, invasive. But not from him. Not from them.)

"...You are gorgeous, you know?" he says in his usual soft monotone. His quietude belays the strange, awed tint to his words, the softening of his synthetic smile in a way you've never seen before.

From your other side, you can see 1NG0 slowly nodding from the corner of your eye. Like his brother, he, too, finally shifts his hand from your opposite shoulder and brings it down to cover your free one. He curls his fingers around the metal plates that make up your knuckles, cradling them like something invaluable. The pad of his thumb brushes over the hinge of your own, back and forth, back and forth.

"Gorgeous," he says in agreement, uncharacteristically quiet. "And perfect."

You scoff, wet and choked. "I'm not--"

But 1NG0 raises faintly glowing optics to meet your gaze and your protest dies behind your tongue at the sight of something raw behind his eyes.

"You are human," 3MM-ET says beside you. "Something we will never be."

You turn away from 1NG0 then, and twist your neck to look at his brother with furrowed brows. But 3MM-ET’s smile is achingly fond and he shakes his head before you can speak. "It is the truth," he states simply. "We are not human." He shrugs - and it's such a distinctly human gesture, one that you know can be programmed or learned through behavioral study, but usually never properly applied in subtle ways. Here, it is subtle, and for a moment you forget which of you three is made of wires and which is made of flesh.

But 3MM-ET isn’t done. He turns your hand over in his grasp and runs his thumb down the inorganic lines of your palm. His gaze lowers to watch it, as though he’s unable to meet your eyes. “...But you treat us as though we are.”

1NG0 shifts, leans forward to study you in profile. “We are flawed in mechanical ways,” he says, voice still soft and tender and warm. “You are flawed in human ways. We can be programmed to emulate human flaws, but it’s nothing more than an illusion, a lie of perfection. Or of imperfection. Whatever the one writing our code wants us to be.”

The arms still curled around your waist squeeze you in gentle, almost nervous tandem as both the androids hug you close.

3MM-ET’s thumb changes direction on your palm, circling counter clockwise. “We are aware of this.” His fingers tighten almost imperceptibly, but it’s still enough for the sensors in your metal hand to detect. “Of our artificiality. Sometimes we forget, but not for very long.”

Your mouth twitches at his admission, not a frown but almost; he just shakes his head.

“You do not get it; you make us feel human. You. With you it is not forgetting, it is like we always were.”

On your other side, 1NG0 hums. “You have never indicated that you see us as things; you do not treat us as lesser in any way, when by nature of our inhumanity someone else might. Where another might see our personalities as faults, and our faults as something to be rectified, you treat them as though they are normal.”

3MM-ET nods. “As though we are human.”

1NG0 nods as well. His hand on yours twists, aligning his palm with the back of your hand. He threads his fingers together with yours. “Your humanity is what makes you perfect,” he explains. “You simply exist as you are, flaws and all.”

The arms encircling you slowly slide from your waist, gloved hands brushing along your back and sides until they fall away. 1NG0 brings a hand up to trace the back of a knuckle just under your eyes; when he pulls back again, there is a single droplet of moisture left on his glove.

(You didn’t know you still had tears left to shed.)

3MM-ET’s hand alights on your shoulder. He trials his fingertips reverently downward, tracing the seam where your skin meets metal - and even further down. He stops at your elbow, gently cupping it, and lifts your arm until it straightens out. The thumb that once drew patterns across your palm now carefully uncurls your fingers, and he adjusts his hold until your forearm rests across his own. Slowly, like he’s terrified you’ll pull away, 3MM-ET lowers his head and lifts your arm higher to meet in the middle.

Soft and whisper-light, he touches silicone lips to the ball joint of your wrist.

Your breath catches in your throat; this is all too much. You don’t know what to do with this tenderness, this gentleness, when all you’ve known for years is how to build your walls higher and higher to avoid the leering gaze of others. You cannot fathom, no matter your grandfather’s skill at breathing artificial life into cold copper and warm circuits, how these two (objectively inhuman) beings can show more humanity than members of your own kind.

And how they, technically perfect in their artificiality, can consider you the perfect one - because of and not in spite of, your failings.

Your mechanical fingers curl, unconsciously trying to capture 3MM-ET’s hand once more.

The brush of leather against your face pulls your attention back to 1NG0, back to a luminous silver gaze that meets your own and somehow softens as if you’d hung the moon and stars. He rolls his hand so that his palm cradles your cheek, and with his other he tugs at your fingers until he’s pressed your hand to where his core sits beneath his chest plate, holding it there like he’ll die if he lets go.

There is no need for him to breathe, no real heart that needs to beat, but you can feel the impersonations of them under your hand; the rise and fall of his chest in simulation of breathing, the faint thrum of the pump that forces hydrolic fluid through his internal structure. Even with your prosthetic, you can feel him.

“These are not flaws,” 1NG0 whispers, stroking your mechanical hand with his thumb. “They are simply a part of you.”

You feel the tickle of 3MM-ET’s lips against your wrist as he picks up where his brother leaves off, unwilling to remove his almost-kiss from your arm even as he speaks. “Therefore,” he murmurs, “these are perfect, too.”

You’d thought yourself dam-less, the cracks in your walls now laid bare as the banked-up river of emotions runs dry inside your soul. But as you look from one conductor to the other - one with his lips held to your wrist and his twin with your hand clutched to his core - you feel the tide come in anew.

1NG0 swipes at the trickle of tears gliding freely from your eyes, though his gentle touch does nothing to stem their flow. You shake your head to dislodge his hand.

Before either of them can react, you’re pulling back, tugging your appendages from their respective holds and reaching blindly out to grasp at their shoulders. You manage to find one of them through your blurry vision, 3MM-ET, and yank him to you. He lets you bury your face in the crook of his neck and rests his cheek against your temple.

Your free hand fumbles to find 1NG0 on your other side, but now that he can guess what you want, he puts himself in your path; you fist your fingers into his coat and pull him close until he’s pressed against your side with his forehead alighting just below your ear at the hing of your jaw. He ghosts his lips against the skin of your jawline and wraps both of his arms securely around your waist.

3MM-ET’s arms follow suit, coming to rest above his brother’s, as one of your own slips around his side to cling desperately at the back of his coat. You wriggle your other arm until it’s actually under the one 1NG0 has around your front and reach up to dig your fingers into his sleeve, hanging on like you’re afraid you’ll be washed away without him there to ground you.

The last dregs of overwhelming emotion wring from your exhausted heart as you allow yourself to be held and to hold in return - for once finding a hand extended in the dark behind your walls. You make no noise as you cry this time; there is only the sound of your breathing and the whispered words of two voices in your ear, telling you how glad they are to know you.

You’ve never felt more human.

#*bashes head on the desk*#THIS THING JUST KEPT GOING OH MY GODSSSSSS #this is how you know I am thoroughly in the soup #eikin what have you done to me #robosubmas #submas x reader #cw panic attack #spark writes

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ellsbclls · 3 years

Text

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here.

Your secret hideaway.

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response. “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare.

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you.

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice. “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way.

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her? “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb. “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach.

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking.

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening.

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake.

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss.

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines.

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse.

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears.

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill.

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open.

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene — opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you.

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that.

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you. “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #I CAN NOT BELIEVE I ACTUALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS #the way this magically climbed from 4.7 to 9.5k in one day will never cease to amaze me #and i hope that this spawns a new love and excitement for country boy tom because i love arvin but #BOY does that man scare me a lil bit #this is more like a . . hart of dixie type of country #more apple pie! less homicide!#I ALSO DONT KNOW WHA THAPPENED TO THE SMUT THIS IS LIKE 40% SMUT #anyway i really do hope yall enjoy #mine*

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madaraxwbu · 3 years

Text

pairing: dabi x fem!reader

warnings: smut, degradation, rough sex.

☾ ☾ ☾

You're cuddled up to your boyfriend on your sofa, he has a long arm wrapped around you with a bottle of beer in his other hand. There's a movie that you chose playing on the tv, giving the two of you some entertainment. Well, Dabi wasn't as entertained as you were. but, this was what you wanted to watch, so he was willing to sit through it.

The two of you have had a rough relationship, to say the least. It started off well, as all things do. Cute dates, pretty words and promises with fond touches. His hands held the promise of happiness, his lips took away all of your issues.

But then one night, there was a news report whilst you were cleaning the kitchen. You had put down the utensils you were using to devote your full attention to what the news anchor was saying. It seemed that there was a helicopter cam, giving the live news. On the screen, your boyfriend. He was fighting against a hero from the back of a van. At first, you weren't entirely sure if it was him. But when his name was announced, that was the final confirmation for you.

There was an anger that bubbled within you. You felt betrayed and lied to, you couldn't comprehend it. There was never anything he did that gave you the impression that he was a dangerous criminal.

You were infuriated, but you didn't know where to direct the emotions. Were you angry at him from hiding such a pivotal piece of information? Or were you angry at yourself for being naive enough to fall for his lip service? At the time, you weren't entirely sure. You were majorly conflicted, because you adored him. But did you? Or had you fallen in love with the facade that he had put up?

"Babe," he shook you slightly with the hand wrapped around your forearm. You snapped out of your trance, thinking back. When you came back to reality, you saw the ending credits of the movie playing. You blinked twice, shifting to pry yourself out of his hold.

"You wanna watch something else?" You asked him as you leant forward on the sofa, about to stand up. He scoffed affectionately at your question, a half-smirk finding its way onto his mouth.

"Nah," he breathed, "I had a better idea in mind," he pulled you back, manoeuvring you to hoist up onto his lap.

His hands add pressure to your hips a few times before rubbing small circles with his thumbs over them.

You grinned down to him, "oh yeah? What's that?"

"Hmm," he hums whilst tipping his head back, "How about I fuck your brains out? Make you a whimpering mess and fill you with my cum, does that sound good?" He cockily declared. You cocked a single brow, parting your lips to answer.

Before you could, he nipped at your neck and then swiped his tongue over the agitated skin. His hands slid down from your hips to underneath your pyjama shorts.

He gripped your ass cheeks and ground you down onto him so that you could feel the growing erection that he was packing for you.

His hands are deftly operating to keep you grinding against him, the clothed friction working the both of you up.

His azure eyes fixate on the point where your crotches meet, sighing deeply. He jerks you forward to keep you on your toes but then continues with his slow and agonising tempo.

Fingers trail up your back and around your middle as you continue to rock on his crotch without the assistance of his hands. The pads of his fingers skim the top of your shorts.

"Are you a good girl for me?" He hushed to you. You nodded your head hastily in response, "yes."

He tugged on the sides of your shorts, yanking them up and causing the bottom seam to press up harshly against your slit, "then why are these still on?"

He bounces you with the hold on the clothing until you give in, wiggling away from him. You stand in front of him on the sofa, pushing both your shorts and underwear down in one quick motion.

He rests back against the pillows, eyes scanning you as you undressed yourself whilst he did the same to himself. Dabi decided to keep his white top on, but you were completely bare before him.

Dabi beckons you, wanting you to come back to where you initially were. You straddled his lap whilst his scarred hands started to slip under your thighs.

He easily brings you up, making you rub your slit against the smooth head of his cock. You reach your hand down to guide him inside of you, but he does nothing but put the tip in and bounce you on top of it.

"You wanna beg for it, baby?" He cooed up to you. That arrogant look on his face almost irked you, but your lust was far too strong for anything else to infiltrate your mind.

"Dabi, stop fucking around."

"Oh, that doesn't sound like begging?" He pouted up to you, then stopped moving you. A frustrated whine left you, throwing your head back.

"Please! I want nothing more than for you to fuck me with your huge cock and make me cum over and over again, please?" You spoke with a tone laced with purity and neediness, hoping the extra intonation would entice him further.

He stuck his tongue out to lick his lips, then lowering you down on his length.

Your expression twisted with relief, hips twitching in hopes to get more of his dick.

He relishes in your innocent look, thinking that it contrasted him so much. The two of you were like day and night, but you worked so well together.

Now, your facial features were all he needed to know that you were begging for him. Despite your hesitance earlier, now you were easier to get what he wanted out of.

He slams you harshly down on the final inch of his cock, making your ass smack against his hips. You choked out a moan, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and tangling your fingers into the dark hair at the top of his neck.

He loves how responsive you are, how perfectly in-tune the two of you are with one another. With his grips on your thighs, he doesn't have a means to give you some form of punishment, but you don't need it when you're bouncing so willingly on his cock just how he wants it.

Each movement is minimal as Dabi tests the waters, seeing how little it would take to pleasure you. He studies the way your face contorts and body reacts to every bounce on him. It's almost making you melt with how good it feels, and you know that Dabi can give it to you even better than this - it was exhilarating to think about.

You want his long length to work every corner of your pussy, so much so that you dripping wet with desire.

"Slut," he strains as he feels your wet pool around the bottom of his cock. His right hand came left your thigh and gripped your tit, hard.

You whimpered as the mixture of rough and smooth skin rubbed against your flesh. He pulled back slightly, instead taking the piercing that went through your hard bud in between his thumb and index finger.

He twiddled it, revelling in the way your hips bucked hard against him from the unusual pleasure that it had caused you.

Dabi's eyes drift down to his cock, watching how his hips roll into you and taking you. Your eyes plead, begging him to fuck you harder. His movements aren't enough, you feel like you might explode with pent-up frustration if he didn't do something quickly.

Then, his cock snaps into your so suddenly that your body jolts up and a yelp is ripped from your throat. You chuckle breathily from how ecstatic you are from being filled, but the joyous moment doesn't last long as his hands move back down to your thigh and starts ramming into you like you were a cheap whore.

It always startled you how quickly Dabi could shift gears, how rapidly he was pounding you now in comparison to how teasing and slow he was being earlier.

"You like it rough, don't you?" He mocked you, a flare in his eyes, "you like it when I destroy this little cunt of yours, right?"

You nodded jerkily with a whine, "oh god yes!"

The sound of him fucking you seems astoundingly loud in your quiet apartment, but neither of you mind one bit. Who cares if the neighbours could hear? It was nothing they hadn't heard before.

You rock on him with nothing but lust and desire fuelling you, allowing his grasp on your legs to assist you in fucking yourself on him. It's a wonderful sensation for him, and he adores watching how much of a mess you get when you're horny.

"Touch yourself," he ordered you straightly.

Almost immediately, one hand left the back of his neck and darted down to your clit. You started to rub yourself, small but firm circles across your main source of stimulation. You were choking on spurted moans as you worked hard to keep your pace consistent. His cock filled you so nicely, it was unreal.

"D-Dabi!" you moaned as you felt your first orgasm rattle you. Your legs quivered, your head dropping to rest on his shoulder. Your fingers stopped their ministrations on your clit, which Dabi had noticed.

He thrust up into you with an anomalous ferocity, "did I say you could stop touching yourself?"

You shook your head, whimpering as you responded to him, "it's too sensitive!"

"I don't care, touch yourself or I'm going to stop fucking you."

Hou snapped your head away from his shoulder in desperation, shaking your head profusely, "no! Nonononoo, please!" You pleaded as your nimble fingers went back to touching yourself. You were so sensitive and wet that it was almost painful, but the wet made it easier for Dabi to rail you in the way he was.

Your sighs die down to much smaller ones, but each and every one goes straight to his dick. His hands trail up and grip your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to spread you wide whilst he used the hold as leverage to fuck up into you like a man possessed.

He was groaning and panting, breathless as he focused on nothing but making sure you were thoroughly fucked. He controls the pace, giving you exactly what you want so that you can cum once more.

His calloused fingers are digging into your ass as his teeth are clenched, thrusts becoming inconsistent and unexpected. The fierce grip on you reminds you who you belong to, who you forgave despite all the lies. Who you love.

Sweat trickles down your back as you thrash in his hold, letting him fuck you like you were a personal toy. Your cunt feels amazing wrapped around him, so tight and aching. One hand grabs a fistful of your hair and drags you down so that your ear is near his lips.

"Cum on my cock, do it right now, you whore," his voice is so dark that you're reminded that he is actually a villain after all.

But right now, you couldn't care less about that. His order makes you lose yourself on him, whimpers bent in your throat as his cock is soaked with your fluids. His eyes find his dick once again, now utterly covered in white substance from your orgasm.

His eyes roll back at the sight, pushing his hips up and pulling you down so that you meet in the middle whilst he releases himself into you.

You're far too sensitive as your mind goes white, eyes fluttering shut and breathing heavy as you collapse on him.

"We should... Probably clean up," he breathed as he let his muscles relax.

#dabi x reader #dabi imagine #dabi #dabi headcanons #dabi smut #touya todoroki #my hero headcanons #my hero academy fanfiction

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shysneeze · 3 years

Text

good enough (draco malfoy x fem!reader)

Good Enough

Draco Malfoy x fem!Slytherin!Reader

*based loosley on the song ‘line without a hook’ by ricky montgomery*

Request: can I ask for Draco x reader where the reader is sassy, but also kind Slytherin (like one of the kind Slytherin)?? And Draco has a huge crush on her? Super fluffy? ~ @lennylangdraws

Warnings: low self-esteem, angst, smidge of house stereotyping, i don’t know the meaning of fluff im so sorry

Authors note: you asked for fluff and I have no excuses for how this turned out except this song has been stuck in my head for weeks now. I hope you like it anyway despite the angst... i tried to make it fluffy make up at the end?

Also, I’m not saying this is a prequel to vulnerable love, but it kinda fits... pretty sure it makes vulnerable love hurt more though.)

Draco wasn’t sure it was possible to want back what he’s never had.

He never knew being stuck in the awkward phase of being an ‘almost couple’ is something he could miss, that he’d ever long to feel the heat that would creep up his cheeks when their eyes met, to feel the nauseating butterflies flap in his stomach when she smiled at him or the jolt of nervous energy that would rip through him whenever their fingers accidentally grazed each other’s under tables or in corridors.

Yet now that those little things are beyond his grasp, he’s desperate for them again, desperate for her. It might be easier to miss her if she were gone, rather than just sitting at the other end of the Slytherin table, or across the room during classes, it would be easier not to see her, the constant reminder of what he’s allowed him self to ruin.

They weren’t supposed to get along, every conflicting personality trait dooming them to a life as enemies. Everyone knows her, the ‘nice’ Slytherin. It’s a title given to her by her classmates, the too-cocky Gryffindors who can’t see past Slytherin’s bad reputation as bullies and snobs, a bad-reputation fuelled by Draco Malfoy himself.

No one could have expected them to end up the way they did, dates in Hogsmeade or hushed conversations by the common room fire in the early hours of the morning and afternoons spent by the lake. No one could have expected them to get along so well.

Draco knows that everyone has expected this though, for them to fall apart before they’ve even had the chance to begin. It’s what they’ve expected of him all along after all, to break her heart.

He’s pretty sure he hasn’t got the right to be looking for her like this, seeking her out desperately to get her back, once again deluded into believing he ever had her in the first place. He’s the one who called it off in a moment of certainty that it was the right thing to do, a selfless act. And so it’s wrong for him to be here right now, back in their secret spot.

She’s exactly where he assumed she would be, curled beneath the tree she was always affectionately calling theirs. His entire body tenses painfully at the sight of her, face hidden in her palms and body shaking, not from the cold, but from the trembling of barely silenced sobs.

He wonders if it’s his racing heart that she can hear that alerts her to his presence and has her looking up from her hands, teary eyes meeting his in surprise. Then, she pulls her brows into a well-justified scowl and a lump forms in Draco’s throat that he can’t seem to swallow.

“What are you doing here?”

An incredibly valid question for which Draco can only provide selfish answers. It seems silly to tell her that he’s hear to win her back, and futile given her growing anger. Yet he won’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t, miserable without her.

“I miss you.” He gulps honestly. “Truthfully, I’ve been a mess without you.”

“Merlin, Draco.” She gasps out a laugh of disbelief. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you started ignoring me. Frankly, that isn’t really my issue.”

“I know.” He sighs apologetically. “I know, I didn’t mean-“

“Just get it over with, Draco.” She rolls her eyes. “Say your piece and leave me alone.”

He nods, taking hesitant steps forward towards her, the frost coated grass crunching under foot. She avoids his eyes as he takes a seat beside her, staring determinedly at her lap and making a conscious attempt to hide the quickly accumulating tears.

“Aren’t you cold?”

She lets out a loud exasperated sigh and refuses him an answer. He agrees with the sentiment of it, regretted the stupidity of it the minute it left his lips. Still, he leans forward to pull the Slytherin scarf from his neck and twists himself to allow him to wrap it loosely around hers, fussing with it until he’s reassured that she’ll be warmer for it.

“You looked cold.”

“Tis’ the season.” She mumbles sarcastically.

Her sarcasm is another thing he’s missed from her, and it draws a momentary smile to his face. Then, the moment is over, and his eyes have fixed on the tear stains painting her cheeks, proof of his own fatal mistake.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

She scoffs.

“Two weeks overdue.”

“I know.” He agrees sheepishly. “I know, (Y/N).”

“Then why are you only here now?” She questions. “Why did you do it in the first place? You can’t just act like you have feelings for someone then disappear and ignore them for weeks!”

Her voice wobbles and cracks at the end, much to her own dismay, and each breath she takes is jagged in the way one’s always is when trying to conceal tears. He watches her press the balls of her palm to her eyes in frustration, letting out a small whimper that has every inch of him aching with remorse.

Part of him, a self-preserving part, tells him to lie. It’s a side of himself he’s grown to hate recently, the side that pushed him into this mess in the first place, and so he knows better than to bargain with it again. So, with a deep breath, he chooses to tell the truth, he chooses to be vulnerable.

“I’m not good enough.”

Although exhaled in a whisper the revelation is startlingly loud. Perhaps its due to the serene quiet always felt on crisp cold days like today, where the sun hangs low in the sky and the lake lies unimaginably still, or perhaps it’s the raw honestly in the statement that makes it seem so alarmingly bold.

She blinks at him, lips parting in surprise and brows furrowing in confusion or concern, Draco isn’t sure. He can hear his pulse in his ears, a slight trembling in his hands that he knows has nothing to do with the chilly breeze. He’s done something profound, terrifying even, and opened that vulnerably part of himself to someone, with no control over what happens to it next.

“What?” She manages.

“Everyone knows it, (Y/N).” He explains nervously. “I’m a terrible match for you.”

“Who the hell is everyone” She frowns. “Since when did they matter?”

There is a certain protective edge to her voice that he doesn’t deserve, but it replays itself in his head over and over, clinging to it for hope. It takes him a moment to let it go again, to push it down and answer.

“They’re right.” He sighs. “You’re too good a person for me, I’m too Slytherin.”

The concern instantly leaves her eyes, she sits forward with an urgent look of disbelief and another of her signature scoffs. She’s giving him an inspective look, trying to figure out if he’s serious, or if he’s suddenly picked up a new, strange sense of humour.

“You’re kidding, right?”

He isn’t quite sure what to say and his silence fuels another disbelieving shake of her head.

“I am a Slytherin, Draco.” She exclaims. “No matter what those big-headed Gryffindors are always saying, I was sorted into Slytherin and I’m proud of it- you’re supposed to be proud too, not agreeing with those stupid stereotypes.”

“It’s different.” He exhales in frustration. “I am those stupid stereotypes!”

Draco Malfoy has never been considered modest.

Self-confidence isn’t a trait earned in the Malfoy family clan, but rather inherited between generations, a birth right bestowed upon them the minute they are old enough to understand. It’s a confidence Draco has always been comfortably protected by, unwaveringly sure of his own self-importance gifted to him by his ancestors

Yet something about the infamously kind (Y/N) (Y/L/N) has him constantly falling apart at the seams with the need to be good enough for her. He’s never met anyone like her, no one so capable of making him question the unwarranted self-importance he was raised on as a Malfoy.

Even now, wrapped unceremoniously in his scarf, late falling orange leaves lying in her hair and her cheeks stained with tears, he’s never felt so undeserving of a person in his life. She’s a lady, and he’s just a boy, he’s heartbreakingly inadequate.

“I just want to be someone you can be proud to call yours.”

With his eyes solemnly fixed on his lap, anywhere other than her reaction, he jumps slightly at her cold fingertips on his hand, prying them from the tightly curled fists he has no recollection of clenching and slipping her fingers into his.

“Draco, look at me.” She pleads softly. “Please.”

He does so slowly with her encouraging squeeze of his hand, she’s smiling at him, sympathetic, but unpatronizing.

“I am proud.” She states softly, but confidently. “I don’t want some perfect golden boy, I want you, Draco.”

Three words he never knew he needed from her, ‘I want you’, and they fill a space in his chest that was gaping for reassurance. She’s amazed him again as she always does, she has a talent for making him speechless than no one else has ever mastered.

“You’re so harsh on yourself you haven’t even realised how much you’ve grown, Draco.” She informs. “You’re not the bully you used to be, you’re not the carbon copy of your father anymore, and I’m sorry that no one has allowed you to move on from your past to see your present.”

She smiles sheepishly at his dumfounded expression and gives him the moment he needs to collect his thoughts and process it all. Then, slowly, he’s shaking his head in surprise, letting out a soft sigh.

“You’re too good to me.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” She jokes. “I think I straightened that misconception out already.”

“No but- you’re just so…”

The heat burning his cheeks is worse than ever before, he feels almost overwhelmed by it all, her compliments, her smile, that genuine look in her eyes that convinces him she’s unwaveringly sure of every word she’s said.

“Thank you.” He blurts finally. “Especially after I- well I ruined it all.”

“Yeah, I won’t lie, you really fucked up.” She admits. “But you’ve made an honest recovery…”

“Thank you for giving me a second chance.” He exhales gratefully. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“I was going to tell you to piss off after the ‘are you cold’ bit to be honest.” She chuckles. “Stayed because you gave me your scarf- which I’m stealing by the way.”

“Take it.” He urges, a smile finding his lips for what he’s sure is the first time in two weeks, since his misguided decision to end their almost-relationship. “Take whatever you want from me, it’s yours.”

She lets out a shaky breath and gulps. She purposely drops her gaze momentarily to his lips before retuning them to his eyes again, a gesture that has his eyes widening and the tips of his ears turning scarlet. Slipping her fingers from between his, she tentatively cups one of his cheeks, fingertips grazing the red colour blossoming on his pale skin.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I-“ He chokes. “Yes.”

She smiles nervously, reassuring him that he’s not the only one flustered. Then, curling her free hand around the lapel of his jacket, she pulls him closer with eyes shut. Their lips are cold when they meet, and slightly chapped by the cool air, but neither care. Draco places a hand on her waist, pulling her somehow closer as their lips begin to move hesitantly together. She lets out a soft content sigh, sending a breath of warm air into the kiss and causing him to positively melt inside. She’s done it again, completely incapacitated him with such a simple thing as a kiss.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He exhales.

She lets out a giddy laugh as she pulls back, forehead still pressed to his and eyes still shut.

“There are worst ways to go than my lips.”

He knows, he’s very quickly decided that’s the only way he ever wants to go. She presses her lips to his again for a split second before pulling back completely, he aches for the feeling again, greedy for it now that he’s felt it once.

“Next time, talk to me.” She pleads. “If you ever feel like you’re not good enough, I’ll be there to convince you otherwise, but don’t just disappear.”

“I won’t.” He assures. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know that, Draco.” She smiles sadly. “I just want you to know that you can talk to me.”

“I do.”

The hard part, that initial step, is over. He’s leapt into the unknown, flung himself into the terrifying depths of vulnerability, and there is no going back, but he never wants to, he never wants to leave her again.

“Also if I ever hear you speaking shit about our house again I swear to-“

She’s cut off by his lips once again on hers, startled only for a minute before she’s grinning, grateful to see his confidence returning. She can feel his own grin on her lips and the vibrations of a light laugh before he’s pulling back again.

“Consider me warned.”

“Good.” She exhales. “Or I’ll be confiscating your tie next.”

(Authors note: its not my favourite but if i rewrote it one my time i was flinging my laptop out my window... its not particularly proofread.)

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco x reader #draco malfoy fan fic #draco imagine #draco malfoy angst

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fallenrepublick · 3 years

Note

So I’ve been thinking about my government assigned boy Brutus. What if, early in the relationship, Brutus’ s/o starts to think that Brutus would prefer if they were less sunny and chatty or “obnoxious” as Brutus would put it. So they retreat into themselves and clam up, and are less affectionate. How would Brutus react to this?

-Lurker Anon

LURKER YOU'RE BEING ANGSTY AT ME AGAIN

... Fine

At the very beginning, it's simple confusion. You must be planning something for you to be so suddenly silent like this, or perhaps you're even trying to spite for something he's done by giving him the silent treatment. So he responds with the usual snark, his frown turning to soft skepticism.

"Hey. The hell are you so quiet for?" he asks, arms similarly crossed, suddenly annoyed at the lack of a voice to fill the room.

"Nothing, sorry..." you say in practically a whisper, offering a small, horribly unnatural smile before turning away and taking your leave. Surely, you think, he doesn't want you there, doesn't want you taking so much space if you aren't going to have any use for him at the moment.

But he stands alone, watching you walk away, frown only growing deeper, eyes scanning the floor absentmindedly as he tries to consider what just happened. No grin. No laugh. No hug and not even a touch on his arm. Nothing. Nothing.

You left, you left as fast as possible, and maybe, if he didn't know what that meant in other cases, if he didn't know so much fear, perhaps he would never have come to this conclusion. But he sees it, that fear, discomfort of the idea of being around him. He did something. He's done something, he's still doing something, and he doesn't know what. You're afraid of him, you're growing to hate him just like he knew you would, just like what was meant to happen. You're going to say it. You're going to leave. You're going to leave him, because he's cruel. He's hurt you. He knew he would hurt you.

For a few days, it goes on like this. Deafening silence, his fear at being left behind at any given moment only growing stronger and filling his mind at all hours of the day. It tears him apart, ripping at his seams and pulling off his mask in ways he's never felt. What did he do? How could he do this and still not know the cause? How dare he hurt you. You should never be hurt, he promised you wouldn't be hurt... how is this protecting you?

He does find you, stands in front of you, who's seemed to all but resigned yourself to an uncharacteristic silence. He doesn't like it. He hates it. Say something. Say something, please.

"I'm... sorry..." he says, keeping his face turned down to the floor, tightening his hands into fists to keep them from visibly shaking. Best to make him think it's working. "I'm sorry for... hurting you. I'm sorry... I always do it, I'm sorry... do what you want to me, just... go back to the way it was... don't... don't leave..."

You watch him struggle, the small bit of his face you can see contorting in a nearly physical pain at the thoughts he voices. And though you have your reservations, still not wanting to intrude or bother him, you simply can't watch him do this to himself.

"Brutus, no..." you say, standing and stepping forward to meet him. Your hands hold his head, fingers curving around the sharp bend of his jawline, ensuring he looks at you. "You haven't hurt me, it's not like that. I just..."

"I did. I must have, just as I always do." His voice is so soft, so full of fear that he hates to show. Yet he shows it to you now.

"No," you repeat again, "I thought... that I bothered you, that you would have been happier if I were quieter or more absent. I never meant to leave or... make you feel alone..."

He pauses a moment, barely understanding. But he looks back up, determined confidence in his next words displayed over his fading grief. "But... But I love it."

You don't respond. Not yet. Yet your eyes widen, and he continues despite your shock.

"Your voice. When... when you talk... just to me... or smile, or hug even though I push you away. I don't... mean it, really... Don't change... gods... don't change."

He's so frightened when you kiss him, so afraid of making the wrong move, doing the wrong thing. But you're gentle, and he can feel the change in your heartbeat even from the small gaps between your bodies. Not even another word has to be said. He knows the truth.

#brutus

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iamtheblondestblonde · 4 years

Text

Missed You This Much

AN: So apparently I am a porn director now. This literally has no plot whatsoever and if my grandma were still alive I’d certainly get an earful for it buuuuuuut I thought you guys might enjoy.

Word count: 4.6k (go off)

Warnings: ALL the warnings, this is literal filth like I’m talking about unprotected sex, choking, size kink kinda, sex toys and overstimulation in a way that takes doing the dirty literal (not even gonna mention the language at this point) - obviously nsfw below the cut

- Have fun ya filthy animals (and wrap it before you tap it!) -

His hand on your back was slowly but surely becoming unbearable.

You wanted to curse the idiot that had the absolutely genius idea of having a team event the night of the boys’ return from a long trip in a way that would make every single sailor on this planet blush worse than anything your Orgasm blush from NARS could ever achieve. And you loved that blush to death.

But instead of taking your beautiful and amazing boyfriend straight to bed like you had wanted to since the day he’d left – which was 10 long days ago by the way – you had to put on a full face and bear mingling with the executives all night. More than one time you’d thought of somewhat inconspicuous ways to sneak off with your boyfriend so you could have your way with him but to your dismay nothing had worked out.

From the looks of it Mikko wasn’t doing any better. More than one time his hand had rested a bit lower on your back than what could possibly be considered acceptable in public. The back of your dress, or rather the lack thereof, had allowed him to feel you up in a way that had gotten you from 0 to 100 real quick.

Usually you weren’t one to get riled up quite like that by the simple action of his palm right above your ass but something had been in the air tonight. Perhaps it was because you hadn’t gotten to trail your hands over his glorious naked skin in way too long but something about the way his hand spanned the entire width of your lower back had you mentally panting at the mere memory of the way it had felt.

It didn’t exactly help that Mikko had stepped into the location looking like an absolute snack. All 6’4” of him were wrapped in your favorite suit and the smile that had lit up his face as soon as he had spotted you with some of the other wives and girlfriends had lit the room in a way that no chandelier could.

He’d worn the tie you’d tied for him before the trip because he still refused to do it himself even though you’d long taught him and it brought a smile to your lips that rivaled his own. Because you were in a public place there wasn’t a heated make out session to welcome him back but the way he had hugged you close after a short but sweet kiss with your face nestled against his chest in a way that wouldn’t ruin the look you had carefully curated for the night was no less affectionate.

The next hours had been nothing short of torture, you could see it on everyone’s faces. While the guys (and girls for that matter) usually didn’t mind the mingling and networking that was the norm for such events it was more than obvious that tonight no one was in the mood for it. Everyone just wanted to celebrate the successful road trip that had just come to an end, preferably in a bedroom if one were to ask you.

By the time it was finally acceptable to make an exit Mikko had practically dragged you towards the car, barely taking his time to ask where you’d even parked it. He had to slow down eventually though because you were no match to his incredibly long stride in your heels.

You’d gotten lots of smug looks on your way out – Josty, Burky and JT even going as far as to cat call the two of you in front of everyone – but you knew that it was only out of envy. Gabe had only barely managed to not say anything and that was only because Mel and him were antsy to get out of there themselves.

Sitting in the passenger seat gave you the freedom to let your thoughts wander to what was about to come, making you shudder in anticipation. Mikko noticed, of course, and his right hand immediately inched up from its usual place on your mid-thigh to the very top. You were convinced that if your dress would allow it you’d already have him where you needed him the most but unfortunately you’d only thought of the way it made your body look and not how practical it would be.

His white-knuckled tight grip on the steering wheel revealed that he himself was already further along in the timeline of the night in his mind and in the dim lighting from the interior and the passing city lights you could definitely see that he was already beginning to strain against his pants. For a minute you contemplated asking him to pull over and to just have his way with you right here in the car, it definitely wouldn’t be the first time, but you wanted to savor this night and not rush it.

Besides, no matter how big Mikko’s car was, there was just no way to actually do it in here comfortably, backseat included.

So you waited, rather less than more patient, and endured what would arguably be the most charged minutes of your life so far.

The second Mikko pulled into the designated parking spot of your shared apartment the both of you couldn’t make it to your door fast enough. In a mad dash you practically ran to the elevator and since it basically was the middle of the night neither of you gave a shit that there might actually be someone else in this building that could set a foot in the elevator. Thankfully no one did but the two of you still put on quite a show.

Mikko had you pressed against a wall, one leg pushed in between yours and hands gripping your face tightly as he practically devoured you right there in the tiny metal box. You were moaning already, so needy and touch-starved from the past few days and the racked up anticipation from the past few hours. Your hands had already managed to loosen his tie and to push his jacket off his shoulders by the time the little bell announced that you had reached your floor.

It was times like this that made you incredibly thankful for modern technology because instead of fumbling around with a key, something that would have definitely taken an amount of tries in the double digits between the two of you in your current state, you only had to hold up your key card to the scanner before the door opened and you were finally home.

Mikko had left his bags in the car, something you were grateful for right now because it allowed you to continue where you left off earlier without a hassle but you would definitely regret as soon as you had to wash his sweaty gym clothes after the delay. He didn’t even let you get a step into your apartment before pushing you up against the back of your front door while somehow kicking off his shoes at the same time.

“I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea”, he practically growled against your skin as he dropped his head to suck along your neck while simultaneously sneaking one hand around your body to find the zipper of your dress.

“Oh yeah? Ho much exactly?”, you teased back but the light tone you had intended to use was lost because of the way his lips made you whimper. He grabbed your right hand with his free one and shoved it down towards his crotch where the outline of him now fully erect was threatening to rip the seam of his pants.

“This much. Feel how hard you make me babe.”

And feel you did.

He groaned as you made contact, slowly running your nails over the fabric the way you knew drove him absolutely wild. Unfortunately you couldn’t keep doing that forever, otherwise you’d get nowhere tonight because you needed both hands to unbutton his shirt. He had located your zipper by now as well and was hurriedly pushing it down, only stepping back far enough to access it before crowding you back against the wood as he pulled the fabric down.

You stepped out of your dress, careful for it to not get caught up in your heels and immediately Mikko took the chance to explore every inch of newly exposed skin with his hands. You couldn’t let him have all the fun though because you had finally – finally – unbuttoned his shirt all the way. The city lights streaming in through the window made any additional lighting unnecessary as you took in the beautiful body of your boyfriend.

The Sistine Chapel had nothing on him and his body belonged right up there with ‘The Starry Night’ and ‘The Kiss’, every inch of creamy skin just as beautiful as anything a master of the arts could possibly create. You could get lost in his broad shoulders, and you often did, but seeing him tonight after so much time apart was truly something special.

“If you don’t do anything but stare at me real fast I’m going to spank you woman”, his voice was low and his tone revealed that he was only somewhat serious but nevertheless you took a step closer until your bodies touched again. Even with heels on he was still so much taller than you so you had to stand on your very tippy toes and pull him down towards you at the same time so you could whisper in his ear:

“We both know that I wouldn’t object to that, it wouldn’t be the first time after all.”

His groan was music to your ears and you squealed as he swiftly picked you up like you weighed nothing and wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom. You were closer to eye level like this and Mikko’s mouth immediately found yours as he held you close, his strong arms never once making you doubt his ability to manhandle you without incident. He would rather thro himself on the floor to cushion your fall than drop you.

Only a close to unhealthy amount of practice in this particular aspect of foreplay made your journey to the bedroom safe. The first few times had definitely resulted in a few bumps and bruises but neither you had cared at the time, too distracted with everything else going on.

What no one might suspect was the fact that your usually uncoordinated and constantly-stumbling boyfriend was anything but in all things bedroom. He had a kind of control over his body that most men could only dream of and to say you were excited to get to experience it again first-hand tonight was probably the understatement of the century.

With an air of expertise that made you think he was paid to do this instead of chasing a puck across ice he flicked on the one lamp you liked to turn on during sex because of the warm glow it created without even breaking the kiss. He was still wearing his pants and on the way here they had created some delicious friction but now he was sitting down on the edge of the bed with you still perched on his lap.

His hands had taken a hold of your ass and he was helping you to slowly grind against him, the both of you so far gone already by now.

“Did you think of me while I was gone?” While his question might sound sweet to the unknowing ear, you knew what he was playing at.

“Yes Mik, multiple times. I really tried but nothing feels as good as when you’re with me.” He knew this already because he’d gotten his fair share of pictures but you were more than happy to provide an answer.

“Oh yeah? Did you touch yourself thinking about the time we did it in the kitchen right before I left?” Even if it weren’t for his hands slowly outlining your lacy bra and barely grazing your nipples you couldn’t prevent the moan that escaped your lips at his words.

You had – in fact – thought about the way he’d taken you on the kitchen counter that faithful morning and the images that now flooded your thoughts again had you literally dripping. Mikko could feel it too, the way you were drenching his pants and underwear right now and while it was annoying that you had to take yet another suit to the dry cleaners to get rid of the stain his strangled moan was everything.

Then it was a frantic dash to rid him of his clothes as soon as possible as you both got up and you pulled down his slacks and boxers in one swoop, discarding both in some corner already forgotten.

You literally sighed at the sight of him now in his full naked glory before you, every inch of his muscular build exposed. It didn’t matter how many times you’d touched, sucked or felt his dick already, there was still always this moment of ‘oh my god’ whenever he dropped his pants. It made sense actually, Mikko was a huge guy so it shouldn’t really be a surprise that his dick was proportionate to his body but to see it in real life was something else entirely. To see it bouncing against his abdomen had your thoughts running a mile a minute and now you were more than impatient to feel full again.

It was as if he felt your anticipation but wanted to be a little shit about it because he now took his time in undressing you, dropping your bra straps at a pace that would have made a snail proud. It was sensual, of course, but you really needed him to hurry up right this second. You didn’t even know where he had suddenly found all of this self-control but you cursed whichever brain cells of his that were responsible for your misery.

An ice-age later he had finally rid you of the scrappy piece of fabric, eagerly exploring your boobs as if he hadn’t seen them over a hundred times already. He pushed you back onto the bed so you were spread out before him but when he moved to take your panties off at the same pace you finally drew the line.

“Mikko please, I just really really need you inside me. Like right now.”

He must have seen the desperation in your eyes because he finally let up, pulling your panties down at an acceptable speed and moving to hover over you. You thought you’d finally get your long-time wish but then he pulled back.

“Actually, can we try something?”, he asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Babe we can try anything you want right now as long as it means that I’ve got your dick inside of me within the next ten seconds.”

You almost thought he’d waste some of his precious given time with making a dirty joke like you knew he wanted to but instead he just moved towards your nightstand. Since you’d ditched condoms in favor of birth control a while ago and you were so dripping wet that you could probably cure the Californian drought so there really was no need for lube right now you knew there was nothing of value in those drawers, or so you thought. The same gleam was still in Mikko’s eyes when he turned back around to face you and you instantly recognized the item in his hand.

“I’ve thought about incorporating this ever since you sent me that one picture at the beginning of the trip. Needless to say I’ve had a couple of rough days behind me.”

Excitement bubbled up inside you and now the look in your eyes matched his. Mikko wasn’t one of those guys that got intimidated by sex toys and he’d even tried some of yours on you but you’d never actually used one during sex.

“I think I came up with a way how to best do this”, he mumbled as he stepped closer to you and you motioned for him to go ahead so he could show you the ropes. To your surprise he settled against the headboard of your bed, legs spread out in front of him. So far you weren’t really sure what his plan was exactly. He motioned for you to come closer and you obliged but as you moved to straddle his lap like you often did he stopped you.

“No babe, the other way.” His hands gently guided your hips and helped you straddle his thighs with your back facing his chest and your knees on either side of him. You moved to stroke him while the other hand dropped to fondle his balls but he quickly caught your wrists in his hands, effectively ceasing all movement. “Don’t please, I already won’t be able to last as long as I want to.”

With one swift movement Mikko lifted your hips off his thighs and moved you so you could align yourself and then he was finally inside you. Sinking down on him was already a feat in itself but with the change of position you could feel him reaching places that made your mind go blank. The both of you simultaneously groaned once he finally bottomed out and you took a couple of seconds to adjust to him filling you up like this.

Once his grip on your hips grew even tighter you knew you had to move or else your boyfriend would lose every ounce of self-control that was still left at this point. He gently guided you along as you slowly rotated your hips, the both of you moaning already. He took his time covering your neck and shoulders in kisses and every few seconds you could feel his teeth grazing your skin when he had to stop himself from just pounding up into you while you were still finding your groove.

“Look up babe, I want you to watch yourself”, he murmured in your ear and you slowly raised your head to meet his eyes in the mirror that was strategically placed across your bedroom. It had done you many good deeds already but tonight it was on a whole other level. This position was becoming one of your fast favorites already but to be able to watch Mikko lose himself in you was what would make this night so very memorable.

You watched his right hand pat around on the comforter before finding what he had been looking for, the silver vibe. The anticipation made you clench around him and he groaned and you wondered what it would be like once you both finally got to experience the real deal but thankfully you didn’t have to wait much longer until you’d find out.

Mikko kept the slow grinding pace that allowed him to go so incredibly deep as he switched on the vibe, it’s soft vibrations filling the room with a different kind of noise. He slowly raised it to your chest, first teasing one and then the other nipple with it while you couldn’t help the moans tumbling out of your mouth. Once he deemed the amount of attention your breasts had gotten enough for now he tapped the vibe against your lips. “Suck”, was his only command and obediently you opened your lips to wet the toy.

You tracked his movements in the mirror as he slowly dropped his hand towards where you needed it. The moment the vibe connected to your clit was honestly life changing. You immediately arched your back, trying to get more of that amazing feeling between your legs.

Mikkos left hand immediately shot up and wrapped itself around your neck, his long fingers engulfing it almost completely and effectively holding you still as he moved the vibe away.

“Oh God, Mikko more, please give me more”, you practically sobbed, begging him to continue.

“Shhh babe”, he soothed you before scooting the both of you away from the headboard a little. Then he leaned back again, his hand on your throat giving you no choice but to follow him so you were both now leaned back at an angle. With wild eyes you watched him move the vibe closer again and he obliged, placing the vibe back onto your clit while never once faltering in the agonizing but amazing pace at which he was grinding into you.

The change in angle had him grinding against your g spot and now your orgasm was coming at you with lightning speed. Mikko could tell so like the good boyfriend he was he kept doing the exact same thing while you tried to mentally prepare for the absolute tsunami that was about to crash over you.

With one last thrust from him the wave finally crested and your mind literally went blank as you thrashed in his lap, only his hand stopping you from entering a whole other dimension. It felt as if the high would never end and with the vibe still buzzing against your most sensitive part and Mikko keeping up his pace you had only barely come down when your second orgasm hit, detonating like a bomb yet again.

Mikko was moaning loudly below you, trying his best not to blow his load as your walls spasmed around him for the second time and almost failing but somehow pulling through. You had drenched his entire lap and he could feel the slow trickle of your juices down the sides of his thighs, not that he minded.

After two close orgasms like this you needed a second to regroup so you weakly pushed his hand with the vibrator away, the sensation too much now. All energy had left your body and you were a ragdoll in his lap, panting like you’d just crossed the finish line at a marathon.

“Holy fuck Y/N, that was… just wow. Do you want me to take over?”, he asked, knowing full well that you weren’t able to stay on top like this right now. You couldn’t even form any coherent sentences right now if you tried so you only nodded, allowing him to lift you off of him and set you on the mattress so only your ass was in the air.

“You look so good like this, I think about you every second when I’m gone. You’re always on my mind.”

You reached back and Mikko knew exactly what you needed, lacing your hands with his own and dropping them next to you before carefully entering you again. The first few times he’d been worried to continue after you were in your blissful post-orgasm state but you’d explained him many times that you liked being at his complete mercy like this, for him to basically use you in whichever way he wanted to.

So when he bottomed out in you once again you only led out a blissful sigh, happy to have him so close to you. He moved slow but calculated, hitting deep every time before pulling out all the way only to enter him once again. He kept this pace for a while, giving you enough time to pull yourself together a little after the mind-blowing ordeal you had just been through.

“You think you got one more in you?”, he asked, voice definitely strained from keeping this antagonizing pace for so long.

“Let’s find out.” He let go of one hand to reach for the vibe again, setting it on a lower setting than it had been before so you could ease back into it.

“Can you hold it yourself babe?” He dropped it into your hand then, moving to settle both of his hands on your hips. You shifted a little until you found a comfortable position where you could reach down and let out a content groan as soon as you felt the vibrations again. You’d thought that you would be too spent for this by now but to your surprise you were actually holding up pretty well, an orgasm just below the horizon.

Mikko slammed into you then, pulling out a little before bottoming out again on the next thrust, both of your moans far louder than the little vibrator in your hand. You arched your back as he kept up his almost brutal pace, his hands tightening with every thrust and you were sure he’d leave bruises yet again but you certainly didn’t mind with the amount of pleasure he was currently giving you.

It didn’t take long until the combination of his powerful thrusts and the vibrations on your clit had you teetering towards the edge yet again.

“Mikko I’m so close”, you panted, slightly worried that he wouldn’t hear you over the sound of everything happening right now.

“No. Not yet. Hold it back and wait for me, I want to feel you pulse around me.”

His demand was clear and yet you let out a frustrated whine because your orgasm was right there and you honestly didn’t know how much longer you could stop it from approaching.

The stutter in his thrusts gave you hope because it meant that he wasn’t far behind you either so you turned your head so you could watch him in the mirror. His bottom lip was pulled in between his teeth and his brows were slightly knit as he chased his orgasm in desperation, every muscle in his body flexed tightly.

“Fuck baby cum for me now”, he rasped out and you finally let yourself fall over the edge, loud moans tumbling out of your mouth as he thrust inside you one, two, three more times before burying himself inside you and throwing his head back in pleasure with a guttural groan. His jaw went slack as he stilled inside you, filling you up with his cum and only heightening the sensations of your own orgasm. It was as if someone had exchanged your blood for gasoline, heat racing through your entire body and leaving everything heightened and trembling.

Your legs gave out from under you and Mikko followed you down onto the mattress but careful not to crush you with his weight. For a few moments you just lay there, the both of you basking in what had just happened. You let out a content hum as he reached up to brush your hair out of your face, his soft touch in such stark contrast to his bruising grip only seconds ago.

But that was the thing about your boyfriend, he might go crazy in the bedroom sometimes – which you obviously loved – but he was still the gentle giant you had fallen in love with all those months ago. And you’d endure all the height difference jokes in the world if it meant that he would stay with you forever.

Your sweet and mushy thoughts were slowly but surely interrupted by a buzz and both Mikko and you turned towards the source of the noise, him still deep inside you but slowly softening. He picked up the small vibe that you must have carelessly discarded at some point during your orgasm and switched it off. Carefully he pulled out of you and you already missed the feeling but took his outstretched hand to help you stand nevertheless.

Mikko raised the now turned off toy towards his face before saying:

“You have been a trusty friend and we’ll definitely use you again but first this beautiful young lady and I have to shower. I hope that’s okay for you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he was actually having a conversation with a sex toy because it was so typical of him. And you wouldn’t have him, or this, any other way.

AN Part 2: I 10/10 recommend trying all of the above ;)

#i am actually kinda proud of that #wrote it all in one swoop #so it's unedited i'm sorry #but i hope you still like it #mikko rantanen #mikko rantanen smut #nhl smut #hockey smut #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey writing #my writing #colorado avalanche #mikko rantanen x reader

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janekfan · 3 years

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Left Found

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248915

Hunger.

Honed and piercing.

So corrosive and corrupt and consuming it was a wonder it even fit inside him anymore. Or maybe it was because he didn’t want it inside him anymore. Wanted to sweat it out like a fever, burn it out like mold and rot, tear it out of himself with his bitten-short fingernails until he couldn’t hear its constant demands.

It wanted to burst from his throat and it was everything on a good day to keep it inside, away from the others, swallowed down, down, down like acid where it couldn’t bother anybody.

It was hard to know just how much something could hurt until you tried to hide it from the people who once knew you best.

Tim was fixing his lunch in the breakroom. Jon Knew that.

Unbidden, the memories came, unstoppable and swift. The ache grew stronger with each one.

Soft, warm pats on the back, a mutual embrace after completing a difficult deadline. Tim was, used to be, casual touch, easy and affectionate to a little brother replacing the one he’d lost fitting into the space left behind like it was Jon’s place to fit. Comfort and care and Tim could make this stop the ache the hurt the pounding buried in his scarred skin down to the bone.

Tim could be an answer. A balm for the flickering, dying candle flame Jon still cultivated, protected from the rush of an entire ocean filling up his ears as he sank, awful deep, to a place where even sunlight didn’t dare reach its trembling fingers.

Tim doesn’t want to see you.

It was true, but Jon was desperate, needy, on the brink of screaming or tears or both and he needed someone to please help him because surely he was falling apart at his strained and stretched seams, all his dirty, ugly stuffing on display for the Archives to See.

“T’Tim.” Underwater and kilometers away his voice caused Tim to jump, spoon clattering into the sink as he cursed and turned and glared.

“You look shite, Boss.” Jon thought of all the iterations of himself that had come before, that should have prepared him for this moment. He knew more than anything, anyone, how to want without letting anyone know. Knew how to be alone and make it seem as though it had always been his choice to be so. “Seriously, what do you want? If this is more of your paranoid, supernatural rubbish, Jon.” Angry, Tim stalked forward, Jon stepped unsteadily back. Surprised (scared) and still needing.

“I, I, uh, what are you doing?” And instead of easy camaraderie, static rose in his throat, clashed against his teeth and forced its way between pursed lips at the same time red rage rose in Tim’s face as he strained against the compulsion and failed, words so fraught that even if Jon had been paying attention he wouldn’t have understood. Tim’s arms came up to frame Jon’s face as his palms collided heavily with the wall he crowded him against and he couldn’t hide his flinch.

“What. The fuck!?”

“I, I, I--”

“I, I,” he mocked, “Not enough to spy? You need to force it out of me? The fuck!” And Jon flinched again, cowering in the shadow of Tim’s bulk, breath too fast and pulse hammering in his head. “Christ, Jon.” And he hung his head, jaw so tight his molars were grinding together and for a moment Jon was sure he was going to be struck, bracing for it. Instead he stumbled as Tim shoved him roughly away and that was wrong. Tim didn’t do that and here Jon, stupid, stupid, stupid, had pushed him far enough. Another large hand smacked against his shoulder blade and he almost lost his footing, dizzied and sick and grateful when Tim didn’t follow him to his office. It was there he let himself go, let the tears come as he hid his stinging eyes in folded arms. He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t...it just slipped out and he was sorry.

He wouldn’t be believed.

The burn of where Tim had pushed him was distracting and disquieting, stealing the stale air from his lungs and binding the too small cage of his ribs in knotted, tangled twine.

Not for the first time, Jon longed for the relief that would accompany his giving in to the monster, gathering up all his multitudinous selves and rejoicing in the hideous nature that would be his and his alone. Leave his friends (not your friends any longer) and embrace this transformation with the finality of the damned. After all, despite inumerable attempts to right all his wrongs, they knew his living in the world brought an irreparable damage. Jon existed at too steep a cost and the debt was becoming so heavy it was crushing his bones to sand in its punishing fist.

For now, he existed in the awful, liminal space between choices, an agony so deep seated and the sheer, impossible need, pulled like taffy in too many directions. Was this the end of things? No more kind touch. No one to be careful with him when he felt already so fragile.

Why did he have to make himself so hard to love?

“Ah!” His tailbone ached as he hit the ground sending sparks of sharp pain up his spine. “I’I’m sorry!”

“Shut your mouth!” Jon raised his arm to shield his face, breath heaving in shuddering gasps. He hadn’t meant it, he hadn’t, he hadn’t. What was wrong with him? “You alright?” Basira looked shaken, eyes just this side of too wide as Daisy ran rough fingers over her cheek, examining her closely, brows furrowed.

“Yeah.” She seemed dazed. He’d done that. Not on purpose. Never on purpose. Not to the people he loved. “Yeah, I’m alright.” Daisy nodded, that same unhinged look in her hard expression.

“Bas--”

“I said. Shut. Your mouth.” And he swallowed another apology, lurching to his feet and fleeing before Daisy could hit him again. Clumsy, he rushed through narrow corridors, colliding at the corners in his attempt to put more distance between them until he finally began to flag. He’d made it into the stacks, surrounded by boxes of statements like beacons begging him to look inside. Find the real ones. Read them. Taste them.

Consume.

He deserved this.

Jon didn’t know how long he sat there curled around his knees before Martin found him, but he was stiff and hurting, head pounding and stomach rolling from the heat buried in his skin, trying to claw its way out.

“Jon?” He must’ve looked up, because he was looking straight at Martin with the sudden realization that he had him boxed in between the shelves. “Hey,” calm, soft, talking down a wild animal but there were only the two of them here. “You don’t look well.” What was he talking about?

“M’fine.” His tongue was thick in his mouth, words of treacle and like a tide, Martin drifted in and out, Jon’s head was too heavy for his own neck.

“Jon?” Suddenly, a pale hand was reaching for him and he panicked. “Jon!” Shouting and loud and angry(?).

“Go away!” Static and bitterness flooded Jon’s throat, rushed to strangle him, and he coughed, sputtering, black coating his fingers as he tried to stop another accidental compulsion. He couldn’t bear to look up and witness the betrayal he knew he’d placed there and instead leaned forward to lose the ink threatening to choke him, watching it pool like an oil slick around his fingers.

“Jon!”

I’m sorry.

“Jon?”

I’m scared.

“Leave me alone!”

“Jon!” Fading, being carried away by struggling steps. “Jon!!” He clapped sticky hands over his ears until he was alone again.

Martin is kind to you.

Because he fears you.

Even if you let him help, he’ll leave you. Hurt you. You’ve ruined everything, you always do. You’re hurting them. You keep hurting them.

He wrapped his arms so tightly around himself, until his fingers were dug into his flesh, sucking down a heaving lung full of air because he’d forgotten how to breathe with all his wanting. Cracking apart, letting things in that he kept trying desperately to keep out, out, out.

Exhaustion caught him up despite how fast he ran from it, trapped him in a current he couldn’t control. Whirling eddies and rip tides left him gasping, sore all over from failing to hold on to something, anything to steady himself. Just get to the next second. One at a time. Unable to think of the full moment.

And he looked up into a kind and familiar face creased in concern.

Martin.

“Hullo, Jon.” Soft, so soft. Kneeling beside him. “Shh, you’re alright. I’m not angry with you.” He kept quiet. The buzzing was there, the Eye was demanding he ask, tell, order.

“Martin?” Shaky and small and closing his eyes against the touch of a palm against his forehead.

“You’re burning up.” The clot of fear, ink and ash, stopped up his voice box and kept him silent, barely clinging to the shreds of whatever he had left. Jon wanted to take Martin’s soft attention and turn his focus elsewhere, at someone more deserving than he could ever be. “You need to rest. You’re not well.”

Not well.

A cool flannel swept over his face leaving bliss in its wake before moving to envelop each finger, rid it of the tacky, drying blotches. Wary, he watched Martin’s deft hands fold the cloth to hide the mess, setting it aside.

“I’m going to take you home. You shouldn’t be alone, not right now.”

“M’m…” He wasn’t safe, he couldn’t control the Beholding. Even now it was feeding him information, rooting around in Martin’s head for things that didn’t belong to it. Luckily, Jon couldn’t hold on to any of it as he was, wearied and wasted.

“You didn’t mean it. You aren’t thinking clearly, not with a fever like that.” The words washed over him, soothing and soft. Martin shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be kind to him like this when Jon would only take it and twist it into something terrible. But he was being lifted to his feet, the rest of the world following along a beat behind in his crowded vision, and Martin had to catch him when his knees buckled under him. “Alright, steady, I’ve got you.” With Martin doing the majority of the work, they waded through pools of emergency lighting between empty desks, everyone long gone home by now. He didn’t remember the cab ride, now standing cold and shivering at the bottom of the set of stairs leading up to Martin’s flat. Glancing up, overwhelmed and overwrought, the thought of climbing them drew a sob from his tight chest.

Warmth at his elbow made him balk, eyes wide and searching when Martin held up his hands in a placating gesture, moving slowly and with calm, obvious intent. He was speaking. Jon could see his lips moving, but it didn’t make any sense and when the Eye reached blindly for it an icepick lodged itself firmly behind his ear. The next time Martin went to touch him, the effort he put in to avoid it ended with him twisting up his feet together and all he could do was watch the ground rise up to meet him. If he hit the floor he didn’t remember, prying apart heavy lids to take in unfamiliar walls.

Not alone.

Before he could panic, Martin crouched beside where he was laid out on a sofa, removing his shoes and smiling gently when he caught him staring.

“It’s okay.” Calm. Quiet. “It’s okay.” Again. Infinitely softer. The backs of steady fingers brushing against his forehead and when Jon closed his eyes against his kindness, tears slipped down his cheeks. “It’s okay.” And he let himself believe it, the relief heady and stealing away the last of his resolve. “Let’s get you tucked up and warm, hm? Slow now, that’s good.” The babble was comforting, easy to drift along in the current, and he let Martin tell him what to do, accepting the water, the tablets, and drinking both down. Allowing Martin to manhandle him into soft clothes to replace his stained ones. “Lay back, try to sleep.”

Martin’s bed.

Before he himself knew he’d moved, the sleeve of Martin’s jumper was tight in his trembling grip. He could feel it, his expression twisting up, ugly and disgusting, lips pressed tightly together to keep his begging in, to trap the want. Trap it behind teeth and tongue until Martin realized what he’d done and kicked him out.

Then he could let go again. Where no one could see how badly he needed.

“It’s okay.” The soft pass through his sweat damp and tangled curls undid the rest of him. “What do you need?” A sob, a laugh, a burst of static that made both of them wince. Desperate. And his crying stopped all else. A stillness descending so thick and deep it felt like drowning, throat blocked up with ink and sorrow and impossible agony.

Arms wrapped around him. Tight, hot bands of iron and despite the strength with which he was held it became easier to breathe and he gulped down air sweeter than anything he’d known in a long time.

It was dark. Darker than it had been before and he was something far beyond tired. Wrung out and stretched thin, unspooled like fine wire. Gradually, sensation trickled in. The scent of tea from the breakroom. Wash worn wool. Gentle hands. He was moving, just slightly. Swaying.

Small sounds he couldn’t parse fell like rain, soft and warm.

Laid carefully down, like he was a precious, breakable thing. Wrapped up, legs and limbs and warm, warm, warm. Greedy, selfish, he drank it in, clinging to Martin in the velvet dark, hand to hand, skin to skin, and it still wasn’t enough. How could it be when he’d gone so long without. When he’d never known anything else.

Hunger. Always there.

Even before he’d been cursed with this awful gift.

Gnawing and persistent but quieting in the wake of the grounding beat of Martin’s heart, everywhere and all around. In his own pulse, his blood, his body. His touch was fire to his frostbite; painful and so very good.

He wanted it. Wanted so badly to be warm again.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Jon buried his nose in Martin’s throat, shuddering under his hands. “Rest, Jon.”

Apricot light seeped between his lashes, lifting him up and out of sleep. His cheek was pillowed on Martin’s chest, the man’s fingers still buried in his hair.

It was gentle here. The static muted and buried under the quilts, no longer lurking, waiting for its chance to take.

“Fever’s down some.” But all the same he pressed him with more medicine before excusing himself to put the kettle on. Jon curled up in the warmth he left behind, clear headed and wondering, waking when Martin came back with tea and toast. “You should eat a little something.” Wordlessly, Jon opened his mouth. Closed it, worried that all he had left inside was the ability to compel, to steal. Martin busied himself with the meticulous application of jam on his toast and Jon appreciated the space. The patience he didn’t really deserve.

“Th’thank you. Martin.”

“How long have you been ill?” Jon shrugged one shoulder, forgoing his own toast and sipping on the tea instead.

“Thought.” What had he thought? He only remembered wanting. “I. I don’t know. It’s all…” he tried to gesture in a way that explained how twisted things had been with the fever and the hunger and the fog. It was lacking. “I’m sorry for--I, I didn’t m’mean to. I.”

Couldn’t control it.

Jon thought he could taste the ink threatening to make a reappearance and took another swallow. He felt somewhat better, still sick. Still worried.

“I’m not angry with you.” Jon stared into his tea. “Hey, look at me.” Martin lifted his chin with a touch. “I see you. I see you trying.” Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over only for Martin to brush them away. Jon set the cup aside and let himself fall into the broad chest, melt beneath the heavy hand cradling his head.

Safe.

Sated.

#TMA #the magnus archives #jon sims #martin blackwood #mental health issues #touch starved #tears #crying #accidental compulsion #fever #sickfic

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Hold Me Close – Hoseok

Pairing: Hoseok x reader (nicknamed Giggles)

Wordcount: 1.2 k

Genre: fluff, dating!AU, idol!AU

Rating: GP (general public)

Hello, my squirrels ✨ Welcome to your comforting bedtime story. I’ll be very brief since no warnings apply for this fic. Hoseok comes home after posting those adorable selcas of him wearing the teddy bear sweater. Giggles is eager to claim her special cuddle session. As they comfort each other physically, they also manage to heal each other from some negative thoughts and experiences (Giggles is a vet and one of the animals she was assisting passed from old age).

Unfortunately, my voice is not at its finest — I caught a cold because of the glacial temperatures that we’re having these days. I promise the audio version will come as soon as I’m okay 🥰💖

Also, let me dedicate this drabble to @hobisbeautifulass, since she’s been tortured lately (I’m hissing at you @joheun-saram) and poor sunshine Bella most definitely deserves some cuddles.

If you want more fics like these, check out the event’s Masterlist over here!

Now enjoy and sweet dreams ✨

You ran to the hall, almost dashing through the apartment, throwing yourself at Hoseok, who had just come home.

“Lemme see! I want to see it!” You exclaimed, almost ripping his coat off.

His first reaction was alarm, as usual, but shortly after he was suddenly hit by a revelation and his face lit up in joy.

“Oh, Giggles!” He cooed as you rubbed your face against the teddy bear stitched to his sweater.

“So cute…” You swooned, closing your eyes and smiling adorably. “I didn't see it this morning,” you reminded him, your morning shift making you leave way before he even needed to get dressed.

He pressed his mouth to the crown of your head, curling his arms around your body. “Shall we move to the living room, it's sort of cold here.” He said, at which you took hold of his hand, intertwining your fingers together and tugging at his arm, dragging him toward the sofa.

“God, you’re eager, I should wear this sweater more often.” He mumbled teasingly.

“Shut up, gimme the plushie.” You said, making him stand with his back to the seat and pushing him down by the shoulders, his body falling easily on top of the pillows.

You straddled him immediately, almost body slamming onto him, your upper limbs comfortably anchoring yourself to his shoulders while your legs bent on each side of him, your face pressed to his neck before you sat on his legs and parted from him, freeing your hands so that you could toy with the bear.

“The pics you posted are so cute.” You said with a pout as his hands rubbed down your back, trying to warm up from the cold weather outside. “I can’t believe you actually got this sweater. It’s so damn adorable.”

He smiled and pressed his palm against your cheek, making you flinch away from the coldness of it.

“You are so damn adorable.” He replied, his gaze so tender and enamoured. Sometimes he could be so silent about his affection only to completely drown you in compliments and affection a moment later.

“Sorry I jumped you.” You mumbled, trying to part yourself from him once you realised you couldn’t quite read his mood.

He placed his hands, delicate but steady, around your waist. “It’s nice. You’re not always this affectionate. I was just surprised. Startled, a little, maybe.” He admitted with a confused chuckle. “I like you here. Stay.” He reassured you, making your chest adhere to his.

You fixed your position, sitting with your legs across his lap, your head against his shoulder, an arm draped around his neck while your other hand stayed busy with the toy’s limbs and scarf.

“Is it soft enough?” He asked, rubbing his thumb across your cheek.

You simply nodded, staying quiet and breathing him in. The sweater was still unworn, and it still held the scent of the shop, even though you could sniff Hoseok’s cologne. It somehow reminded you of baby shampoo and sun cream.

Maybe that was his face lotion.

It didn’t matter much.

“How was your day, dove?” He asked, touching your hair, enjoying how soft it felt under his fingers.

You toyed with the plushie’s scarf.

“Mh… we had to say goodbye to a very old dog.” You told him, trying not to get too emotional. “He was supposed to undergo surgery soon, but in the night he got too sick and when I arrived this morning there was nothing left to do. We called the owner. It was… tough.”

Hoseok held you tighter, kissing your forehead a couple times before kissing your nose.

You closed your eyes and offered him your lips, a small snicker anticipating the feeling of the toy’s paw pressed to your lips.

You opened your eyes, playfully confused.

“I think Teddy is jealous.” He commented with a cartoonish voice.

Heart significantly lifted, you cocked your head curiously. “He doesn’t want me to kiss you?” You questioned, batting your lashes.

He realised you reminded him of the female bunny in Bambi.

“He doesn’t want me to kiss you.” He corrected, cuddling your face with the bear’s arm. “He fell in love with you at first sight. I don’t blame him, though. Who wouldn’t?” He flattered you.

You pouted, completely endeared. “You have absolutely no right to be this sweet.” You scolded him, blushing to your ears.

“I feel like I never tell you that enough.” He admitted. “I can be so bad to you when I get mad at work.”

You shook your head. “It’s okay, I’m here for the good and the bad parts.” You reassured him, slapping away the plushie and bringing his hand to your face, basking in his affection — and his considerably warmer skin.

“You know that I love you, right?” He asked, bending down to let his lips hover over yours, his breath fanning over your mouth.

You bobbed your head. “I do.”

“I’ll have to wear this sweater more often. I like getting jumped on the very entryway.” He cackled, finally placing his lips against yours, his tongue immediately searching for the seam of your lips, licking it gently before letting the kiss return to a more innocent puzzle of your mouth and his.

“Teddy bear is no longer jealous?” You taunted him.

“He knows you’re mine. Our love is too strong for him to compete.” He replied stoically.

You brought your hands to your chest, acting love struck. “Sweetness overload.” You groaned.

He laughed and shook his head. “Even more adorable.”

Staring at his plump cheek contracted in a full-face smile, you stretched to bite it gently, trying to spell something that sounded like ‘shark attack’ as you nibbled his soft flesh.

His devilish fingers dug into your sides, tickling you viciously. “Counterattack.” He squealed.

Your laugh was immediate, causing you to release his cheek. “No, no! I surrender!” You replied, breathless, trying to grab his wrists. “I’m sorry.”

He let you go as your body laid breathless on the sofa. “Smart Giggles. Lovely Giggles.” He fondled you, patting your head, letting you catch your breath. “What about dinner? I’d like to order in some soup or broth.”

“Oh, I can cook those. We have some stuff in the house. I think I put some in the freezer, I can defrost it in the microwave and prepare some side dishes.” You said, sitting up and dipping your fingers into his soft, fluffy hair, slightly curled by the humid, cold weather outside.

He nodded.

You stood up with a small bounce, turning around and spreading a blanket over him. “You should defrost too in the meantime.” You suggested, heading to the kitchen.

Making dinner took you maybe twenty minutes, the most of the task being cutting up some meat to add flavour to the soup, letting it cook in the boiling liquid.

When the meal was finally ready, the table laid, you went back to the living room, only to find Hoseok balled up, laying on his side, soundly asleep.

You decided to let him sleep, bringing your bowl of soup to the living room, switching on the tv and setting the volume very low, reading the scrolling news tickers rather than actually listening.

Using your spoon with one hand, the other one combed Hoseok’s hair. There was no better way to spend a cold winter night.

#jung hoseok fluff #hoseok x reader #hoseok scenario #bangtanhq #thetruthuntoldnet #houseofddaeng #hoseok one shot #jhope fluff #jhope x reader

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jenoptimist · 3 years

Text

request:

Can you maybe write something with Mark? ✨

ミ✭ WARNINGS: mentions blood, contains minor violence and briefly mentions injuries

✮ Pairing: mark x reader (gender neutral)

✮ Genre: angst (with a happy ending!)

✮ Word count: 5.7k

♡ Yakult says: thank you so much nonie for requesting !! 💙 admittedly, it could be waay angsty-er but, well, i’m happy with it and i sincerely hope you are too! sorry it took a while for me to upload it ://

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey it’s Mark– dude, shut up! Uhhh what was I saying? Oh yeah, just leave a message and I’ll get back to you whenever I can.”

“Mark? Um, Minhyung? It’s me. Y/n. Look, I know that we haven’t spoken in a long time but you said. . .”–you shake your head, as if it would miraculously banish the memory from your mind–“no, that doesn’t matter. At least probably not to you. Um, listen, if this is the Minhyung who prefers chocolate covered bananas over chocolate covered strawberries, and who told Youngho that the hideous red shirt with the blue stripes looked good on him, and who helped me count poker chips in Italy, then I really need your help. Please, please call me back.”

There were some moments that wished you could take back in your life. Meeting Lee Minhyung wasn’t one of them. Leaving him, however, was. It was nothing dramatic, nothing like those scenes in movies. There was no crying on either end but there was, however, heavy pleading from his side.

(In the years to come, his pleading would haunt you. The way his voice was small and how it trembled. Not to mention how he looked at you. God how he looked at you. He looked at you like he was being ripped apart from the seams.)

But you had to go. The life you two lead wasn’t a sustainable one, not anymore. Not since your older brother disappeared without a trace. Without you. And you were so exhausted. It was the bone deep kind of exhaustion that was built in layers by one too many brushes with death, run-ins with the police along with a hefty dose of the constant fear of living. How long had it been since you could roam the streets freely without the low thrum of unease?

It had been far too long for you to remember.

“You know what will happen once they notice your gone, right? It’s safer here! With me! Youngho might even come back!”

“I can’t keep doing this anymore.” You replied quietly, your grip tightening on the straps of your backpack that you hastily stuffed with essentials.

“But–”

“I’m tired, Minhyung, so tired,” you refused to meet his eyes as you said it, hating the expression he wore. “Please let me go.”

You would have offered him to come with you, the words were on the tip of your tongue, ready to be spoken at any moment. But you wouldn’t ask that of him. Minhyung had his parents to think about and he wouldn’t risk their lives, not even for you. And even if he had offered to join you, you would have declined for that reason alone. You weren’t going to make him choose, even as the ugly voice in the back of your told you that if you begged hard enough, he’d go with you.

“I’ll miss you.” Minhyung said as he reached for your hand and you allowed him to hold onto it, slowly meeting his eyes. His watery eyes were scanning your face as if he wanted to commit you to memory. And he probably did. You were leaving him after all. After a few more seconds of staring, he released his warm grasp on your hand and raised his own to cover his eyes. “Go,” he said before he clenched jaw tightly. “If you don’t go now, you’ll be caught.”

“I’ll miss you.” You echoed quietly and allowed yourself to look at him from head to toe, just one more time, and then you fled seamlessly into the darkness of the night.

Minhyung hasn’t asked any questions. He hasn’t asked why your hair is dirty and matted or why your clothes are grimy and discolored. He hasn’t even commented on the fact that you’re emitting a putrid stench–not that he would ever. Minhyung had always been too kind to say anything that would make someone feel embarrassed or ashamed. In fact, instead of saying anything, his grip on the steering wheel is tight enough that his knuckles are white. The speed that he’s driving at is concerning but then again you suppose that the way your entire body is aching is a large cause for concern, too.

You want to shut your eyes, maybe pretend that you are some place else. You could pretend that you are relaxing with Youngho at your side, telling you a funny anecdote that you’ve heard a thousand times before.

But you can’t do that.

There are loud warning bells in your head telling you that you aren’t safe, not yet. But you’re with Minhyung. This is the boy, man now, actually, that you know, no, used to know like the back of your hand. The man who was literally your partner in crime. And he called you back. He called you back. Even after all this time, he’s helping you. Surely that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

“Hey! Hey,” he says, a clear tinge of panic in his voice, “stay with me, y/n!”

“Safe with you, yeah?” Your voice comes out a little rough around the edges and slurred.

“Of course. Definitely. You’re always safe with me.”

“Need some sleep, Minhyung. G’na close my eyes, ‘kay?”

There’s a string of curses in reply as your eyes flutter close. You want to dream of pleasant things and the only way you can think to achieve that is to block out Minhyung and retrieve an old memory.

Youngho had Minhyung in a headlock, rubbing at his hair affectionately. You sat on the couch, laughing at their antics. The three of you were obviously still giddy from the outcome from the previous night.

It was your first job and it went smoothly. Youngho had worried tremendously and frequently spoke into your ear piece but you and Minhyung had done great. Compared to what Youngho had to do on a regular basis, it was nothing extremely dangerous. Besides, a seasoned member of the team did most of the talking so it wasn’t as if it you and Minhyung had a major role in the operation. Regardless of your role, the pay was good. Really good.

“Let’s get ice-cream!” Your brother suggested as he finally released his hold on Minhyung. His grin was wide, already making his way to the shoe rack that was positioned by the door.

You shared a pleased smile with Minhyung as you stood up and followed your brother. “Can we do a movie marathon too?”

“Absolutely!” he said once he slipped on his shoes, “we can stop by seven-eleven and by some snacks.”

Minhyung whooped loudly and you couldn’t help but beam at your brother as you looped your arm through Minhyung’s. In turn, Youngho ruffled your hair and pinched your both of your cheeks, and laughed as he dodged your lame attempt at hitting his bicep.

You can see Youngho laughing vividly, his eyes the shape of pretty crescents with his head thrown forward, while you and Minhyung throw bits of popcorn at each other. But then the vision starts to slip away and you desperately want to cling on to it, even as your eyes slowly open on their own accord. The brightness that spills into the room from the window causes a dull pain in them. You shut your eyes a moment later, trying to bring the dream back but it’s completely useless. The door opens just as you open them again. Minhyung’s expression changes to one of relief when he looks at you and is quick to sit by your side.

“What’s the damage doc?” You try for a light, playful tone but instead it comes out with a wince, your voice coarse with disuse.

“Worse than Mexico but better than Italy.”

You huff out a laugh that’s entirely too bitter. “Anything is better than Italy.”

Minhyung purses his lips together and nods in agreement. There’s a loud ‘smack’ that echoes throughout the room when he slaps his hands on his thighs.

“I’ll grab you something to eat.” He says as he stands up and makes his way to the door. With one last long look at you, he exits the room and leaves you alone with your thoughts.

Italy was as beautiful was in the movies and the pictures you have seen, and the food was incredible. You almost begged for permission to go sight seeing. Youngho would have allowed you and Minhyung to go and you knew it, however you also knew that the situation was serious. No dilly-dallying allowed, no matter how much you wanted to, or else there would be consequences.

Minhyung stealthily sent faces your way which had you clenching your hands into fists to keep you from bursting out into laughter. Your brother was doing no better, smothering his mouth with the palm of his mouth as the leader of the operation went through what needed to be prepared for the next day. The preparation and mission was relatively easy; the cash would go in the two black briefcases while the poker chips would go in the two brown briefcases. The money had to be counted numerous times, a job that was given to you and Minhyung, and the weapons would be prepared and examined by your brother and some of the others. The next day would involve going to a lush hotel where the trading of goods would occur and then you were on a flight home.

“Nine hundred and ten, nine hundred and thirty, nine hundred and forty,” Minhyung murmured as he counted the cash. You added another tally to your page once you counted another line of poker chips that equaled one thousand. “Nine hundred and ninety, one thousand!” Minhyung placed a rubber band around the cash to keep it bundled and shoved it neatly into the briefcase.

“This sucks,” you commented as he leaned back on his chair and sighed. “I keep losing count.” The tally system that you had could only help so much.

“Same,” he said, rubbing at his eyes, “should we get some gelato?”

A grin split your face, eyes twinkling. “Of course!” You answered. Then, with a frown, you added, “we should finish first.” Minhyung nodded in agreement and then the two of you began counting again, only this time with more vigor.

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” Minhyung asked after he shoved a large spoonful of his cantucci flavored gelato into his mouth. The two of you were quick to count the money and purchase gelato before finding yourselves back in the hotel, sitting side by side on the tiled ground of the small balcony that connected to the room. Even though the door was closed, the two of you still spoke in low voices.

“A little bit,” you answered truthfully. Youngho already informed you that he would be giving you a gun, just in case, he said. The target practice that he’d given you and Minhyung was plenty but you still weren’t confident in your skills. “Aren’t you?”

Minhyung nodded, his mouth in a thin line. After a moment that had you mulling over tomorrow, thoughts as quick as lightning filtering through your mind, he rolled his shoulders back and shook himself. “We’ll be fine. It’ll go well, like it always does.” He said optimistically, knocking your shoulder with his.

The room was completely silent as the two people in charge from either side sat across from one another. The opposing leader was counting the money that was tucked neatly in one of the briefcases, the other three were being held by you and Minhyung. Your gaze swept from the table to the people surrounding the room. Everyone was standing as straight as a ruler and looked like they didn’t even dare breathe while they stared intensely at their opposing group. One of the women met your eye, a brow arched. The steely glint in her eyes made you shift your gaze and readjust your clammy grip on the briefcase. On your right, Minhyung moved the slightest bit towards you, his bicep pressing against yours.

With a nod from both of those in charge, you and Minhyung were waved over. No matter how many operations you were involved in, and it had been plenty by now, nervousness still overcame you. Being the target of several pairs of eyes made you swallow thickly, hand clenching onto the handle of the briefcase as if it was the only thing anchoring you to the room. Once you placed the briefcase on top of the table, you spun on your heel and made your way back to your designated position. When you turned to face the centre of the room, the money was being checked.

Chaos errupted not even a second after the briefcases were closed. The other side had taken out their weapons and aimed at your side, greed and malice painting their faces. Adrenaline flooded your system and you fumbled as you reached for the small gun that you tucked inside of the blazer your wore. Your eyes darted to where your brother was standing by the door. Or where he should have been standing because he was nowhere in signt. From beside you, Minhyung grabbed your elbow and hauled you to the direction of the door.

“We need to get out of here. Now.” Minhyung’s voice left no room for argument. You cocked your gun and nodded in agreement, still looking around for Youngho.

The path to the exit wasn’t an easy feat. You hadn’t even taken three steps when you felt a sharp pain in your shoulder. Minhyung turned as you stumbled into his back, quickly aimed somewhere behind you, his eyes sharp and his mouth thin, and then fired his own gun. From that point on, it progessively became worse and worse. Eventually, you and Minhyung, by some miracle, managed to escape the establishment. You were both extremely worse for wear, you more than him—with the amount of gashes and bullets your body now owned, it was a miracle that you were still concious.

“Youngho,” you slurred, slumped against Minhyung side as he lead the two of you the car. It was sheer luck that the streets were mostly empty. “Gotta find him.” You added, wincing as Minhyung carefully laid you on top of the passenger seat. He left the door open and left you, the telltale sound of the truck being opened and closed reaching your ears as you tried not to focus on the searing pain everywhere.

“He’s gone,” Minhyung replied and when your eyes snapped open to stare at him in disbelief, you found him rummaging through a first aid kit. The deep frown that he wore didn’t suit him. It sat strangely on his face, especially with the creases that imprinted themselves on his forehead–you wished that you could smooth them away, if you had the energy you would have said something funny to lighten the mood. “I’ll explain later, just– just let me fix you first, okay? I can’t– Not you too. Please, y/n.” He was frantically rummaging through the first aid kit, grabbing what he needed.

You weren’t going to deny him to begin with but the the pleading in his eyes packed an extra punch in the gut. Instead of saying: ‘of course you won’t lose me, you’ll never lose me. You’ll always have me.’ You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut and allowed him to work on you. The disinfectant stung and you had to clench your jaw as he stitched the majority of your wounds but you survived.

“Your turn,” You told him as you blinked rapidly, as if it would clear your slightly foggy vision. “C’mon, I’ll help you.”

“No it’s okay. I got it.” Minhyung replied but you ignored him and he didn’t even try to pick a fight as you helped him tend to his wounds. He probably would have been finished much quicker if had he done it himself but of course you were going to help him–the two of you were a team. A family. Even if it was just the two of you now, if he was to be believed. And you did believe him although it was difficult to ignore the part of you that raged and wanted to call him a liar.

Just as Minhyung settled into the driver’s seat, the back door opened and someone from your team slid in. She was panting heavily, dried red splotches covering her face like freckles. You and Minhyung traded looks, mouths pressed into thin lines as she demanded him to drive off. You were hoping to hear what his explanation about Youngho, but you knew that he wasn’t going to say anything while there was additional company.

It was later that you found out that Youngho and Taeyong had hatched a plan for the four of you and a couple of others to escape. They had been planning it for weeks and Youngho had only told Minhyung their plan the previous night while you were sound asleep. Initally you were outraged. You weren’t proud of it but you threw accussations at Minhyung and he did nothing to stop you. Then, you were angry at your brother because he didn’t inform you of his plan. Because he left you and Minhyung behind, and what kind of brother was he to do that? How dare he leave you behind when the three of you promised you would never do that to each other. Finally, once the anger left your body, sadness washed over you like a huge wave, drowning you in it. You moved as quick as you could when Minhyung opened his arms and sobbed, wailing about thw unfairness of it all. He cried quietly with you, your bodies trembling in sync.

The two of you slept side by side that night, gripping each other tightly, tangled together. The nights to follow were the same, until it became an unspoken nightly occurrence. The others thought that the two of you were weird but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, and neither could he.

It’s been a almost two weeks since you called Minhyung – no, Mark - for help and neither of you have discussed, well, anything. There are questions that you have that keep piling up the longer you are here with him. Questions like how he managed to escape, how long has it been since he has been free and, most importantly, how he’s been doing. Judging by the nice, spacious house that he lives in, he has been doing really good for himself but you wonder if he has the same night terrors that you do–if he wakes up in cold sweat because of nightmares where they catch him and do what they did to you but worse. Way worse.

Your curiosity is never quenched because you are too busy befriending the people he lives with. There are six of them in total and they are all really nice; they never ask you intrusive questions, make you feel comfortable and seem to genuinely want to know you. You aren’t surprised that Minhy– Mark, has found them or vice versa because there has always been something comforting and safe about him. You aren’t sure about what he has told them about his past but it’s very obvious that they all care about him and admire him deeply. And Mark? He absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent deserves it. Of course he does. You think that he deserves the world and more. It’s just. . .when you see him with Kim ‘call me Haechan, everyone here does’ Donghyuck and how they interact with each other seamlessly, you feel a nasty case of jealousy and, maybe even worse, replaced. You are mature enough to admit to yourself that the jealousy you feel is completely ridiculous along with the whole being replaced thing. Obviously he has a new best friend. Why wouldn’t he? You are the one who left him all those years ago, not the other way around. If the roles were reversed, you probably would have gotten a new best friend too.

You suppress your feelings, try not to blatantly avoid the pair when you see them together, and instead focus on trying to fit in.

Surprisingly, it works–fitting in, that is. While the main issue is still a work in progress, you get along swimmingly with them group. You go cycling with Jeno and Jaemin, learn how to speak Mandarin thanks to Renjun and Chenle, play one-on-one soccer with Jisung and get roped into what Haechan and Mark do. Before you know it, you have slotted yourself into their lives and it has been a couple of months since Mark called you back. There is evidence of your presence in every room, from articles of clothing to little knick-knacks you have collected during your stay. You don’t have a room of your own or anything, Mark had set up a futon in his room and that was that.

It occurs to you over dinner as Haechan and Jisung fight for the last slice of garlic bread. The thought that you have been with them for that long has you dropping your cutlery on your plate and leaning back on your chair, staring at your empty plate. You should probably devise a plan to leave. You’ve overstayed your welcome and they’re all too kind and lovely to mention your long awaited departure to your face. Mark’s questioning eyes meet yours when you lift your gaze and you quirk the side of your mouth into a smile, shaking your head at him in dismissal. A small frown forms on his face at that so you tear your eyes away from him to the others. Jisung is smug as he purposefully chews slowly and exaggeratedly ‘mmm’s at the taste.

“I’m leaving,” you say lowly into the darkness as you lay on your futon, staring at up at the ceiling. They are the same words you said back then, too. Except this time you don’t want to go at all. As long overdue as it is, it’s hard to say the words confidently because you enjoy living here with them. “Tomorrow.” You add decisively before you can cave to your true feelings and end up staying with them forever.

“What?! No! You can’t!” Is Mark’s frantic reply. You hear him move around and then the lamp on his bedside locker is lighting up the room. When you turn to face him, he’s sitting up, facing you and staring at you with an expression that is a blend of disbelief and distraught. “I–” he falters, his eyes dropping from yours to his hands for a moment as he audibly exhales shakily. “I just got you back.” The words are spoken quietly, vulnerability spilling into it, and you hate yourself for doing this to him again.

“I know but Mark–”

“But what? You belong here, with us. With me. I can tell that you’re really happy here, y/n, so why are you saying this? Why do you need to go? Actually, where would you even go? And– And– Why are you leaving me again?” His voice is small. It trembles throughout the entirety of his words and cracks in the middle of the last question.

It feels like you’re nineteen all over again. Especially with the way he’s looking at you. It’s the same look that he gave you back then except it’s so much more worse. You avoid his eyes as you say, “I know I’ve stayed here way longer than I needed to and that you’re happier than I’ve ever seen you. There’s no way I’m risking your happiness in case they find me again. Besides,”–you swallow thickly, the next part of your sentence harder to say–“you don’t need me here.”

“That’s not fair,” although it’s still a whisper, Mark’s voice is stronger this time, the trembling gone, but still sounding terribly wounded. “You left me. And then my parents died and you weren’t there to see that I lost massive parts of myself.” He pauses, breathes deeply before continuing. “How could you think that I don’t need you here, or at all? Of course I do. I always have.”

“But you Haechan and all the others now, you don’t need me anymore.” You counter and there must be a sliver of something in your voice because Mark’s eyebrows furrow slightly. It’s clear when he has connected the dots because he says your name softly under his breath and looks at you tenderly. You flush, heat rising to your cheeks immediately knowing that he has found out how you have been feeling.

“It’s not the same,” he assures you firmly. “Haechan is amazing, they all are. They’ve taught me how to live again and confidently express myself. But you’re different, y’know? Just as amazing, of course! It’s just that we’ve been through a lot together and you played a really big part in molding me into the person I am today, and for the entire time that you were gone. . .I felt like I was missing my heart or my limb, or– or something.”

The sincerity in his voice soothes and untangles the knot that’s been weighing heavily in the pit of your stomach. You manage a small smile. “Your heart?” You repeat, teasingly, and there’s a snippet of a memory that unlocks in your brain–you, Mark and Youngho sitting in a small circle with Taeyong, Yongqin and Sicheng in a warm, sunlight room, listening to Sicheng intently as he read poetry aloud. You huff out a small laugh and, with mirth in your eyes as you look at him, your smile growing, you then follow up with, “I carry your heart with me.”

Mark, whose expression morphs from hurt, sincerity and concern to dazed before settling on a soft, sweet expression. He mirrors the mirth that you feel, a smile of his own adorning his face. “I carry it in my heart.”

Then, together, the two of you recite the next part. “I am never without it.”

The smile you wear hurts your cheeks but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Mark gestures you to his bed with a slight nod of his head and you waste no time climbing in under the covers with him, making yourself as comfortable as possible. The two of you don’t weave yourselves around one another, not like before, but Mark does grab your hand, his grip tight - although not tight enough to hurt - as if he were afraid that you’d run off in the middle of the night. You don’t blame him. What you do instead is give his hand a reassuring squeeze and then, gather the courage to ask the questions that you have been meaning to ask him for months. Mark tells you every little detail; he staged his death, he left almost a year after you and that for the most part, he is doing better. He admits that he has bad days and even worse night terrors but they aren’t as frequent as they were before. In turn, you answer the questions that he has for you, providing him with just as much detail as he gave you. By the time the two of you have stopped swapping stories, it’s early in the morning–you can tell by the slight brightness coming from the pale curtains.

“Hey Mark,” you call out quietly, not quite ready to sleep yet. Not with the remaining question you have for him. At this point, the two of you were spooning, your back against his sturdy chest with one of his arms thrown over your middle, your fingers laced through one another and his legs are flush against yours, copying how your legs fold. He hums, prompting you to continue. “Why did you call me back?”

“I told you didn’t I?” He murmurs sleepily, “Needed you. Missed you.” When the answer leaves his lips, you feel silly. He didn’t remember the promise he made you. It wasn’t a big deal–people break and forget promises all the time, so why wouldn’t he? “Besides,” he adds, interrupting your thoughts, “I promised you didn’t I?”

A lump forms in your throat and your lips quiver slightly as you feel the telltale signs of tears start to pool in your eyes. “Yeah,” you croak out, “you did.”

“Promise you and I will try our best to find your brother?” You give him an affirmative. “Good. G’na sleep now, ‘kay? Night”

“Good night.”

It takes a while for you to fall asleep although when you do, it’s the most comfortable and safest you have felt for a long while.

You sat glumly on the uncomfortable plastic chair, holding a bag of frozen vegetables on your swollen cheek to alleviate help the pain. Minhyung, the newbie, had rushed to give it to you the minute you limped through the door, clearly battered. That was before Youngho caught the sight of you, steered you into his room and promptly began lecturing you on the dangers of thinking you could handle certain situations on your own.

It wasn’t as if you particularly wanted to go by yourself. You would have loved if someone tagged along with you to scope out the area that you overheard some of the senior members whisper about to each other. The only problem was there was nobody here that you trusted, with the obvious exception of your older brother and his best friend, Taeyong. Unfortunately they were out doing a task that they were given so you had no choice but to quench your curiosity by yourself.

Evidently it was a mistake - which you knew now, obviously - because even with how stealthy you were, you had been caught. The ones who found you were taunting you by having a loud conversation about what they should to you. It had your heart palpitating uncomfortably, eyes wildly scanning for an exit. In the end, they tried to extract information from you by using some violent tactics–a punch or two here, a kick there and, the worst part of it all, they trailed a knife along your body, the tip of the blade extremely distinct under your clothes. When it became obvious that you weren’t going to reveal anything to them, they gave you a quick beating as a message and then let you go.

“This is why you haven’t been given any tasks yet.” Youngho said and then after a beat he added, “you’re sitting out for everything until I say so.” His tone was firm, his arms folded across his chest as he looked at you sternly.

You sputtered. “You can’t ground me! I’m totally good for action.” Your brother arched a brow at that, and even Minhyung shot you a look of disbelief. You wanted to argue but you knew it would be futile, so you gave him a quick nod.

“Good,” he walked over to you, petting your hair as he gave you a light hug so as to not bother your injuries. “Now go get some rest. Minhhyung, will you help them to their room please? I’ll grab some food.” And then he was off, leaving you with the guy you barely knew. Why couldn’t he have taken you there himself?

At first you hesistated as he stood close to you, prepared to catch you in case anything happened, but you slung an arm across Minhyung’s shoulder so that you could lean onto his side. It was an awkward walk to your room, the silence was so loud that you eventually gave in to talking to him.

“Thanks,” he hummed questioningly at you. “For the frozen veg,” you clarified, “you didn’t have to but I really appreciate it.”

You felt him shrug a shoulder, a reflex of his that you noticed while you slyly observed him conversing with the others. “It was no big deal,” he replied as he opened the door to your room and steered the two of you towards you bed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” You answered as you tried to find a comfortable position to lay down.

“Why did you go on your own? I mean, like, why didn’t you call anyone or anything?”

“Nobody I trust was free,” you told him plainly. “And besides,” you began to say as he mulled over your answer. “No-one actually answers my calls. Except for my brother and his friends.” You felt really lame for admitting that to him but it was the truth.

There was a beat of silence that stretched long enough for your statement to hang awkwardly in the air. Just as you were about to tell him that he could leave, he spoke up. “If you called me I would have answered.”

There were a million things that you wanted to say. Out of all of them, what came out was, “I don’t have your number.”

Minhyung shrugged, slightly rocking back and forth on his heels. “I could give it to you? I mean, if you want it. It’d be nice since I’ve heard we’re the closest on age here and all. We could be, you know, partners in crime or something.”

“Literally partners in crime,” you said, a small laugh escaping you at the truth of it all. You gave him a considering once over, which he seemed to fidget under. “Alright, but this means that you’ll have to answer every call I make.”

Minhyung’s mouth curled into a bright smile, excitement lighting his eyes. “I can do that.”

“Even if it’s something silly?” It was a challenge and test all in one.

“Even if it’s something silly.” He parroted back.

You stuck out your pink finger towards him and there wasn’t an inch of hesitation in him as his hooked his own around it. “It’s a promise then.”

“It’s a promise,” he agreed. When you released your pinky from his hold, he stuffed his hands into his pockets. With the bright smile still in place, he said, “I have a really good feeling about this for some reason.”

You mirrored his smile. “Me too.”

#me rn: hey.....hey.....how yall doin?#it been a while since i’ve been here 💀#but lets ignore that and move onto my usual commentary andks #this was originally supposed to be an addams family!au but idk what happened #well no i do andks what happened was i wasnt too sure about it so i started a new draft and now here we are #will i take more resquests??? who knows #i like receiving them but im always worried that the person who sent in the request wont be satisfied :///#i have a list of vague plots so i might just pick a random one and do that??????????#but i also have wips for taeyong doyoung kunhang and sicheng 💀💀#oh and that mark addams family!au i mentioned earlier that i abandoned rip #i just double checked and i also have a draft for lucas and the start of a draft that hasnt been appointed a member yet i- am i good??????#spoiler: lucas’ is a soulmate!au and i also have engineering student!kunhang + a fic involving magic for sicheng #oh and also:#the ty is a fem!reader regency era and the dy is a fake dating!au #anyway here come the tags:#nct #nct au #nct scenarios #nct u #nct 127 #nct dream #nct imagines #nct 127 angst #nct dream angst #nct mark #mark lee #mark au #mark imagines #mark scenarios #mark angst

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ficsnroses · 4 years

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T-Shirt - Keanu Reeves x Reader Oneshot

Just some domestic fluff :)

Word Count : 2.3K

Warnings : Tons of fluff, *Light* NSFW, a post sex scene.

Summary : Keanu wears his Arch shirts practically everywhere, leaving his wife, Y/N, slightly annoyed, until they’re forced to spend a month apart.

A/N : Gotta love his ratty old Arch shirts. They really do make him look dreamy, so I had to write this. This fic is composed of a bunch of drabbles in a sense. Each line break represents a new day. I’d love to hear what you all think ❤️ Enjoy!

On a spring Saturday evening, Y/N stands anterior to her washroom mirror, finishing the final touches of her makeup. With the stereo playing 80’s hits softly in the background, she hears her husband, Keanu shuffle around their shared bedroom, getting ready for the evening as well.

The setting sun still lusters through the bedroom windows; the natural luminosity hits all the highlights of her face seamlessly, she strokes on a peachy blush to compliment her blooming eyes, finishing with a spritz of her husband’s favourite perfume. As she stows away her goodies and beauty knick knacks, a strong pair of hefty, toned arms circle around her waist.

“Hmmm you smell nice.” Keanu murmurs into the soft dip of her neck, gently swaying her in place, to the music softly purring in the four walls. With a giggle, she reaches up to scratch his bearded cheek, her other hand placing over his that holds her close, through a gentle squeeze.

“It’s your favourite.” She smiles, watching him trail delicate kisses along her neck through the dainty glass mirror, slowly progressing up towards her ear, wetter by the second. “Woah there, easy tiger.” She chuckles, giving his hand a tighter squeeze. “Not now, we’re going to be late, babe.” Attempting to squiggle out of his embrace, she hears the rumble of his chest.

“I love you.” He states, placing a final kiss to the top of her head, letting her go.

“I love you too.” She returns, watching him stroll to his side of the washroom counter, brushing a comb briefly through his hair, dabbing the perfect amount of cologne to his skin. He turns to leave the washroom, with Y/N following him behind in his steps.

“You ready, love?” He inquires, grabbing hold of his navy blue blazer from the coat hanger, throwing it on. As he fixes the seams, positioning it flat against his frame, he notes Y/N’s brows knit together, raising slight as she watches him.

“…What?” Keanu asks, unsure of what Y/N had grown rather…displeased about.

Biting her lip, Y/N speaks. “Please tell me you’re not wearing your Arch shirt to my parent’s dinner party.” She presses.

“I put a blazer over it?” His voice goes higher as he debates.

Y/N rolls her eyes, mumbling to herself, with her fingers rubbing just above her left brow. “You can’t be serious, Keanu.” She sighs, pacing towards the walk in closet they shared. “A blazer doesn’t make up for the fact that it’s a ratty old t-shirt.” She squeezes the bridge of her nose.

“Hey, I thought you like my Arch shirts,” He frowns, watching the wardrobe door as her voice chimes out. “I do, but not at an event at my parent’s house where everyone’s going to be. Please throw on a dress shirt or something?” She peeks her head out of the wardrobe, frowning. “For me?”

Keanu lets out a deep exhale, shimmying off his blazer, discarding his beloved Arch shirt over his head and onto the bed. Slumping his shoulders, he moves. “Fine, but only for you.” He mutters, following her voice to the wardrobe doors.

On a midnight evening, with the only light radiating the pitch black bedroom walls, coming in the form of the dewy bedside lamp, Keanu lets out a final grunt laced with a sultry moan into the evening air. His coffee hued strands of hair cling to his forehead, silken with a thin layer of sweat slick on his skin.

Y/N gasps as she feels him leave her body, her tiny breathes attempting to collect herself putting a smile on her husband’s face. Falling beside her on his back, his gaze hot and heavy on the ceiling above, he extends an arm out to pull her closer, pressing a tender kiss to her temple.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He asks, smirking as his cocoa orbs gloss over her eyes sealed, content in the moment as she rests in his side, coming down from her high. She nods in response, turning to bury her face further into his side as her arm drapes over his waist. With a gratified, fulfilled sigh, she plants an affectionate kiss to his shirtless chest, sitting herself up slightly on her elbows. “Can you pass me a shirt, Ke?” She whispers, wincing at the empty soreness he’d left between her legs, appreciating the calm after their pre - sleep rumble.

Keanu grins, opening his muscled arms to pull her over and down gently onto his chest, allowing her shirtless modesty to press against his unadorned chest. He chuckles quietly, embedding another kiss to her hair as he holds her close. “I like you sans shirt.”

She rolls her eyes, ultimately giving in with a smile. “You’ve seen me sans shirt enough tonight.” With her cheek pressed against his chest as they lay, taking in some much needed down time where they felt connected in each other’s vulnerable touch, Y/N pulls away, moving back to her side of the bed. Through a yawn, holding the blanket over her exposed breasts, she murmurs. “I’m getting sleepy.”

Keanu smiles at how beautiful she looks, skin gleaming from their session, a form of her only he was allowed to appreciate. Reaching down to the bedside floor, he grabs his t-shirt he wore before, handing it to her.

Looking down at it, Y/N gives him a questionable look.

“You have so many shirts, Ke. Why do you always wear the same three Arch shirts every day.” She bats her eyes again, sighing. Moving closer, she pushes his hair back out of his face, her stifling voice suggesting. “You look so sexy in nice shirts, that aren’t ripped or worn out.”

He rolls his eyes, turning away to set his alarm for the next morning. Y/N frowns, seeing him ignore her complaints. “Babe!” She whines, crossing her arms.

She shifts closer to him again.

“Ke, it’s literally got holes in it.” She states, holding the fabric between her hands to show him. “See?” She points.

“Nice n breezy. They’ll help you cool down.” He smirks, eyeing her still slightly flustered, flushed skin. Y/N groans, throwing a pillow at him as he laughs.

“Alright, alright, I’ll give you a different one.” He says. “Only after you join me in the shower…” he finishes, taking hold of her hand.

“Keanuuu!” Y/N calls from the kitchen counter, sipping on her earthy noted morning dark. She’d woke up before Keanu, as she currently waited for him to finish his morning shower before they would head out together to run some errands. As she browses her phone, the pattering rain stays audible through the glass doors and kitchen windows, simpering outside.

In a moment, Keanu’s thudding steps rushing down the stairs can he heard. He runs a hand through his messy locks, ends slightly wet from his shower. He wears his dark blue jeans and another damn Arch t-shirt.

Rushing to his lady’s side, Keanu wraps an arm around her, dipping just enough to come in contact with her mouth. With a quick kiss, he smiles into her lips. “Morning, sweetheart.” The smell of freshly pressed coffee consumes his senses.

“Morning. Another day, another Arch shirt.” Y/N titters, taking another sip of her coffee.

“This one is new.” Keanu states in a matter of fact tone, pointing to the dark gray, clean and crisp shirt that rests on his torso. “You really hate my Arch shirts, huh.” Keanu grins, pouring himself a cup at the counter. Y/N rolls her eyes playfully, raising off her seat to follow him. With her arms wrapping around his waist, she engulfs him in a hug from behind, leaning her head on him. Lacing his hand with hers that rests gently on his stomach, his spare brings the cup to his lips.

“I don’t hate them, baby.” She presses a kiss to his back, taking in his smoky smell of a morning cigarette and pine. “I love Arch, you know I do. I’m so proud of you.” He turns around in her embrace, slightly towering over her with a goofy smile on his face. “But I also love seeing my man in nice shirts, like your plain black one with the nice cut, or your henleys. Or your sexy dress shirts.” She smirks, pointing a finger lightly, tapping to his chest.

He smiles, leaning down to place a lingering kiss to her forehead. Y/N sighs, cupping his cheek. “Can you please at least wear your leather jacket over this” She pulls at his shirt. “It’s rainy and cold out today.” She finishes with a kiss to his jaw, breaking out of his embrace, walking to grab her own coat before they head out.

Keanu smiles, knowing there’s someone, someone his that babies him to wear jackets in the cold, and makes him morning coffee.

Someone that cares, just as much as he cares about her.

The airport was cold and melancholy that morning, or perhaps, that’s just how she’d felt saying goodbye. It broke their hearts to have to be separate for an aching, excruciating long month as Keanu shot out of town for his next film.

“Hey, I’ll be back before you know it, princess.” Keanu empathized, soothing strokes on her back as she hugged him close one final time. She sighs a breathy sigh, brushing her thumb over his cheek, staring into his mahogany eyes.

“I know. Its just hard when I’m in the house alone without you. I don’t like sleeping in our bed when you’re not there.” She quietly speaks into his neck, feeling him kiss her forehead.

“I know, I don’t like falling asleep in empty hotel rooms without you either.” He frowns. People stare as they walk by, catching glimpse of movie star Keanu Reeves saying goodbye to his wife. The paparazzi are scarce, yet still there, a few flashes let them know they’re watching.

But Keanu didn’t care. He was having a much needed moment with the love of his life, and he knew he needed to be there for her right now.

Not just for her, but for himself.

It hurt him each time to be away from her.

“But…you’ll be back before you know it.” Y/N smiles, tapping his chest, repeating his words from earlier as she despondently pulls back. “I know you’re excited about this one. You’re gonna kill it, I just know.” She grins, cupping his cheek.

“I love you so much, don’t forget it.” He whispers, moving in to kiss her one last time before he’d be gone. Together, they smile into the kiss, enjoying the relish in the alter of each other’s taste, before they’d be apart for a month too long. He chuckles, pressing their foreheads together in their last few moments.

“At least you get a break from my Arch shirts.”

As Y/N sits on her bed, she watches the rain fall on a disconsolate Sunday morning. It glides down the window glass, flowing down to the pavement below, the rattle audible on the drumming roof. She feels her heart heavy at the depressing, miserable weather, but more so at the thought of a lonely Sunday.

Normally, Sunday mornings were when Y/N and Keanu got to spend much needed time together, both being homebound all day. They’d wake up together with affectionate morning cuddle sessions, tender caresses of each other’s skin and gentle kisses shared left and right. They’d eat breakfast together after impromptu dance sessions in their kitchen, catching up on the shows they’d shared together on the living room couch, limbs tangled. The rest of the day would be spent doing chores, or by the window, with his head rest in her lap and two hefty novels propped in each their grips. Sometimes, they’d go out for an evening walk hand in hand, where the sunset glow would make Keanu fall in love with her each time it cast on her rosy cheeks, or lounge together by the poolside with their favourite tunes and jams blaring.

Sundays were for them, and they had been for as long as they’d been together.

Slowly, the longer he’d been away, his smell had started to fade from the house, she’d find herself sniffing his cologne for solace every now and then. If she closed her eyes for just long enough, it would feel as if he’d actually been there, gone before she may open them again to the lonesome daylight.

As she scans her eyes around the room, in search of nothing in particular, her eyes cease on the dresser beside their wardrobe.

Keanu’s favourite Arch shirt, the one that had begun to plaster holes and rips at the seams, had been resting on the countertop all week he’d been gone. She hadn’t thought much about it until today, as she sat alone, missing him dearly. With a sigh, she raises herself, dragging her feet towards it.

She smiles at the thought of his darn Arch shirts. Something so uniquely him. So reminiscent of him.

As it comes clasp in her grip, she brings it to her nose with her eyes tight shut, inhaling deep. The smell of his scent still entrenched in the joints of the fabric, his cigarettes smoked, his woody cologne, lingering leather paired precisely with the scent of something so uniquely him.

Just him, and nothing else.

Her favourite scent.

As her phone rings that evening, she sees his face pop onto her screen, her heart immediately fluttering at the thought of seeing him soon.

“Hey, darling.” Keanu smiles, holding the camera to his face. “I missed you so much today, it’s Sunday.” His smile fades to a frown. “That’s kinda our day, right?

Y/N nods lightly, a small smile evident on her lips as she watches him move. Each part of him seems perfect to her, perfectly crafted, perfectly put, embellished with all things good.

All things she loved.

“I missed you so much too. How was shoot today?”

Keanu’s brows furrow together, as a smirk channels his lips. “Is that…my Arch shirt?” He points to their mountain of pearly white pillows they share on their bed behind her.

Y/N bites her lip, raising her shoulders slightly. “Maybe…”

“I really don’t understand you sometimes. I can’t wear an Arch shirt at home without you groaning.”

She smiles, shifting back as she lays her head down on his pillow, the shirt in close proximity. Content and at ease for the first time that day, she sighs, before her lips move again to illume.

“It reminds me of you, so I guess it can stay.”

Keanu chuckles on the other end, his playful giggle warming the crooks of her heart with each sound.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. Don’t forget it.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

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#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves imagines #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves oneshot #keanu reeves #keanu reeves fluff #keanu reeves fic #keanu reeves ff #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves story #keanu reeves smut #keanu reeves x y/n #keanu reeves x oc #my writing

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punksarahreese · 3 years

Text

Birth | Bloodletting

Nosdecember day 21 | @neworleansspecial

Occult!AU; a look into Ava’s rebirth into vampirism

CW: Pet/master dynamics, abuse mention, murder, blood/scars, gore

***

“Will you ever stop fussing over them?” Ava’s voice held no annoyance, instead she was just watching Sarah with soft eyes. The human had been tracing the scars on her shoulders for minutes, something she had developed a habit of since getting closer with the vampire. It had been six months since they met, long since Sarah became a frequent, almost daily visitor of the big house in the forest. Estia was attached to her, excited to learn about life growing up as a human, and Ava herself had become quite fond of the woman too.

She wasn’t sure how she grew to trust the human so quickly. Maybe it was because Estia had no qualms about her, Ava trusting her daughter’s insight more than anyone’s; she had been with her for almost 40 years by then of course. Maybe it was because April and the wolves loved her, the promise that she had made respectable friends within the forest so she couldn’t be a threat. Ava supposed it could have been Sarah herself. Her behaviour, the way she instantly wanted to nurture and help anyone who needed it. A doctor through and through, Ava could tell, she just wanted to make people feel better. She had told Ava about her past, as if she thought opening up about her own trauma would make the vampire trust her more. Maybe it did, but she was still worried about Sarah learning her truth.

“They’re like little stories,” the human answered like she always did, “They tell me what you can’t, like how this one was inflicted by a dull blade; probably an old knife.”

“Smart girl,” Ava hummed, leaning into her touch as her fingers danced across her collarbone. She hadn’t felt this warm in almost a century, the heat of her body long since sapped by immortality. She hadn’t had much physical contact since becoming a vampire, definitely not by anyone as alive as Sarah. She had been surprised that the scent of her blood wasn’t always at the forefront of her mind, like so many elders had told her it would be when around a human. Instead, Ava was distracted by the gentleness of her touch, the warmth transferring to her own icy skin, and the care she took to be as delicate as possible. No one had been this attentive or caring in decades; Ava wasn’t sure how to react.

They were in Ava’s study, which was more of a library than anything. The walls were bookcases upon bookcases, covered in novels and nonfiction in every language imaginable. Sarah had been so excited when she realized Ava had a whole section dedicated to medical books, which she had told Sarah she could read at any time. She had been reading that day, curled up on the couch near the fireplace with Ava by her side. She only ever lit the hearth when Sarah was there, since neither her nor Estia needed the heat in their cold home. She didn’t mind it though, especially since it meant Sarah would stay for a large chunk of the day if the study was warm. It was a quiet, comforting escape from her cottage with Natalie and Autumn always there and April or the wolves asking to stop by. She loved her friends, she did, but sometimes she needed quiet time and Ava understood that the most.

Like so many times before, Sarah had gotten distracted when Ava passed her another book, catching her scarred hand before she could pull away. She was so fascinated by the vampire’s history, though she still seemed apprehensive to speak about it, and she wanted to know everything. She had been a psychiatry resident before she had to quit her job after her mother’s murder, so Sarah knew that Ava was hiding something and it was eating her away inside. She wanted to help, wanted the other woman to feel safe enough to trust someone; to trust her.

Ava didn’t protest when Sarah focused on her scars, she knew she meant no harm. Sarah was curious, that’s all, and Ava’s scars were a part of her eternal body. She had long since made peace with most of them and she certainly wouldn't complain about the attention. She trusted the human, she really did, but she wasn’t too sure if she trusted herself.

“Ava?”

Another hum was her only reply, though she did smile at Sarah when she went to brush a loose curl off her shoulder. She didn’t miss the way the vampire immediately stiffened when her fingers brushed her carotid however, and she couldn’t hide her own flinch at that. Still, when Ava didn’t make a move to pull away, Sarah let her hand gently rest against the left side of her neck, warm palm resting against the biggest scar there.

“You know I would never hurt you, right?”

“I feel like that’s a question I should be asking you,” Ava mumbled and the other woman knew she was deflecting. Sarah had long since inferred that this wound was how she died, since the vampire seemed void of any actual turning mark, but she never was able to get the answers from her. She didn’t want to push Ava if she wasn’t comfortable but she knew keeping it hidden for a hundred years wasn’t helping anyone.

“Why do you wish to know so badly?” Ava’s own hand came up to rest affectionately on the human’s cheek, “You’re a bit of a pain, you know that?”

“So you’ve told me,” Sarah smiled at her, knowing she was trying to distract her with the touch, “You would feel better if you talked about it.”

“I don’t… you shouldn’t have to hear the horrors of it all, Sarah. It’s something no one should ever have to endure, I wish to protect you from even the thought of it.”

“Ava… Please?”

“I-” the blonde sighed, “I’ve never talked about it, not out loud.”

“Not even with Estia?”

“Gods no, she may be older than you mentally but to me she is still a baby, my baby. She had her own traumatic turning, the last thing she needs is to know how much I endured before even having the relief of finally meeting death.”

“Ava, I’m sorry… You don’t-”

She shook her head, thinking for a moment before answering, “You asked and I do suppose it’s time I answer your questions. You deserve to know, though I will warn you it’s quite gruesome. I did not… have a pleasant end.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Sarah said apologetically, “Only if you trust me and feel comfortable, I would like to know.”

“Sarah, darling, I trust you more than anyone.”

***

Ava had been a nurse in a hospital in the poorest area of her hometown. She hadn’t wanted to become a nurse, rather she wanted to be a doctor, but female doctors just weren’t commonplace in the 1920’s. She spent the majority of her twenties working with women and children in poorhouses, coming to the aid of those who were harmed in war or domestic disputes. She was apart of a underground feminist movement in Cape Town as well, something her parents had long since stopped arguing with Ava about but hated all the same. She was reckless, they said, this would only hurt her reputation. How was she going to meet a respectable man to marry if she wouldn’t stop the suffragette nonsense? Little did they know, Ava had no interest in getting married, especially not to a man.

She was walking back from dropping her little sister off at some birthday party, Anikka had been so excited to give her friend a new teddy bear that Ava had helped her sew some little clothes for. The party would run for a few hours, so the woman figured she could kill some time by shopping for groceries and perhaps pick up a couple books to help Anikka learn to read.

It wasn’t even dark out, certainly not the time for a middle class, white woman to be too worried about walking around main street, though Ava realized she probably should have been more attentive. She was just passing between two stores, taking a familiar shortcut through an alleyway to avoid a group of soldiers doing a photo-op near a statue of the King. She didn't even have time to react when a rough hand grabbed her by the wrist, couldn’t bring herself to scream before another ice cold palm clapped over her mouth. The one thing she remembered before she blacked out was feeling the seam of her new coat ripping and the sharp pain of something jabbing into her shoulder.

When Ava woke up she was more than disoriented. The nurse in her said she must have hit her head at some point, as her eyes couldn’t comfortably adjust to the dim lighting and her mind was struggling to catch up. The room she was in was cold, empty except for a small cot pushed up against the wall and a bucket across the room that she didn't want to know the intended purpose of. She tried to get out, scrabbling at the rusty door hinges and tugging on the locked handle until her fingers bled. She cried, even though she hated herself for it, all she could do was cry and beg hoping her captors would hear her and have mercy.

Ava didn’t know how long she had been in that cold, damp room before someone showed up. She had cried herself to sleep at one point, curled up beside the door because the cot seemed too far away. She woke up when the door opened, hitting her in the back harshly. A voice chastised her for being in the way, demanding she stand and follow him. Ava tried to resist but was yanked to her feet, stumbling because she was beyond dehydrated and her head was spinning. She asked this man who he was, where he was taking her, and what day it was. She only got silence in reply, a harsh tug of her wrist almost landing her face first on the cold marble floor. That was when Ava realized she was barefoot, her coat and shoes were gone and her stockings had been ripped from the knees down. She was freezing, hands still bleeding from trying to escape, and she just wanted to go back to sleep. She wanted this to end before it got worse, she wasn’t sure what would happen to her but Ava assumed it wouldn’t be good.

Before long she was shoved into another room, the door slamming shut behind her. Ava assumed she was alone again, deciding to explore her new location since it was very different from her previous one. The room was decorated lavishly, way more modern than her current apartment that her father had bought her since she still refused to marry. A large piano was situated in the one corner of the room, overlooking a large curtained window that appeared to lead to a balcony. She ran an injured hand over the expensive leather of a comfortable looking couch, wondering who with all this money wanted anything to do with her. Sure Ava’s parents had money but she hardly believed they would pay any large sum for her ransom. Besides, these people appeared to have more money than her family ever would, so they probably didn’t need any ransom from her.

“Oh, you’ve finally calmed down; how lovely.”

Ava jumped at the deep tone, accented in a way that told her the man wasn’t from South Africa. English, she first assumed, and she turned to come face to face with a tall man who looked her father’s age. He was sitting in a chair near a fireplace, though it was not lit, and he had turned to look at Ava with amusement. What concerned her the most was his eyes, that tracked her anxious movements in a cat-like way. They were red, deeper in colour than the wounds of any injured person she had even seen. She wanted to scream, to run, but she feared for her life if she did.

“Now now, do not look so frightened, pet.” He stood, walking over to Ava even as she flinched away. A rough hand caught her face, squishing her cheeks as he gave her a once over with an unreadable expression. Ava had begun to cry silently, tears tracking down her already makeup-stained face and he wiped them away in distaste.

“So dramatic,” he crooned, “I hope you will learn to behave and keep yourself presentable in the future. Crying is unbecoming of a woman, especially one as pretty as you.”

“W-what… what do y-you want from me?”

“Oh, she speaks!” he laughed to himself, “What are you on about, pet?”

“I’m not you pet,” Ava spat in a sudden flare of rage, appalled at his behaviour towards her, “Is it money? Do you not have enough as it is? My family will not pay ransom for me, I hope you know.”

“Oh no, dear, you’ve got it all wrong,” Ava tried to fight off the hand that still had a hold of her but he only moved his hand down to wrap around her throat. He ignored the way her hands scrambled to tear his hand away, her nails not even making dents in his skin. The man grinned at her and if she had been able to Ava thought she would have screamed, where his incisors should have been were long, sharp teeth that could only be described as fangs.

“You, my pet, are mine. For eternity.”

***

“Is that when he…” Sarah was close to tears, holding tightly onto Ava’s hand. She saw the way her friend was shaking, whether it be out of fear of reliving her memories or anger at what had happened decades before. This was hard for her, Sarah felt horrible for even asking Ava to tell her what occurred.

“Gods no. Sarah, he kept me for over a year before his fangs ever broke skin.”

“What?”

“I was a walking blood bank for them…” she gestured to her countless scars inflicted by sharp objects, “They never bit me deep enough, not for the longest time. He said he would be the one to do it when the time came. They would cut me and collect my blood, sometimes he would… let them lick it off me instead.”

Anger flared in Sarah’s stomach at that, seeing how uncomfortable the memory made her. All she could do was stare at Ava, unsure of what to say. She just wanted to hug her in that moment, to hold her and promise no one would ever touch her again, but she didn’t want to overstep.

“It wasn’t all bad… they kept me well fed at least. I had to be of course, a malnourished person doesn’t produce good blood. My master,” she spat the title out like it burned, “He gave me everything a girl would have wanted back then. I had all the clothes and makeup and books I could want.”

“But you weren’t happy.”

“Of course not, I hated it there. I would pray for the day they would accidentally cut too deep or one of the fledglings would lose control and rip my throat out before he could stop them.”

“I’m sorry, Ava…” Sarah blinked away tears at the thought of everything she had had to endure, “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“I got my wish, though,” Ava laughed bitterly as she traced the largest scar, “That day… I thought it was the end.”

“What… happened?”

A fledgling had a knife, she was supposed to be collecting from me that day,” she answered, letting Sarah tug her own hand away from her neck. She gave the human a sad smile when she held her hand tightly, grateful for her comfort.

“She hit your carotid?”

Ava nodded, hiding a flinch at the memory, “I barely recall what happened except for the searing pain. There was so much blood, she was having trouble holding back and I could tell. I blacked out in seconds but the last thing I remember was collapsing into her arms and… I wish it had been the end. The next couple weeks were Hell compared to what had happened before.”

Sarah couldn’t help but ask, “Why did they wait until the last moment to turn you?”

“I was their toy… their pet, Sarah. They had me exactly where they wanted me for a year. They gave me just enough of their venom to keep me loyal and tied down, I couldn’t fight because my body wouldn’t let me. If they turned me I would have been more powerful and they couldn’t keep me a useful prisoner anymore.”

“Then why bother turning you? If you were already bleeding out and wouldn’t be what they wanted after?”

“He… said he couldn’t live without me. He wanted me to be his wife, I refused countless times. He was my master so I couldn’t leave but I refused to ever be his submissive in my afterlife. He tried, for decades this man tried to win my favour and still treated me like I was his. I would never accept his advances though, which angered him. He may have taken my life and my blood but there was no way in Hell that man was taking my body too.”

This was taking a big toll on Ava, though she couldn’t physically cry Sarah could see in her eyes that she wanted to. The human apologized softly, opening her arms without saying anything else. Ava hesitated but allowed herself to melt into the comfort, feeling safer than she ever thought she would again. She wasn’t sure why Sarah made her feel so safe, especially since Ava herself was naturally supposed to be a threat to her. Still, the way the woman held her close and brushed her hair gently behind her ear made Ava feel seen and cared for for the first time since 1920.

“He’ll never hurt you again, Ava.”

Ava couldn’t help the tiny smile that fought its way onto her face, “He can’t. I killed that bastard the second I got the chance.”

#haha #sad <3 #ava bekker #sarah reese #reesker #my aus #bloodletting #estia tag #occult!au #vampire!ava #human!sarah #ask to tag #my-writing #nosdecember #mutuals #neworleansspecial #userglow

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coloursflyaway · 3 years

Text

Put Me Together

Pairing: Sami Zayn/ Kevin Owens

Rating: T

Words: 2.150

Shoutout to both @ilovesamizayn and @shanie-the-toyaddict for being fantastic and wonderful and very, very inspirational, because I never would have been able to both start and finish this without you. Thank you so, so much, for everything ♥

This is a sequel to Tethered And Chained and Wherever You Are Tonight. If you prefer AO3, just click here.

It’s the first rays of sunshine that wake Sami after a night in which he didn’t expect to sleep at all. Too much time has been spent planning, worrying, hoping; he wouldn’t be able to close his eyes for more than a second, Sami had been certain of it. Maybe it is age catching on to him, but he wakes up, with heavy lids and a heart lighter than it has been in weeks, with another’s breath tickling his cheek and the unfamiliar weight of an arm slung carelessly around his waist. Kevin hasn’t moved closer during the night, but he hasn’t moved away either and that’s more than enough, especially with how difficult it had been to organise this in the first place.

Even with all the planning Kevin had done already, it had taken them more than two weeks to find a date to meet up, long enough that their discussions about it had almost turned frantic, desperate. It had seemed impossible, and yet their schedules refused to match up, never giving them enough leeway to drive for hours after shows. More than once one of them had to cancel just the day before, because matches had been moved or stipulations added that would ensure they wouldn’t be in a state to drive longer than strictly necessary. It had seemed like the cruellest twist of fate, that they’d be allowed to have each other, just to put half a continent between them.

Especially because now that they had had that one night together, life had taught Sami that he previously had no idea what it meant to truly miss someone. While he had known how to miss Kevin’s voice before, his chuckles and his dry sense of humour, he now could miss the feeling of Kevin’s lips moving against his own, the scratch of his stubble, the way his voice sounded when he told Sami If you had been there, I could have belonged anywhere, not looking at him, as if he couldn’t bear to be rejected.

It had added a whole new layer, making concentrating on almost anything else impossible, up to the point where Sami had to come clean to Shinsuke and Cesaro, not because he disappeared after a show and didn’t come back until morning, but because he had become so desperate with every new change of their schedule that it was impossible to keep it a secret any longer. Not that they cared much; had Sami not been so relieved, he would have been offended by their indifference.

However, none of that matters anymore, at least not for now; the only thing that does is Kevin’s fingertips that brush across Sami’s spine with every breath he takes. Although it’s not in his nature anymore, Sami allows himself to just enjoy the sensation, the feeling that is slowly filling up his chest. The tightness of it he knows so well, the fluttering of his heartbeat as it drums against its confines, the giddiness that comes with the sight of Kevin so vulnerable, and above all, the overwhelming warmth of love, knowing that its requited. The knowledge, which has settled deep down in his bones, that this is right, this where he is where he is supposed to be. Over the years, their lives have pushed them into every possible direction, towards each other only to force them apart again, but nothing has ever felt like this.

The fingers that rest against his spine curl and Sami can’t help but smile and push a little closer, just enough so he can make out every single one of Kevin’s lashes, the faint crow’s feet that time has etched into his skin. It’s close enough for Sami to feel the warmth he radiates, something he knows he’ll miss as soon as they have kissed goodbye in the privacy, the security of the motel room they rented for the night. Sami hates the secrecy, but at the same time, he knows that they need it, at least for now.

Again, Kevin makes a sound, uncharacteristically soft and as close to sweet as he will ever get, but as close as he is, Sami feels it more than he hears it, the rumbling of Kevin’s chest and the light breeze of his breath against Sami’s skin. The sensation triggers something inside him, something almost primal, and it’s all he can do to not bury his face in Kevin’s chest and breathe him in, knowing the other smells like shampoo and a brighter future for both of them.

From birth, he has been raised to believe in fate and yet it hadn’t been an important concept in his life, at least not until Kevin stepped into it, ruddy-cheeked and arrogant and rude, but still fitting perfectly into a gap in Sami’s heart he hadn’t known existed until then. Since that day, Kevin has grown – they have grown – and yet that one thing has never changed.

Sami would be perfectly happy just sifting through memories and seeing where they take him, as long as he is cuddled into the bed and Kevin’s warmth, but next to him, Kevin shifts. His arm tightens around Sami’s body, who realises, almost like a bolt of lightening ripping through his body, that even before waking, Kevin wants him closer. He wouldn’t know what to do but move, so Sami does, resting their foreheads together like they have done a hundred times before. The familiarity of it makes his chest swell, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, even as Sami slides his hand up Kevin’s chest until it comes to rest in the crook of Kevin’s neck. Just for a second, not quite long enough to wash away the serenity of the morning, he remembers burying his face in there the night before, gasping half-formed pleas and adorations against sweat-slick skin. Hearing Kevin reply in kind, just as wrecked, just as overwhelmed.

“You really need to stop thinking so early in the morning”, Kevin mutters before even opening his eyes, and his voice is beautifully rough with sleep, the words slurred together slightly. “It’s distracting.” The absurdity of the statement makes Sami laugh, their noses brushing, and the pleased hum he gets from Kevin in return causes a whole host of butterflies to scatter in his stomach. Still, he has to admit that, if anyone could read his thoughts, it would be Kevin.

“You absolutely cannot hear me thinking”, he tells Kevin anyway, but lets the other steal the shortest of kisses from his willing lips. This closeness, the freely given affection and easy companionship, still makes a tiny voice in Sami’s mind scream its suspicions, but Sami squashes it, ignores it, pushes it so far down that the sounds can’t reach him any longer. This is different, they are different, he has to believe it as much as he has to be right about it. “I could. I did”, Kevin repeats, so effortlessly that Sami forgets everything about their past in favour of loving him. “It was loud enough to wake me up. And you know how hard that is.”

He is right about that, Sami has learnt it in every single hotel room they ever shared; again, it makes him chuckle, and even if Sami cannot see Kevin’s smile, he can sense it, nonetheless. “What were you thinking about, anyway?”, Kevin asks and maybe it’s Sami, who can read minds after all, because the smile is audible in his voice as well. “You”, he answers and it’s easier than it should be to bare his soul, not because of the early hours, not because of how much he missed Kevin, just because it’s them. “Us.”

Instead of a reply, Sami gets another thoughtful hum, then Kevin shifts back, away from him. Not more than a few inches, just enough so he can look at Sami, yet Sami feels his body tense at the threat of losing contact so soon, tastes the unspoken plea to stay that clings to his lips. And Kevin must notice it to, Sami can see it in his eyes; he doesn’t say a word, just presses his fingertips against the ridges of Sami’s spine to let him know he’s still there.

“Any new insights?”, Kevin asks, his fingers tracing patterns between Sami’s shoulder blades, and it’s only because Sami knows him so well that he picks up on the faint trace of nervousness hidden behind the inconspicuous words. As if there if anything that could be hidden in Sami’s mind that could change them. It’s a side of Kevin that Sami isn’t used to seeing and cannot imagine becoming accustomed to; maybe that’s why all of a sudden, he breaks open. He has loved Kevin for over a decade, through highs and lows, break-ups and reunions, through harsh barbs and affectionate nicknames, through the very best and the very worst of it. He has loved Kevin so desperately he thought he’d forget to breathe, so passionately that a single touch could set him aflame, so hopelessly it felt like drowning. And he loves him still, with the same intensity, the same fire, only that Kevin holds him close now, like Sami is something precious, and what washes over Sami now isn’t a wave of emotion, it’s a force of nature.

The feeling is as much pleasure as it is pain, it’s all of them wrapped in one, an end and a beginning, and Kevin doesn’t look away from him for a second as Sami’s heart gasps for air. His eyes are suddenly clear and wide awake, his fingers now pressing gently against Sami’s spine, as if to anchor them both. He knows, somehow, he can sense it. Maybe he can read Sami’s thoughts after all.

“No”, Sami finally answers, a few seconds to late, even though his chest still seems to be a second away from bursting, and this is it. It’s no question, no possibility, nothing that Sami could stop if he tried; it’s now and it feels like it always had to be. After all the times the words hung on the tip of his tongue, pushed against the seam of his lips, so desperate to be spoken, after the long car rides and early mornings, the tense silences in the locker rooms and the breathless, endless moments during matches. All this time, it as supposed to be now, not bloody and not bruised, not desperate and not drunk on victory either. Just wrapped into each other, just them. “Nothing new”, Sami says, and his heartbeat is steady; there’s no fear, no hesitation. “Just that I love you, is all.”

Nothing happens, because nothing changes. The Earth doesn’t stop spinning and the sun doesn’t shine brighter, the seconds of their lives tick away at the same speed, the love that fills Sami’s chest neither grows nor withers. Nothing can change, because this is a truth so old it has been woven into the fabric of the world long ago.

Still, Sami gets to watch Kevin’s eyes widen, his lips part in surprise, and maybe he was wrong, maybe the sun does shine brighter, because looking at Kevin is like watching the sunrise. His gaze clouds over, his cheeks gain a hint of colour; he’s never been beautiful, but he doesn’t have to be, as long as he’s Sami’s. A few seconds pass in the sweetest silence Sami has ever known; he doesn’t want to break it, not before Kevin is ready.

“Love”, Kevin finally echoes, and the word sounds like a spell and a prayer at the same time. “Big word.” “Yes”, Sami agrees easily; under the fingers he still has pressed against Kevin’s neck, the other’s pulse has picked up, as if to race towards him. “It has to be.” Another pause, in which Sami tries to commit Kevin’s face to memory just the way it is, open and confused and hopeful. The sun and all the stars shining from his eyes, a smile tugging on his lips. And then, slowly, Kevin’s eyes clear once more, the daze bleeding away to give way to an intensity that Sami knows so well and yet still takes his breath away. “Yeah”, Kevin finally says, and there is still some of that reverence clinging to his voice, but just underneath that, there’s enough affection to sustain Sami for a lifetime. “You’re right.”

And it would be enough for Sami, who didn’t need to hear the words, just to say them, but Kevin’s eyes flutter shut for a split second, his fingertips dig into Sami’s flesh to bring him closer. This time, when Sami feels the words before he hears them, it’s still not because of Kevin’s breath on his skin or the vibrations of Kevin’s voice, but because of the years and years and years they have known each other. Because Sami’s heart beats with the same rhythm, the same intent. “I love you too.”

#zowens #sami zayn #kevin owens #wwe fic #wwe fanfiction #also we got an interaction on wwe content????#love to see it #thank life and also them for making this possible #i'm sure it added about seven months to my lifespan

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faean · 4 years

Text

Spider-Man/Peter Parker x Male Reader

Rating: T; Angst

Word Length: 2,512

Title: Forgive Me

—–

Peter had never been more perplexed in his entire life, and he did not know what was more surprising: The fact that this ranked higher in terms of something than him getting tech from the Tony Stark and fighting the Captain America half way across the world, or that he was genuinely confused about everything.

A little exaggerated, of course (and possibly not for the first time), but you certainly did have an effect on people.

First off, you, (Y/N) (L/N), were a transfer student from who knows where. Second, you were easily the most amiable person in existence, so much so that it took no more than two weeks for you to become one of the very few people to know Peter as Spider-Man. Third, you seemed to be, somehow, always of aid to Peter even when he didn’t think he needed it nor expected it.

Lastly, and certainly the most prominent thing, was not just that you were open and comfortable about your sexuality (which wasn’t unheard of and even encouraged), it was that Peter began to question his own.

He still harbored a small, albeit diminishing, crush on Liz after she moved. He also began to develop feelings for MJ. Most jarring, however, was that in spite of him knowing that he is attracted to women, he could not get (Y/N) (L/N) out of his mind.

And things only got stranger.

Soon, (Y/N) became absurdly more affectionate towards his close friends, especially Peter. He had even become Peter’s, rather Spider-Man’s, go to after patrols and battles to get patched up or rest, sometimes spending multiple nights in Aunt May’s apartment, which she enjoyed immensely since you were such a help around the place. Peter had even become accustomed to the affection you showed, so much so that he found himself craving it at times.

Stranger still was the dramatic decrease in criminal activity. Peter knew he couldn’t be the cause of it, and it wasn’t because he didn’t do a decent job at being a ‘friendly neighborhood Spider-Man’. It was because that drop in crime went straight to zero and the only reason he continued patrolling was because of a new figure on the scene. He had no idea if they were a new villain or hero, or even if they were male or female! The new figure was always heavily disguised, and it was obvious they were using a voice modulator.

Strangest of all, though, was that when the disguised person began making sexual advances towards him, it correlated with (Y/N) becoming unabashedly possessive, and to Peter alone. While Peter did enjoy the reprieve from Flash’s torment, he did miss spending time with his friends; even Ned and MJ shied away from him whenever you were present.

And all of this in the span of a mere six weeks!

It was now week seven of this strangeness, and Peter wanted answers. He wanted to finally figure out his sexuality; he wanted to finally hang out with his other friends; he wanted to finally unravel the intentions of the disguised figure; and he wanted, most of all, to get a break from (Y/N).

Surprisingly, he got through most of that list by the end of school.

He figured out that, while he is indeed attracted to the opposite sex, (Y/N) is an exception and it was due simply because Peter could admit he was comfortable with such an idea.

He got to hang out with his friends, and it was such a relaxing and fun experience that Peter nearly forgot he had more stuff to do.

Nearly.

The only reason he was able to spend some time with his friends was because you were absent, which was startling, as you haven’t even been late to any class or club meeting, much less absent all together. Peter had to admit that he was somewhat worried about you, but it was this worry that reminded him of his mission. Once school had ended for the day and he donned his suit, he searched throughout the city to find the strange person.

---

It had been several hours, and night began to fall, but Spider-Man could not find any trace of the disguised figure. Exhausted and defeated, he took rest atop a random skyscraper, watching the sun finish setting, and gazing into the night sky. There were few stars, given the amount of light pollution, but with the help of his suit’s A.I, Karen, he magnified the sight and stared into the depths of space. Unfortunately, this moment of respite was just that.

A moment.

“Peter, I am detecting an energy source quickly approaching.” Karen’s voice riled him up, but his Spider-Sense (or Peter Tingle, as his Aunt called it) had already put him on guard.

He stood, ready to counter whoever and whatever came at him, the suit’s sensors attempting to locate the direction of the energy source.

“The energy source is increasing in speed exponentially and resembles that of the disguised figure we have met. I am currently attempting to predict its- Above you!”

Karen’s warning and Peter’s reflexes were not fast enough to prevent him from being pinned to the floor. It took Peter a few seconds to recover from the force of the impact, and he came face-to-face, well, mask-to-mask, with the disguised person. He struggled to push them off of himself, but they were unnaturally strong.

No, not strong, he thought. They couldn’t possibly be strong enough to pin him down with brute force, not unless they were unnaturally heavy.

Which also didn’t make much sense to the still struggling Spider-Man. The figure was barely taller than him, and just as lean. In order for them to so effortlessly restrain him, they would need to be dense. Denser than most metals. Upon realizing this, Peter noticed no warmth emanating from the body above him, and Karen’s scanning revealed as much.

“Peter, the person, isn’t a person. They’re not even machine. I cannot determine the mat-t-t-t-… Pe-pe-peter, they a-re-re messss-ing-g-g-g with my f-f-f-unction-ion-ionnn...”

Karen went silent, and the holographic display of his suit disappeared. Black tendrils snaked from the thing’s hands, somehow shutting the suit down and paralyzing Peter as it reached across his arms, stopping at his neck and chest. This was unlike anything he had ever experience, and he was truly, genuinely, afraid.

The figure stayed still, straddling Peter and staring into his masked eyes. At least, Peter thought they were staring at him. He couldn’t see any part of their face, and he didn’t care, as his mind was set on finding some way, any way, to escape.

As the figure lowered its head, Peter could hear a faint purring coming from it. It pressed its entire body against his, an immense pressure weighing upon him, restricting his breathing and ensuring he couldn’t escape, if he could have in the first place. Soon, it buried its head into the crook of his clothed neck, its ethereal purring having an… effect on him.

It resonated throughout him, and he fought his body’s arousal. He was no stranger to it, admittedly, as he was a teen going through the paces, but those times were private and few in between. Though, they did become more frequent and intense when (Y/N) began to overwhelm him. But this? This was unwanted, and he struggled ever more vehemently to escape.

Then, the figure raised its head, seemingly gazing at Peter before an inky black tendril slithered to the seam of his mask and slipped underneath. Peter’s eyes widened as he was being unmasked, but then his Spider-Sense went nuts, the tingling in the back his head overpowering the sensation of the figure’s purring.

He couldn’t see what happened, exactly, but the figure was forcefully ripped off of him by an unseen force and slammed against the low wall that encased the rooftop. Instinctively, Peter first shot a capture web at the figure before shooting a tether at the entrance to the rooftop, hoisting himself away from the figure.

Freed from its grasp, his suit sparked to life, and Karen’s voice could be heard again.

“Karen! How did they shut the suit down? And what was that that pushed them back?” Peter asked, his words laced with fear.

Before she could respond, footsteps echoed, and Peter’s attention was on…

“(Y/N)…” he whispered as he stared at your back, watching you casually make your way to the figure, which had picked itself up and stood hunched over, its hands scraping the floor and it head unnaturally twisted at you.

“You had free reign of the city, all the enticing souls of Manhattan, and yet, you just could not help yourself. He is mine, and I will not hesitate to ensure he stays mine.” You growled at the figure as you continued towards it.

Peter was taken aback, his face heating up from your declaration and his mind racing from your reveal: You and the creature were connected, its appearance coinciding with your transfer and the sudden drop in crime. Although, Peter had thought the figure was likely you in disguise, even Karen had calculated it to be the most probable of scenarios.

“…” The figure remained silent, but its body spasmed as it turned its head to look up at Peter. “………”

“So be it.” Was your reply to the figure’s silence, standing in front of it now, your hand on its neck as you lifted it off the ground, its head still craned towards Peter’s perch.

Peter was in shock at how you managed it, and Karen’s voice was a distant echo as he remained fixated on you.

You took a step up onto the ledge of the wall, dangling the figure over the vast expanse of the city scape below. Peter snapped back to his senses, rushing towards you to stop you. He had so many questions and fears and he just had to get answers from you about the figure, but…

He stopped in his tracks as you turned back at him, a soft, loving smile on your face. Your eyes held such adoration for him as tears glistened in them, the moon perfectly aligned with your frame. So many memories flashed before Peter’s eyes, memories of loss and tragedy and heartache, he meekly reached out for you as you stepped off the ledge, falling, still with the same smile and love across your lips as you mouthed ‘I love you…’.

He screamed for you at the top of lungs, firing off two webs at you as he desperately chased after you, his tears clouding his vision. The webs raced after you and the figure, but you both fell at such an unnatural speed, as if something more than gravity drew you towards the gray concrete earth. They never reached, and Karen had to fire another to anchor Peter to the building so he would not meet a similar fate.

The figure landed first, impacting the ground and cratering it, the force shattering nearby glass. It laid there, motionless, until you neared the ground. It jolted up and leapt to intercept, but it fell a few inches short as you slammed into the asphalt beside it.

Peter swiftly made his way to your lifeless body, your smile and love unbroken. The figure knelt beside your body, and in its ethereal, warped voice, whispered “Forgive me...”

Peter held you as a crowd began to form, and the figure slowly dissolved into an inky black mist as it slumped over, its hand intertwined with yours.

---

A week went by, and Peter was still lying in his bed, the city of Manhattan wondering where their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man had gone off to. Peter refused to leave his room save for food and the occasional hour-long shower, and took no visitors, not even Tony Stark had been able to get through to him. Ned and MJ stopped by everyday to drop off his missed homework and copies of their notes, but Aunt May remained to be the only one to see him.

And now, she stood outside his bedroom door, a crisp letter of crimson with an ivory seal in her hand. She hesitated when she went to knock and decided it better to slip it under his door, knowing he would come out when he was ready.

Peter saw the letter but made no effort to get it. Hours passed before he mustered the strength to retrieve it. He sunk back into his bed as he read the lettering, the same color as the seal-

‘Beloved’

He gingerly opened it, immediately having recognized your handwriting. Carefully unfolding the letter, a few rose petals scattered about him and the bed as they fell from the opened paper. His eyes watered as he smelled your scent on the paper, and it soon became sobs as he read through it, your voice echoing in his mind.

My Dearest Beloved,

I imagine you have many questions, and I desire little more than to give you those answers. Beloved, I am gone, as is the shade that bore the darkness of my soul and the sins I have committed, but I ask that you shed no more tears for me. I am undeserving of your grief, much less your love and affection.

I longed for someone to call my own, but my shade haunted me everywhere I travelled, a reminder of all the sorrow I have wrought. While I changed my ways, it could not, and many more fell to the darkness that resides within me. I thought, in a place with a vast number of criminals, it would be satisfied. Of course, when my heart became yours to bear, it followed suit. Beloved, never have I loved someone as much as I love you, and it is your memory that I shall keep with me as I atone for all the pain I am responsible for.

But, enough of me, for I matter naught. Only you matter. Peter, my beloved, I knew that you could not be mine by any measure, and I accepted this. At least, I thought I had. Your radiant beauty captivated me, and your brilliant mind ensnared me, and my heart yearned for a love I could not have. It is an excruciating experience, and I do not wish that anyone, not anymore. As your happiness is my only desire, I prepared this letter, and many others, for when my time came to meet my fate.

Peter, my dearest beloved, I do not love you so simply. I am in love with your very being- mind, body, and soul. I cannot express my gratitude for your freeing me. May the next letters find you and, if you still have the kindness I am ever so glad to have received, may you treasure them as I have treasured every moment I spent with you.

With Sincerest Love,

(Y/N) (L/N)

Peter set the handwritten letter down, three simple words leaving his lips before he went to Aunt May, his heart aching.

“I forgive you…”

—–

#Marvel #Marvel Comics #MCU #Spider-Man #marvel spiderman #Peter Parker #male reader #spiderman x male reader #peter parker x male reader #angst #fanfiction #original works #enjoy you heathens

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