#I’m too childish no one is ever going to take me seriously | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keen-li · 6 days

Text

MA'AM

18+

MDNI

Neighbour au. age gap au (reader is older than jk). kissing, touching, oral (female receiving), fingering, jk calls reader ''ma'am''. reader is kinda lonely, bored and untouched. p in v, no protection (be wise and condomize guys).

this is all just fiction, don't take it too seriously.

plus im stil learing to write smut, so go easy on me.

helpful and positve feedback is appreciated.

Sorry for any typos.

‘’oh yn,’’ you hear a familiar boy-ish voice speak.

And when you turn, your eyes are met with jungkook.

You know him cause he’s your neighbour, but you rarely speak seeing that you have nothing in common but he’s always kind and sweet whenever you bump into each other.

Like right now.

‘’jungkook’’ you say surprised to see him. ‘’how are you?’’ you give him back a smile.

You haven’t seen him in a while, he must be busy with college (you assume) or maybe he’s busy with some girlfriend. Guys his age are usually swarmed with girls. Especially seeing how attractive he is. The college girls must be having fun with him.

You admire his hair that seems to have gotten longer. You can’t help but notice how good he looks with it.

‘’i’m good, hope you’re doing well..’’ he pauses in his speech ‘’haven’t heard from you in a while. I almost thought you moved out’’

You chuckle at his assumption.

You shake your head lightly as you chuckle ‘’nope. Just busy with work’’

‘’i dont think i’d ever move out honestly’’ seeing as this apartment has a fair price for rent.

He chuckles.

‘’im glad thought i scared you away’’ he says worriedly.

‘’you’d never scare me away’’ you mumble out suddenly feeling nervous.

‘’with all those noise complaints you handed to me?’’ He says with a warm joking tone.

You can’t deny that a lot of noise comes from jungkook’s apartment, that you had to report him. You kinda feel childish for doing it, he’s a college boy anyways. All they know is noise.

‘’but i do get it. I make a lot of noise’’ he uses his pointer and middle finger to rub his lower lip, you get the chance to admire his tattooed finger and pierced lip.

You feel yourself swallow the lump in your throat and bite your lip. You don’t know why you always feel like this when talking to jungkook, maybe it’s his hovering figure, intimidating voice or piercing brown eyes. Even though his eyes give off a soft innocent look you can’t help but observe the sensuality in them.

‘’um yeah’’ you don’t know what else to say. Your eyes can barely look at jungkook while his eyes can’t stop looking at you. There’s no way a college boy can make you feel this nervous. You thought you had outgrown it.

Or maybe it’s the aloneness since your last boyfriend. It’s been quite depressive but you try and not let it eat you up.

But it’s hard when you and jungkook’s walls are as thin as paper. and can hear everything that goes on. Especially when he has a girl over.

You don’t mean to listen to what happens, but what else can you do when you’re laying in bed, bored and lonely. It seems sad you end up finding your hand in-between your thighs as you hear how jungkook pleasures.

With all the groans and name moaning you have come to the conclusion that jungkook must be a great fuck. But it’s not like you’ll ever know. Do you even want to?

You can never fuck someone younger than you right? You’ve always dated older men or at least someone the same age as you. You’ve never been with a younger guy before.

But jungkook seems like he could definitely go for an older woman.

Wait.

Does jungkook want you. He does seem to give off that vibe but maybe you’re in over your head. Jungkook wouldn’t want you there are so many better options for him. So many better girls for him. Not you.

‘’so do you like those?’’ he askes pointing to the basket you have filled with ramen noodles cups.

You chuckle embarrassed.

‘’ yeah i do but, i mainly buy them cause i don’t have time to cook’’

He nods.

‘’maybe i can come cook for you one day’’ you laugh but he’s actually serious.

‘’oh, i wouldn’t mind but i assume you’re busy with school’’ you swing the basket lightly and unconsciously.

‘’i can find time’’ he says a little rushed out.

‘’then i wouldn’t mind’’ you smile.

‘’you going home?’’ he asks.

You nod.

‘’i guess i can give you a ride home, if that’s alright with you’’

You wouldn’t mind at all.

The ride back home was quiet. It still baffles you to how jungkook has a car.

When you were in college you could barely find money to buy food, let alone a car.

And even with a job you can barely find money to buy or rent a car.

‘’thanks for the ride, it was nice meeting you today jungkook’’

The way you smile and say his name makes a hot flash rush through him.

If only you knew how many times his thought of you calling out his name. Sometimes he wishes it was you in his bed, toes curling and back arching.

If he got the chance, he’d show you how you deserve everything.

You don’t deserve to get yourself off and barely get off.

Did he ever say that the walls are so thin that he can hear you too.

He’s heard your frustrated moans and grunts. And all the times you cursed cause of how hard it was to get your high, sometimes his heard you cry and it breaks his heart.

He wishes he could get a chance to please you. He’s never wanted to please someone so bad.

He’s never been so desperate to get on his knees and run you dry of all your juices. To feel you claw at his back as you take him so well.

But he’s also never thought of being with an older woman.

Jungkook knows you’re older than him and he doesn’t mind. Actually he makes him want you more.

He wants you like air and if he doesn’t get you now he feels like he would stop breathing.

So if he doesn’t take this opportunity now he might never have the chance to.

‘’do you wanna, come eat ramen with me?’’

You don’t know how it happened. But he asked you to come over to his, you didn’t see a problem with it so you said yes.

But you don’t know how you went from laughing over some movie to grinding on his lap as your lips intertwine hungrily.

Fuck. You never thought you’d be doing this with your neighbour and fuck you never thought it would feel this good.

Your hands roam his firm chest, and your thoughts are proved right, he does like the gym. Though you could’ve known that without clawing at his chest.

These younger guys are always in the gym, like their life depends on it.

Your gasps and moans mix. You don’t know how innocent sounds of laughter turned into hot whimpers of need.

Maybe it was the stares that seemed to linger for longer than they should have.

Jungkook takes a moment to take in your face but then his lips are soon on yours again as eager as ever, and you accept them.

He kisses you with eagerness and desperation. Desperation to touch and feel you in every way.

You moan into his mouth as you feel the wetness grow between your legs. You hate how a college student, has you this hot and soaking wet.

You’re busy devouring each other’s lips but you don’t fail to recognize the tent forming and touching your centre.

Jungkook’s hands rummage over your back and over your hips and to your ass, he sqeezes your ass lightly which causes you to jumb lightly.

‘’you okay’’ he asks

‘’yeah just never had anyone squeeze my ass like that’’

That boy-ish smile of his is far gone, now a manly sexy grin paints his face. A grin like a wolf looking at a lamb as it’s next meal.

‘’you’ve never had someone touch you like that’’

You shake your head. You hate how jungkook makes you feel like a highschooler losing their virginity.

‘’who have you been fucking that doesn’t want to touch this ass’’ he squeezes your ass again, and you’re embarrassed when you release a moan at that action.

‘’i don’t know’’ your words come out more whiny than you’d like.

He moves to your neck and you move it to accustom him into the space. He places some wet and gentle kisses.

‘’i’m not like them though. I wanna touch every part of you. Wanna taste every part of you and feel you on me.’’ He kisses your neck again and the smacking sound of his lips meeting your skin causes you clench. ‘’i wanna treat you right, i wanna make you feel good’’

You don’t know how true his words are or if you can even take them seriously. Maybe it’s the lust talking. He’s a young man, he wouldn’t want to waste his days with you.

‘’don’t you have other, younger girls. You wanna make feel good.’’ You just had to ask.

The chuckles he releases causes a rush of blood to your groin.

‘’all i think about when i fuck them is you’’ he kisses you again.

You don’t want to believe him but your heart can’t help but flutter. You don’t want to get hurt again but something tells you jungkook is far from hurting you. But you can’t trust that feeling, what if that feeling is just how good it feels to be on him.

He has a great way with words and it would work on you every time, cause you haven’t grown out the naivety of your youth for some reason.

Jungkook knows when and how to say the right words which makes you scared. Which makes him dangerous. All these young boys are to slick with their words.

‘’yn, don’t think’’ he whispers against your lips. He must have noticed your distance all of a sudden.

‘’don’t think of anything but this’’ he pecks your lips.

‘’i’ll try’’ you coo.

‘’i’ll make you’’

his lips are back on yours desperately. And the sound of your lips smacking and you whimpers fills the room again.

His lips go back to licking and sucking that one spot on your neck. His mouth on your neck and hands on your hips helping you grind against his clothed crotch makes you gasp for air.

You’ve never had anyone take their time with you like this, they’re usually quick to just get it in. But not jungkook, he takes his time enjoying and tasting every part of you. Why wouldn’t he when he’s been thinking about this moment and taking cold showers to stop his natural desire for you.

Being with jungkook tells you how much you’ve been missing and how much you need to learn. It’s like going back to your college days.

‘’fuck jungkook’’ you moan when he nibbles at your neck. Your hands move from his chest to his neck then to his long hair.

You unintentionally pull at his hair and you love how he groans when you do so.

The need and ache between your legs grows strong as you grind harder on his lap. Jungkook watches how you move against him trying to find your high. He promises to give it to you but he needs to feel more of you before he does so.

You gasp when he plops you on your back onto his soft couch.

‘’jungkook...’’ you call out and he stops his action to attend to your need.

‘’yes’’ he sounds so submissive as he says so.

‘’i want you’’ your hips move up to feel some friction. He chuckles at the action.

‘’i want you too’’ he smiles as he pecks you on your forehead.

‘’no. Like i want you. Actually i fucking need you’’ you whine out. You’re probably gonna be so embarrassed later but right now you need him.

Your hand reaches for his belt but his hands stop you. You feel embarrassed and confused, you know he’s hard. You can see his fully grown bulge. But why does he want to take so much time.

‘’i wanna taste you first’’ he whispers by your ear.

Fuck. You’ve never had anyone want to eat you out. It’s been a while since anyone went down on you.

‘’jungkoo-‘’ you want to protest.

‘’please yn’’ he begs. ‘’i need it’’ his lips are against yours as he says in a whisper. His lips are on yours for a second before he leaves you wanting to taste his lips more.

You watch his body move down and you can feel your wetness drip down.

‘’fuck...’’ you hear him groan and grow a little self conscious.

‘’what?’’ you lift yourself up a bit.

‘’it’s just that you’re so fucking gorgeous’’ you can’t help but blush and feel a little weird. You’ve never had anyone ogle at you pussy like that.

‘’jungkook..’’ you call out in a whine. You can feel his breath breeze over you centre and it makes the need grow stronger.

‘’i’m sorry, im staring’’ he says and before you can tell him anything his lips are on you, hungrily.

You release a sharp moan as his lips make out with yours.

He licks a long strip of you pouring juices, your taste sinking into his tastebuds.

‘’so fucking good,’’ he groans. ‘’and so fucking wet’’ you feel his finger run through your folds.

‘’jungkook please. Fuck...’’ you don’t even know what you’re pleading for but you are.

Jungkook adheres to you unspoken cries, as he dives back into kissing you and massaging your clit.

Your hand finds it’s way to his hair and pulls. The groan he releases sends electricity through you.

You’ve never felt like this, nobody has ever put this much effort into touching you.

And jungkook has never put this much effort into eating pussy, but for you he will and he is.

He adds his fingers into you as he pumps into you.

‘’fuck you need to be fucked right’’ he says at your tightness. You can barely hear what he’s saying over at how hard he’s slurping.

With the way his digits work into you and his tongue sucks on your clit, you can feel that feeling you’ve been chasing.

‘’fuck jungkook, im going to-‘’ jungkook smiles at how you can barely finish your sentence but he knows.

The feeling grows closer and your heart races in excitement.

But then all of the sudden the feeling is gone and you’re about to curse out jungkook who’s now moving up.

‘’what the fuck, i was going to-‘’ you whine angrily.

‘’i want you to come over my cock’’

You don’t argue, he’s the one in control after all.

‘’ then please fuck me’’ all you can do is plead. It’s so embarrassing pleading for him to fuck you. You wonder if girls his age are this desperate too.

‘’yes ma’am’’ he says as he takes off his shirt, for some reason him calling you ma’am makes you more aroused.

‘’don’t call me ma’am’’ you say blushing but jungkook knows, you’re bullshitting.

‘’yes ma’am’’ he says with a cheeky grin knowing that it makes you clench around nothing.

You watch him unbuckle his belt and you’ve never seen anything this attractive.

As you watch him you anticipate how his going to feel and how you’ll wrap around him. That’s all jungkook can think about too as he strokes himself slightly, though he’s been hard since he saw you in the grocery store.

You feel his tip slide through your wet folds and you can’t help but suck in a breath. Jungkook can’t help but whimper at how wet and good you feel already.

You clench desperate to feel something inside you. You wonder if it will hurt, it’s been a while for you anyways. And he looks like he could stretch you out good. But you’re too needy to worry about that.

You gasp when you feel him move into you, slow and teasingly. His tip has you wondering if you’ll be able to take all of him.

‘’fuck you’re so good for me’’ he says as he moves in deeper. ‘’i wish i could feel you everyday’’

You can.

You want to say, but don’t wanna make promises. You don’t know if this will ever happen again.

‘’do you wanna be good for me like this everyday, yn’’ he says kissing along your jaw as he settles into you.

He doesn’t move waiting for your answer.

You hum but it’s not enough for him.

‘’yes, i want you everyday’’ you end up speaking more of your mind than you planned to.

Jungkook smiles as he slowly begins to move in and out.

‘’good. You can have me everyday’’

With the ways he rocks into you, slowly increasing speed, you understand the moans of those girls you heard him fucking.

His name falls from your mouth as he continues. Jungkook has never enjoyed being buried in heat like this. And he’s never wanted to stay in forever like he does right now.

‘’jungkook..’’ with the way your nails dig into his arm and you flutter around he knows you’re close.

But so is he. Your high is his target as he continues to stroke.

Jungkook twitches inside of you as you both reach your highs.

He lays on top of you as you breath heavily. He tries to keep his weight from crushing you.

‘’next time i wanna be on top’’ you say with the energy you’ve got left.

‘’deal. Even though i like being on top, i’ll let you ride me’’ you almost feel that feeling comeback.

You stroke his hair as you watch that boy-ish smile return on his face.

It’s like he’s changed and wasn’t the person balls deep into you seconds ago.

‘’i like this’’ you say comfortable.

‘’i like you’’ Jungkook coos into your neck.

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iwritefandomimagines · 1 year

Text

I COULD KISS YOU — GREG HOUSE

masterlist

pairing: greg house x reader

description: when an offhand comment to praise house for helping you diagnose a patient leads to the silent treatment, you’re both forced to confront the feelings that had been lingering unspoken for too long.

warnings: swearing, angst to a teeny bit of fluff, may be a lil ooc as i’m still iffy on fleshing out how i write the house characters but i’m trying <3

author’s note: had this idea and got excited so bashed it out quite quickly while i was motivated af — hopefully you enjoy !!! let me know what you think

“Gregory House, you bloody genius,” you exclaimed, clenching your fists in excitement, unable to stop the words that came flying out next, “I could kiss you!”

You’d been trying to diagnose your patient for nigh on a week now, and with the young boy’s symptoms rapidly progressing and his condition rapidly worsening, House’s diagnostic expertise provided exactly the breakthrough you needed.

You were ecstatic — mentally piecing together just how he had to be correct — and so without another word you practically skipped out of his office to run some tests and reach the certainty needed to treat the boy as soon as possible.

What House had suggested made perfect sense, accounting for every symptom and every adverse reaction to the treatments you had tried so far, and though you usually mocked his tendency to always smugly assume he was right, at present you were immeasurably grateful for his input.

You were disappointed, then, when you rushed to tell him that the young boy was responding incredibly well to the treatment he suggested and he simply gave you his smug “I-told-you-so” smile and rushed away from you.

He didn’t speak to you again for the rest of the day, choosing instead to actually take time to visit his patients rather than deal with encountering you again.

“What did I do to piss House off?” you asked Cameron, Foreman and Chase shyly as you stood near the nurse’s station with them.

They all just eyed you like the answer was obvious, but Chase shrugged, “When has anyone ever needed to actually do something to piss him off?”

“No, he won’t even talk to me right now,” you frowned, brows furrowed, “It’s weird. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong since this morning.”

The group all looked between eachother, as though deciding who would be the one to have to tell you the honest truth.

“Probably something to do with your little ‘I could kiss you’,” Chase replied, doing a terrible impersonation of you and batting his eyelids flirtatiously as he quoted you, “He didn’t seem to like that very much.”

Your mouth was parted in confusion, “Firstly, I do not sound like that. But secondly, why would he give me the silent treatment for that? Is the idea of kissing me that repulsive?”

Cameron scoffed, rolling her eyes, “You’re both as oblivious as each other, Y/N… He’s ignoring you for literally the opposite reason.”

You shook your head in disbelief.

Was she seriously trying to tell you that House was ignoring you because he didn’t like you joking about kissing him?

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“It’s literally painfully obvious, Y/N,” Foreman groaned, “You’ve had this weird sexual tension going on forever and given that he’s usually bad at giving a damn about people, he gets weird about you. And he obviously has feelings for you, so it rubbed him up the wrong way.”

Chase chuckled, “They’re right. He’s only mad at you because you’re the only person he’s never mad at but you hurt the feelings he apparently has.”

You pondered what he was saying for a moment, trying to piece together whether there was any semblance of truth behind their explanation for House’s weird behaviour.

Truth be told, it was the exact kind of petty and ill-fitting behaviour you’d expect from House.

For such a brilliant man, he could be utterly childish at times, especially if he wasn’t getting his way.

Your relationship had always teetered on the edge of professionalism — he was always making flirtatious comments, he always took your suggestions on board more than the others, always sung your praises to your peers and superiors.

Whilst everyone else was certain it was proof of his feelings for you, you had just thought he appreciated that you never pried into his life unless he offered to divulge information himself, and you were excellent at your job.

Of course, you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed your ambiguous relationship, given the crush you had harboured since very early on in your acquaintance. That’s why you always flirted back, always made sure your input was carefully though out, and why you were always singing his praises too.

But it was Greg House — a man who so famously behaved as though he didn’t care about anyone. So of course you didn’t think that things would ever progress past your unprofessional professional relationship.

“Where is he?”

“In his office,” Cameron smiled, “He told me to make sure nobody bothered him, and I think he meant you because he’s still throwing his toys out of the pram.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, “God, he’s ridiculous. I’m going to go and talk to him. Or try, anyway. Wish me luck.”

“Is this House we’re talking about?” Dr. James Wilson made an appearance at your side now, his brow quirked in curiosity as he butted into the conversation.

You nodded, “He’s being a baby instead of actually talking to me about why he’s mad.”

You hoped he’d have some kind of more concrete explanation, given that he was the only person House was even remotely honest around.

“He’s hardly an expert at talking about his feelings, is he? Or having them, actually,” Wilson chuckled, “But he’s been grumbling all day. Please do go and speak to him. For my sanity’s sake, if not your relationship’s.”

“Slow down, Wilson,” you scoffed, but though you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself, you couldn’t deny the fluttering in your stomach at any sort of reference to you and House’s potential relationship, “I’m going!”

You entered the room without even knocking, folding your arms over your chest with a stern expression on your features as you strode towards his desk and stood firmly in front of him.

“I’m busy.”

“Busy being petty and ignoring me?”

He looked up now, narrowing his eyes as he realised you were not going to meekly scuttle away like you had done every other time he’d dismissed you today.

“What makes you think that?” sarcasm dripped from his words, “I just so enjoy spending time getting to know my patients and doing paperwork!”

You huffed out a sigh, frustrated by him already trying to dodge the subject, “Greg.”

“Y/N.”

“Greg!”

“Y/N!” he matched your tone just to challenge you, and you scoffed, “Are you really going to be like this?”

“Like what?”

“So deliberately evasive?”

His lips drew together in a thin line as he eyed you carefully, “How’s your little boy from this morning?”

“You are so fucking frustrating, Greg,” you scowled, “Can we have an adult conversation here?”

He appeared to ponder over another joke to make, but apparently for the first time in his life thought better, as he remained silent and waited for you to continue.

“I’ve been so stressed out about that kid, and you helped me to help him massively — he’s likely to be discharged by tomorrow. I was so happy, so relieved, and I said I could kiss you,” you began, avoiding his gaze at first until your final sentence, “And it was a silly offhanded comment about how grateful I was, but at the same time I honestly could’ve kissed you because I quite honestly want to a lot of the time.”

Oh my God — you’d stunned the Greg House into silence?

Your breathing was jagged, “I don’t know if you’re just being an ass because you don’t like being on the other end of jokes, or if the team actually aren’t just blind hopeless romantics and you actually care about me. But I just wish you’d talk to me instead of doing all this and making me feel like you don’t care at all.”

He pulled himself up onto his feet, grabbing his cane to lean on as he inched closer to you.

“It’s a bit of both,” his voice was low, and you were sure that if you didn’t know him better you might believe him to be shy about telling you the truth, “I’m not good at caring, and I don’t usually like caring, but I guess I do. Sue me!”

You took another step forward, so that you were so close you were breathing right in each other’s faces.

You were trying to be brave and command the conversation, but your stomach was doing backflips as it dawned on you that what he meant was that he really did feel the same about you.

“Why would you go silent on me then instead of talking to me about it?” you bit your lip as you spoke, and caught notice of how his eyes trailed to your lips as you did so.

He swallowed thickly, “Didn’t feel right to. Hardly professional, is it?”

“Oh, because you’re the picture of professionalism usually aren’t you?” you laughed dryly.

“Point taken,” he shrugged, “Maybe I was little scared. And we’ve got a good thing going, it’s a risk pushing things any further.”

You weren’t happy with that, not when this was Greg House — king of taking risks and breaking rules — and you were certain that it was a risk worth taking anyway.

“When has risk ever stopped you?” you asked, whispering now as your eyes darted between his and his lips whilst he mirrored your behaviour.

“Point also taken,” he mumbled, before finally taking the plunge and bringing his lips to yours in a heated kiss that you leaned into immediately.

He quickly leaned back to sit on the edge of his desk, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you to stand between his parted legs.

You pulled back, suddenly aware that anyone could come in at this moment and see you — and whilst the biggest risk here really was endless teasing from the team or a scolding from Cuddy, you did still have some things to discuss too.

You didn’t want to ruin the moment, overcome with giddiness at what had just happened, but you wanted to make your feelings clear; Even if it was to a man who would probably make a jokey remark and underplay his own feelings.

“I don’t know your relationship history, and I don’t care to,” you shrugged, moving your hands to your hips but hardly moving away from him, “Well, I’m not rushing to. I can assume it’s not great, but I just want to take every day as it comes and see where things go because mine isn’t great either. I’m not gonna hurt you, Greg.”

The sincerity in his eyes as he gazed up at you made your heart melt, and you could tell that somehow, some way, you had gotten through to him.

“Don’t make promises you can’t be certain that you’ll keep, Y/N,” he mumbled, before shaking off his own words and standing back up to stare into your eyes intently, “But fine. Because it’s you, I’m willing to try. Provided there’s more of this,” he kissed you again before continuing, “And less of them ogling and concocting their little romantic stories about the lovely doctor Y/N and her damaged old fool.”

You turned around to see the entire team peering through the window, all smiles and whispered chatter at the sight before them.

You raised your middle finger to them, turning back to look at House and stepping back a little from him.

“Unfortunately, those nosey fuckers are not going anywhere,” you rolled your eyes, “If you’re willing to try then we’re going for dinner. Tonight. And we’re going to have a good time, and not talk about this place or about anything you don’t want to.”

He nodded, “I’ll pretend I’m not furious you’ve robbed me of making the grand romantic gesture of being the one to ask,” he cocked his head as he joked, truthfully very much pleased you were the one to ask and confirm that your interest in him was genuine, “But sounds good to me. I’ll wear my nicest tux, eh.”

“Yeah, yeah, ha ha,” you hummed, “Now I’ve got a living patient to go and visit thanks to you. Enjoy your afternoon with that lot,” you gestured to your friends, who were all still stood there watching you, “Good luck. Oh, and pick somewhere to book for us to eat. That can be your grand romantic gesture, hm.”

“Gee, thanks,” he laughed, shaking his head, “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” you grinned, swanning out of his office with the biggest smile possible painting your features.

You nudged past your friends as they watched you walk down the corridor, happier than they had probably ever seen you in the time that you’d known them.

They immediately filed into House’s office when you were out of sight, and his head fell back in irritation for a moment despite the smile still gracing his lips.

“Things went well, then?”

“Go away,” he replied, “I’m in a good mood for once, and you idiots aren’t going to ruin that, alright?”

“Woah, okay,” Foreman laughed, “Who are you and what has Y/N done with Greg House?”

———

thanks for reading !!! i hope enjoyed and this wasn’t too ooc lol. let me know what you though pleaaase & if you’d like — feel free to request!

in the meantime, here is my masterlist!

#greg house #greg house x reader #gregory house x reader #gregory house #house md #house md imagine #house md imagines #house md one shot #greg house x you #greg house x y/n #dr greg house

2K notes · View notes

nevernonline · 6 months

Text

✧.* what’s your number?; kmg

synposis: after finding an online article about the number of sexual partners a woman should have, your day with your neighbor turns into him being lucky number eighteen.

paring/s: model! mingyu x afab! reader, ft. little brother! chan.

genre/s: humor (sort of lmao), neighbors2lvrs vibes, fuckboy&girl reader and gyu.

warning/s: alcohol consumption, sexual content (minors - dni), talks of broken bones, oc has female genitalia

word count: 3.8k

content: seggsy times, idiots being besties, reader loses her job, all the vibes.

note/s: loosely based on one of my fav movies, what's your number with anna ferris. lmao enjoy. also def unedited so srry. xo.

“Miss. Y/L/N. I’m very sorry but we have decided to let you go.”

Your boss put down a brown cardboard box that once held wine from a staff party about a week ago. You stood in silence, why were you being fired? You’re one of the only executives who does their job. All of the other employees sit around and drink whiskey and flirt with the other women on your floor on company time, go home to their wives, and make six figures.

“Sir, can I ask why?”

“Budget cuts, sorry honey.”

Honey of course. Not only is he himulating you, he’s also being condescending.

“Why not fire Ted? He does nothing but use his company card for ‘business expenses’ like taking his different fucks to exotic vacations and restaurants.”

“Our female clients like Theodore. Sorry it has to be this way. Here’s a check to keep your rent underway and for any troubles. Good luck.”

You picked up the brown cardboard he handed it to you and dumped the white envelope into your bag as you stormed out of his glass chamber.

Perfect timing, your brothers getting married and you’re getting fired. Your mother will surely love to hear about this.

After gathering the contents of your desk you found your way back to your white and gray covered apartment, sinking down into the perfect couch you bought yourself as a reward for your first month in the job.

Pulling your laptop from the pocket of your work bag, you scrolled through the news on your side widget . Coming across an article written in some stupid lifestyle magazine about ‘the appropriate number of sexual partners for women.’

“Okay, so society is regressing.”

Curious enough you scrolled through to a small section with a quiz, childish, but probably suitable for women over 50 or under 21.

Following your finger down the various categories that pertained to you until it came to the bottom of the page pointing out your result.

“15 and over, women with this number often have difficulty finding a spouse and are unlikely to ever settle down. Are they fucking serious? Men can fuck 50 women and still are fine.”

A vibration came from your phone, a text from your neighbor.

[3:44pm].

Mingyu: Mind helping me out? New girl won’t take the bait about my “emergency”

Y/N: what’s the issue with her this time?

Mingyu: nothing, just too clingy. I’m expecting you in five, say our dad fell in the shower. Thank you, owe you.

Y/n: got it see you in five.

Mingyu and you met often when you were ushering out hook ups or crazy exes show up to your door. You didn’t know much about his life, other than he’s a model, and obviously has bad luck with women.

Pulling yourself up off your couch and throwing a blazer back over your shoulders you strode off down to the other end of the hallway.

“Mingyu? Mingyu seriously answer your phone? Hello!”

The door opened revealing a semi-naked girl, she was pretty sure, blonde, tall, nice eyes, but boring.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Mingyu’s sister, who the fuck are you?”

“Oh my god! So sorry, hi so nice to meet you, I’m Ailee his gir-“

“My friend, y/n. What’s wrong?”

Letting yourself passes the bra sporting blonde you looked Mingyu straight in the face and pulled out your best crying face, it was easy today being that you’re pissed about work and that stupid fucking quiz.

“It’s dad, he fell. I don’t think it’s good, we have to go.”

“Oh. Okay, let me change.”

Mingyu pulled in his jeans and a white t-shirt, grabbed his fancy leather wallet from the counter and pulled you through the front door of his condo.

“Ailee, let yourself out okay?”

“Call me?”

“Uh, maybe it sounds like this is bad, maybe we should stop seeing each other? I’ll call you.”

The truth is Mingyu was never going to call her, he said that to all the others. Yet, you never saw them again.

Silently you open the door to your place and shut it behind you.

“She seems nice.”

“Yeah trust me, she’s not.”

“Noted. But, better than that crazy red headed girl, Cass was it?”

“We don’t have to talk about her.”

“Missing that jacket still?”

“Yes.”

Mingyu took his place on your leather armchair and sipped the coffee you had initially made for yourself.

“What is this? What’s your number?”

“Oh my god. Stop looking at my shit.”

You whipped the lid of your laptop close and stole it out of his hands

“Do you really think anyone cares how many people you sleep with? Isn’t that kind of fucked up?”

“You can only say that because well, one your a man and two you’ve fucked basically half the women in this city.”

“Not true, we haven’t fucked.”

“Right and we will not.”

“Sure, sure keep telling yourself that. So what is it? 12?”

“Do you really need that answer?”

“Yes. And I will bother you until you tell me.”

“17.”

Mingyu laughed, not because he felt bad for you or that you were going to hell for fucking 17 people, but because he didn’t see the big deal.

“Oh come on, that is not that bad.”

“What’s yours?”

“Maybe 20?”

“We are way too close in number for me to not feel weird about it now.”

“Because it doesn’t matter, why do you think you couldn’t get a husband or boyfriend or whatever the fuck you want because of that?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t until today I guess.”

“Bad day?”

The dark haired man’s head nodded towards the unpacked cardboard box sitting on your dining table.

“Weird day. And now I have to go see my family at an overly fancy party and sit around clutching cocktails and lie that I didn’t lose my job, just until their precious boy is married off.”

“Ah, the black sheep of a rich family huh?”

“Shut up, no. They’re just judgmental is all. Well, my mom is anyway.”

“I see. What are you wearing?”

“I don’t know? What’s wrong with what I have on now?”

Mingyu looked you over in your semi unbuttoned dress shirt and oversized trousers, sexy and sophisticated, but a little boring for a party.

“Actually you look good. But, it’s not exactly giving a cocktail party for the sister of the groom. Especially if your mom is as judgmental as you say.”

“Okay, go in my closet then. Work your weird model magic or whatever, Mr. Jeans and white tee.”

“Anything for you, rich girl.”

You walked Mingyu through your bedroom into the oversized walk in closet, filled to the brim of clothes, half of them with tags still on. Gifts from boyfriends, friends, your mother.

“Wow, I didn’t expect this.”

“And what did you expect?”

“A closet turned into an office and like five pairs of the same pants, maybe matching pajama sets. But not this.”

Sitting down on the small stool you let the man rifle his way through the various colors of fabric.

“Okay, so this black dress. It’s tight but not overwhelmingly, it’ll show your figure and still make you appropriate. These tall black boots, sexy to show off your long legs and make you look even taller, a nice bag, maybe.. this red one? Or the green, just for a pop of color. Put it on.”

“You finish quickly .”

“Never had a woman say that to me before. Hurry up.”

Smirking, you run back into your bedroom, out of sight from the man tapping his fingers on the marble countertop of your dressing room, sliding into the outfit he picked out.

“Okay, I look-“

“Beautiful.”

“Really? Don’t you think this is a little much? I mean, for this?”

“Not at all, it’s actually really simple. May I?”

He held up a silver chain necklace in his hands and waited until you nodded as he strung it around your neck.

“Perfect. Now, leave your hair up. Maybe a nice bun and curl the front pieces? You look nice without makeup on, but do that cute winged liner look you do with a nude lip.”

“Okay, since when did you become a stylist?”

“I’m a model, I know what I’m talking about. Come on, chop chop.”

“Okay, mom. Jesus.”

“Dad. Daddy, actually.”

“That's never happening.”

Doing his instructions as he asked, you curled the front pieces of your hair letting it softly dangle in front of your face and placed the rest up on the crown of your head in a loosely tied knot.

“Okay. So maybe you’re good at this.”

“I know. If you need my help further, you know where to find me.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Aren’t you?”

Holding up your phone you realized how much time has passed and grabbed your keys.

“Right. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. See you soon, y/n.”

“Bye, Gyu.”

Walking up to the front steps of your parents luxurious brown stone, you felt the cold sweat under your armpits before walking in the front door.

“Y/N holy shit, where have you been? Mom is going to kick your ass.”

“Sorry, Chanie. I had something going on. Where is she?”

“In the dining room with Marnie and Seungcheol. Talking about wedding stuff, please save us.”

Coming to your brother's rescue was part of the job of being an older sister. Seeing him settle down and get engaged to a girl like Marnie was amazing for you, she was everything he needed, and it was nice to have another girl in your family.

Grabbing a glass of champagne from the silver tray of a waiter, you strode up to your mother in your childhood home, still as nervous as you would have been as a little girl to be under her gaze.

“Aw, my baby. Finally arrived. Hello.”

“Hi, Mom. Hello, guys.”

You mom hugged you giving a kiss on both of your blushing cheeks passing you along to greet your brother's future wife and his friend Seungcheol.

“Y/N, you look amazing. Where did you get this beautiful dress?”

“Thank you. My friend helped me pick this out actually, I don’t remember where it’s from.”

“Friend? Which friend is this, darling?”

“His name is Mingyu, he’s my neighbor.”

“Gay? He has wonderful taste.”

“No, not gay mom. He’s a model.”

“Oh wow, can I see a photo? Why didn’t you bring him?”

“Maybe next time.”

After downing the first glass of alcohol you quickly look for another, Seungcheol already holding a glass in his hand for you with a wink.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

“Y/N, can you go find your father? Now that you're here we can start dinner.”

“Yep.”

Strolling throw the various rooms full of priceless knickknacks and photos of your youth, you stop at the open oak doors of your fathers study, looking at him for a moment, behind his desk, glasses on, reading his book.

“Hello, Dad. May I come in?”

“Y/N, yes of course. Just hiding out here until I can eat some dinner. How are you?”

“I’m okay, mom sent me to get you to come eat. What are you reading?”

“Oh, just some Orwell. Relaxes me.”

“Shall we, sir?”

“Yes, my girl.”

You held your arm out for your father, he was always your best friend, someone who no matter what supported everything you wanted to do. He was stern, but even after parenting you he would end it with a hug and a piece of candy, seeing him grow older had your heart in pain.

Searching the table for your placecard, it sat you right in between your brother and Seungcheol, his best man and best friend for longer than you could ever remember.

“Are you coming to his bachelor mixer?”

Seungcheol’s long eyelashes fluttered in front of your face and you noticed how much more mature he looked, he was always cute, but it’s grown on you now.

“Are you going to embarrass me?”

“I’m not the one who got drunk in college and broke her arm trying to dive into the fountain.”

“Ouch. At least I haven’t shit myself drunk as an adult and embarrassed myself in front of the girl I liked.”

“I did not shit myself. It was a fart.”

“A fart with a little poop, a shart if you will. What did they call you? Shart Seungcheol?”

Your mother interrupted the light flirting you two were enjoying and gave a speech about how lovely it is to see her baby marrying a second daughter and so on and so on.

After everyone downed their salmon and fancy finger food, you got into the silly party bus along side the rest of the bridal party, moving on to the night of drinking ahead of you.

“Guys let’s play a game on the way to the bar.”

Your brother's fiancé spoke, turning down the music and passing around multiple bottles of tequila and glasses.

“Everyone right down a confession on your paper. If we guess whose it is, they have to drink, but if you get it wrong you drink.”

Looking down at the small pink sheet of paper you wrote about your day, your sex number, and you losing your job. Maybe nobody will get it, maybe nobody will care because they’ll be equally as drunk.

The game went on as your anxiety grew and nobody had chosen your confession yet, that was until your brother pulled one of the last sheets of paper out from the bowl.

“Today I lost my job, I let a stupid magazine article tell me how women who have sex with more than 15 men means they’re unloveable and unwanted. I can’t wait to get fucked up. Congratulations! Well that’s my sister.”

“What? How did you guess that?”

“I know your handwriting dumbass, drink, everyone drink.”

Your night continued, nobody mentioned your failure as a person, they just celebrated the happy couple.

More and more drinks in, maybe the same amount of people you’ve had sex with. You took it upon yourself to get people on the dance floor, when you felt a pair of hands coming up on your hips, turning around to curse them out, you recognized the eyes staring back at you.

Mingyu.

“What the hell are you doing here!?”

“Birthday party, we always come here. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Mixed sexes bachelor party.”

Mingyu's hands were still resting on your hips, on top of the very dress he helped you pick out hours before.

“Exciting. Want to get a drink with me?”

“I have one.”

You held up the half empty glass of your Negroni and Mingyu snatched it from your grip, downing it for you.

“You’re paying.”

“Yes. That was the plan.”

His hand pulled out off the dance floor and back over to a pair black leather bar stools, waving the bartender over.

“Two whiskey sours please.”

“No, one whiskey sour. I’ll have a whiskey neat.”

The bartender nodded working his magic for the two rocks glasses.

“Here you go, tab Mingyu?”

“Yes, thanks John.”

“Wow first name bases?”

“I told you we like to come here. Who’s the pale dude staring at us?”

You turned around to look at your brother, cheering you from across the bar.

“My brother, Chan. His wedding party.”

“Yes, I remember. I meant the one next to him?”

“Ah, Seungcheol. Best man.”

“He wants to fuck you, maybe he’s lucky number eighteen.”

“Maybe he was lucky number ten back in the day.”

“Do you remember his number?”

“No, but I’ve already fucked him. In college.”

“Ah, I see. Still on the hunt?”

“Not at all actually, I’m celabte now.”

“No way, I bet you could find many dudes who’d want to fuck you here.”

“It’s a matter of if I want to fuck them no?”

“Touchè”

“What about him?”

Mingyu pointed to a tall blonde, long hair, and pretty lips.

“Gorgeous. But not my style. I’m not really in the mood to get laid.”

“And let my work go to waste?”

You smiled, sipping your drink and feeling the warm liquid enter your body.

“You didn’t give me my beautiful face and fat ass, you just put it in a dress. And as my dad says, leave them wanting more.”

“You’re a very funny drunk, she shocks me even more.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you ever get tired of having me save your ass from all those girls? Don’t you want to settle down and not have your neighbor coming over to rescue you all the time?”

“Maybe the reason I do it is so you’ll save me.”

“Shut up.”

“No. I’m serious. I like hanging out with you, I enjoy seeing you, and you’re very entertaining. I like role play.”

“I see, you have a kink.”

“All jokes aside, I like seeing you.”

You were surprised by his gentle voice and nature, you always knew him from the outside, a beautiful guy who has bad luck getting girls out of his apartment for whatever reason.

“I like seeing you too.”

Mingyu's hand rested on your thigh as he looked towards the same dance floor he pulled you from before, basically begging you with his eyes to come back out with him.

You agreed, holding his hands through various sweaty bodies, some you knew and some you didn’t. Dancing along with them to the rhythm of the song, holding yourself up on Mingyu's large frame

“Surprised to see you in something other than jeans and a tee.”

“You like?”

“If I say yes are you going to fuck with me over it?”

“Maybe. Are you going to let me be your lucky number eighteen?”

“If you promise you don’t have some random girl barge in your door tomorrow to get me to leave?”

“She’ll be tied up.”

“Let’s go. I have to say bye to my brother first. Come on.”

Walking towards the door you spot Chan playing darts with Marnie, who was obviously kicking his ass.

“Hey! I’m going to head out, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Is this Mingyu?”

“Oh shit, yes Marnie, Chan, this is Mingyu. Mingyu, this is my brother Chan and his fiancé Marnie.”

Mingyu outstretched his hand to the couple, shaking it kindly.

“Nice to meet you man, my sister talks about you a lot. Be good to her.”

“Chan, shut the hell up. Love you both, mwah mwah.”

“Mingyu if you’re free tomorrow, y/n has a plus one. We’d love to have you.”

Smiling and whisking Mingyu out of the front door, you began to run together through the light rain falling, two blocks to your apartment.

“Sorry, my brothers, an idiot.”

“He seems nice, his wife to be too.”

You felt your hands shaking in nervousness riding up the elevator to your shared floor. Stepping off and standing in the hallway between your two front doors.

“Your place or mine?”

“Well, I picked you up didn't I? Come to mine.”

Mingyu led you through his familiar front door and helped you out of your wet clothes, throwing them in his washing machine.

Now standing in his living room, just in your black lace bra and panties, feeling like all those other girls before. Almost in fear of someone knocking to kick you out of his dimmed apartment.

“Come on.”

You giggled as he picked up your half naked frame and carried you into his bedroom.

“Lay down. Off the edge of the bed, trust me.”

You didn’t say anything just followed his instructions as his fingers came and wrapped themselves around your lace underwear, blowing on your clit with his soft breath as he pulled them down your freshly shaved legs.

“Fuck.”

His lips came in contact between your heated center, splitting his kisses between your aching parts and your thighs.

Your hands working their way through his hair as he used his tongue to work his way around your clit and between your folds, pushing you closer and closer into your own euphoria.

Maybe you understood why girls didn’t want to let him go, if this was his head game, you can’t even imagine what could come next.

“You taste so sweet, I should’ve known better to be careful, I might get addicted to you.”

“Stop with the niceties, Gyu. Can you please fuck me?”

“Eager are we?”

“Yes.”

Mingyu pulled you up by the back of your neck, forcing your head near the top of his dick, waiting for you to wrap your mouth around it and get it sopping wet so he could enter in between your legs.

“Oh, baby, that feels so good. I love watching you on my dick, but we have to stop before you get me going too much.”

Your head turned up at him, mascara slightly spilling under your eyes, as you opened your mouth searching for the feeling of his lips on yours, before he planted in on you he spit into your mouth, and inserted himself between the same thighs he was kissing before, slowly entering inch by inch, making you wait to feel him fully inside of you even more.

“Comfortable, baby?”

“Yes, faster please.”

“So polite, but as you said before, leave them wanting more and more. I want you to get riled up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.”

His thrusting became more rapid with your soft moaning, kissing your neck in the process, riding out your high with you, you felt him begging to slow down as his teeth wrapped around your hard nipples, sucking softly at them.

“You’re so delicious, I don’t think I can last much longer.”

“Me either, but it’s only round one.”

“Do you want to do this again?”

“Eighteen has always been my lucky number, now fill me up.”

With your final words, Mingyu rode the rest of his high before finishing inside of you, placing a soft kiss on your perfectly pink lips, and dipping his head back down to your center to clean you up with his mouth.

“Want to stay?”

“Is that alright?”

“Yeah, come on. Let’s shower.”

The tall man led you into his beautiful marble bathroom and turned the water on in his shower built for two.

“I meant what I said at the bar, you know. I like being with you.”

Your long arms reached up to his hair, massaging his scalp with shampoo.

“I meant what I said too, lucky eighteen.”

“So I’m your lucky number?”

“Yes, don’t tell my mom tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell her that you called me sir and the ass she gave you is indeed perfect.”

You planted a soft kiss on his lips, before pushing him back under the warm water of the shower head.

“I dare you.”

704 notes · View notes

blugerine · 9 months

Text

I’m just now realizing the geniusness of the dance scene in season 2 and how taking a “comedy” show seriously reveals so many new things about it.

NOTE: I have no idea if Neil Gaiman wrote this scene with the intention of it being interpreted in this way, but I really think it sheds so much light on why Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship seems like it went nowhere but downhill ever since season 1.

I feel like because New Omens is marketed as a “comedy show”, viewers usually go in with the intention not to take things too seriously (except for the more emotional beats that are signaled by somber music and intense acting *cough cough*), but as a result of that, we (or at least, I did) missed out on seeing some scenes differently because we originally wrote it off as “just a silly bit”. I definitely did that during the scene where Crowley performs the “apology dance” in front of Aziraphale because he left him alone to take care of Gabriel. I kept thinking about that scene over and over again in my head because it always seemed much more intentionally childish to me than any other goofy scene we see the husbands get up to in season 2 and even in season 1, and I just realized now a reason why that might be the case.

When Crowley comes back to the shop and has to apologize to Aziraphale, the first words that come out of his mouth are “I’m back”, and both him and Aziraphale know those words aren’t enough for Aziraphale to take him back, so what’s the next best thing? The apology dance! When Crowley initially resists the idea of performing the apology dance, Aziraphale reminds him that he’s done the apology dance numerous times in the past, listing all the specific years over the centuries to really get his point across until Crowley relents. After Crowley begrudgingly finishes the silly dance, the audience share a good laugh, Aziraphale is content enough to accept him back, and the fight they just had all seems so “stupid” now in comparison to the bigger fish they have to fry.

Now, what’s the problem in this scene? Or rather, why is this scene such a big deal in regards to why they broke up at the end of season 2? That’s because it’s, again, another example of how they always DANCE (quite literally) around the actual problems in their relationship that result in them constantly breaking up. And this has been happening for CENTURIES, time and time again, they always default to pushing their problems under the rug, letting bygones be bygones. They believe they’re forgiving and forgetting, but as Aziraphale keeps recounting all the years he’s done the apology dance, it’s very clear that they’ve actually never forgotten any of those previous instances of frustration and words of venom they’ve hurled at each other. Instead, they’ve opted to pretend they’re over it, onto “bigger and better” things to do as a distraction. The only time they start conveniently bringing up past wounds is when they have YET ANOTHER breakup scene.

The dance is performed so childishly because of the childish way they deal with the problems that arise in their relationship. Despite knowing very intricately about the infinite vastness of the universe, of mankind’s greatest strengths and weaknesses, they were not made to view themselves as having human emotions, and they were not trained to make compromises that did not threaten their very existence. Crowley and Aziraphale both started as angels, and Crowley wanted God to compromise with him about keeping the universe around for more years than She had planned. But God doesn’t take suggestions, so Crowley’s angelic status was quite literally burned from him as he was sent down to Hell, which traumatized him greatly, and made Aziraphale exist in fear of the divine punishment that came to those who disobeyed God.

As such, Aziraphale and Crowley have so little understanding of how to compromise in a healthy manner, because the first time one of them tried to do it, it ended terribly for both of them, and they subconsciously vowed never to do it again. That’s why, when one of them wants to apologize, it’s almost like a child’s idea of what one is. There’s no addressing of why Crowley’s so desperate to abandon everything and run away, or why Aziraphale is so adamant on staying, even when it clearly hurts him to do so. There’s NO reasoning or compromise. There’s NO talk other than “I was wrong, you were right”. It’s either your side or my side, or we never see each other again.

Aziracrow represents a very realistic on-and-off relationship, where two broken and codependent individuals cannot compromise for fear of divine punishment or even just fear of losing the one that means the most to them. And their little dance? It’s just one of the many times they’ve tried to ignore their very real and important relationship (and character) issues, and it just continues to rot away their relationship time and time again. It’s like putting a bandaid over an infection, but they’re both immortal and everything’s working against them to actually work on healing that infection from the inside out.

So yeah, the dance scene is fucking brilliant because no one saw that coming until you actually finish season 2 and think back on it. Again, maybe I’m just being delusional reading into a scene that wasn’t a big deal, but if Neil did write it with this intention, then I think the way he disguises meaningful insights into broken relationships, tortured characters, and religious trauma through the use of comedy to be really. fucking genius.

And really sad.

I think I might cry a bit after this actually.

(Also, hello, I still have no idea how to use tumblr 💀)

Edit: Just made a couple clarifications here and there! Also, thank you so much for all the positive reception 😭!!! Reading all your reblogged tags gives me so much serotonin agsjdgs it feels so nice being in this fandom so far ❤️

#you better hope the apology dance doesn’t happen in s3 because that means they’re avoiDING THEIR PROBLEMS AGAIN and REPEATING HISTORY #good omens 2 #good omens #good omens analysis #good omens 2 spoilers #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #neil gaiman #good omens spoilers #ineffable spouses #good omens brainrot #good omens broke me

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ellieslittlewh0re · 10 months

Note

hi shelby! i love everything you write, you’re incredible. could you maybe write something where abby x reader are in a super toxic relationship but reader keeps coming back because the sex is too good? (even though reader swears it’s the last time)

heartbeat - abby anderson x fem! reader

(yes this is named after the childish gambino song lol)

a/n - ahhhh!! my first request! I hope it’s okay :(((

wk - 1.7k

additional tags - toxic relationship, heated argument, strap on usage (reader receiving) , abby calls reader mommy (pls bare w me), doggy style bc I’m a whore, happy ending, dom abby, sub reader, SMUT!!

“So what, you’re seriously going to leave again?” Abby yells, her hands waving in the air before coming down to slam against her thighs.

You roll your eyes, trying to block out the sound of her anger induced voice that you’ve come to know so well.

Three fucking years of this shit, constant fighting and endless cycles. Everything you two did, was passionate, from fucking to screaming matches and everything in between. It definitely wasn’t all Abby’s doing, you had your contribution to this toxic relationship, but the only difference is, you were always the one to leave when shit got bad. You’d tell yourself, this is the last time, that you finally had enough of her overbearing protective behavior, but you always found yourself coming back, practically begging at her feet.

You turn away from your bag that you messily packing, clothes hanging out the sides.

“Fuck you.” You spit, not at all hiding your contempt for your girlfriend in that moment.

She scoffs, roiling her eyes- and wait… was she smiling?

Your anger grew from her lack to ever take you seriously when you threatened that you’d leave, but she knew you better than that, after all.. she knows you best.

“You’re not leaving y/n.” She mocked, a grin still pressed on her face.

You shake your head to yourself, turning back around to finish stuffing clothes into the suitcase when hands on the back of your hips stopped you.

“Don’t be like this, baby… jus’ come to bed and I’ll help you forget that this ever happened.” She breathed into your neck, placing soft kisses to the spot just below your ear that never failed to make you go weak.

“M’ not doing this abs, not again.” You try to focus on the clothes, your hands started to move slower against the textiles.

Her arms slither between yours, moving to hold your back firmly against her tight chest.

“Just give in, you know you want to.” You can practically feel her smirk against your neck, her teeth grazing the delicate skin.

She tightened her grip on you, pulling you closer to her. The strap she wore under her sweatpants bumped against your ass with this movement, almost making you moan.

You turn around, pushing against her chest to create some distance.

“I mean it abs..” you try to sound stern, but it comes off meek and unconvincing.

She doesn’t reply, instead her fingers traced along your sides, dipping down to the hem your tank top, slightly moving it to expose the skin on your hip.

You stopped breathing for a second and are instantly reminded why you always come back. Abby had a power over you, a spell of some sort.

“I know you do babe, lemme say I’m sorry.” Her hands found your face, cupping it harshly and pulling you in for a kiss. It was ravenous, but she kept her composure, you on the other hand? Not so much.

You moaned into her, your hand pulling her closer by her hip, feeling her strap brush against your lower stomach.

“That’s it, baby.. atta girl.” She praised between open mouth kisses, her hand coming down to your throat to squeeze it, not too hard, but just hard enough to where she knew you liked it.

Almost immediately, you forgot why you were so mad in the first place, something to do with her getting mad at you because you came home late? Whatever..

"Fuu- Abby..." you roll your head to the side, giving her full access to your neck, which she went to work on, sucking the skin and pulling at it gently with her teeth, making sure to leave maroon splotches to mark you as hers.

"You still want to leave, huh?" She retorted, placing breathy kisses between each word while her moved down your torso, slipping past the waistband of your shorts and panties.

Your knees also give out when her fingers came in contact with your pussy, gliding her middle finger between you folds, collecting the slick.

"I've barely touched you, and you're already this wet? Fuck.. baby." Her tone indicated a hit of humiliation, her finger entering, curving inside, but not all the way.

She repeated this torture, kissing your neck, holding you in place by your jaw, and her finger only slipping in to the first knuckle. She preferred to get you like, all dumb and jelly in her hands, all the while doing the bare minimum. She wanted to tease you, give you a fraction of what you really wanted, and you'd beg her for more.

"A-abs please.." You use the dinning table behind you as support, practically sitting on it to prevent yourself from falling.

Abby chucked at your pathetic state, feeling pleased by how easy you gave in to her.

"Just say the words mommy, and I'll give it to you how you like it."

You shudder, goosebumps erupting across your skin, and who are you to neglect your needs.

"F-fuckin'- jus' touch me.. please." You barely manage through heavy breaths, and Abby couldn't be more eager to fulfill your needs.

She muttered praises, calling you "good girl" and "m' gonna take care of you" as her big, strong hands turn you around in one swift motion, gripping your hips, pressing the silicone against your ass. She ground it in place, looking down at how eagerly your back arched, pushing your ass against it.

You whine from the lack of fullness in your tummy, and your cunt clenching around nothing.

She took her time riling you up, her hands wonder underneath the thin fabric of your tank top, cupping your tits with her calloused hands, rolling the hardened peak between her fingers.

You begged, your body contorting beneath her. She finally gave in to you, her fingers crudely yanked down your shorts, not even bothering to take them off completely.

She bent you over the table, the back of her hand squeezing the nape of your neck to keep you in place, your face squished against the oak table.

You cry out a yelp of surprise and anticipation, your cunt dripping with instinct.

"You gonna let me take care of you, huh? gonna let me use you, mommy?" She said, sounding eerily calm as her fingers messily spread your slick down your inner thighs and ass.

You couldn't even speak, too lust drunk to form a sentence, instead you just meekly nod your head against the wood.

Abby tugged her sweatpants down to her mid thighs, just enough to free her strap. She picked this one out specifically for you, knowing it was your favorite. It was black, 7.5 inches and girthy. It filled you up just right, not leaving any empty space when it was buried inside you.

She slipped her middle finger inside, her wrist bumping against your ass as she curled it, adding a second finger and scissoring them inside you.

You whine, a pool of spit collecting on the table from your parted lips.

"Just- fuck... jus' fuck me already." You begged, needing her inside you now or you felt like you combust.

"S' gonna hurt, baby... gotta make sure you're ready." as strong as she was, she never wanted to actually harm you.

You object, shaking your head.

"D-don't care.."

Abby, being the obeying girlfriend she is.. she did what she was told, holding the base of the strap and sunk it into you, pausing halfway to let your walls mold and relax around it before furthering it inside, letting it disappear inside your cunt.

You sigh in relief as the discomfort is replaced with ecstasy, feeling her cock bump against your g-spot.

"Mm- fuck.. y-yeah jus' like that abs.." you moan, bitting down on your bottom lip hard enough to taste iron.

The fat on your ass ricocheting against her hips as she thrusted into you, sent Abby into a spiral. She quickened her pace, getting more animalistic with her movements, small moans escaping her own mouth from the harness tightening, bumping into her clit.

She was growing impatient, frustrated even, her hand grabbed your wrist, bringing it behind and securing it on your lower back, while the other fisted your ass, and her hips snapping against you.

You whine and whimper, jaw open and your eyes rolled back into your head. The whole scene was disgusting, your tank top was was in disarray on your body, pushed up to expose your tits that were pressed against the table, your body limp and your mind completely fucking dumb, wrist starting to hurt from her strong grip while your other hand clawed weakly at the grain.

This is what always kept you coming back- the way your girlfriend always knew how you wanted to be treated. Sure, there were times it was sweet, and tender, but she knew when you wanted to be treated like a toy.

"G-gonna cum, m' gonna cum.." you barely make out, no more than a chanted whisper.

M-me to- fuck... jus' hang on for me baby." She moaned, breathing heavily and intensifying her movements as she chased her own building release, pistoning each blow against your cervix.

Your body tenses, stiffening your hips, jaw slack and eyes squeezing shut as you came undone. Abbys eyebrows furrowed upwards, lips parted as she selfishly continued on your aching cunt, muttering "I'm sorrys" and "so close" through thick breaths.

You cry out, your pussy aching, but you took it.

With a few more thrusts, abby moans, high pitched and sounding so sweet as she peaks, slowing her movements before slowly slipping out, a stream of your slick dripping down your thighs as she does so.

You stay bent over the table for a few seconds, catching your breath before finally standing and fixing yourself, pulling up your shorts and straightening your top.

You turn to face your girlfriend, her face sympathetic and adorn with a layer or sweat. Her hands come up to hold your upper arms, rubbing the skin gently before cupping your face. She kisses you, the sweetest you've ever been kissed, full of love and worship.

Maybe you will stay this time.

815 notes · View notes

spctrsgf · 10 months

Text

to his office

prompt #351 from @/lyralit:

“I could kiss you right now.”

“You’re very welcome to do it.”

word count: 3.8k

warnings: spidey!reader (tried to make it gn, lmk if i messed anything up!), language, my shitty spanish, innuendos but no actual sex

a/n: i saw atsv and miguel was SO SCRUMPTIOUS i had to write this

“HOBIE!” You yell at the aforementioned Brit, narrowly missing a chunk of some building that is being thrown at you. “I bloody know!” He yells back, swinging from the building next to you.

You nudge your head to the left as a signal to him, releasing a quick whip of web to maneuver behind a rough, brick building to land on the side of it. Hobie wasn’t too far behind, and Gwen was soon to your left as well. The three of you heave in heavy breaths, synchronous in your silence. The inevitable stomp of the angry anomaly of the week roams in search of the very people next to you as well as yourself.

“She just does not give up, does she?” Hobie quips, filling the silence.

“Well,” Gwen adds. “We did make her angry.”

“We? You were the one who threw a brick at her, mate.”

“And who’s idea was it to do that?”

“It was a bloody joke!”

“It didn’t sound like it–”

“Okay!” You exclaim, cutting their childish argument in half. “Enough. Back to defeating the Wannabe Crab woman, okay?”

“Right,” Hobie answers, quick to drop his anger like usual. “What’s the plan, boss?”

“We gotta trap him somewhere, but this fucking city is endless. It’ll take forever.”

“I think we gotta get her hands tied,” Pavitr says from above, nearly desticking Gwen from the brick wall in surprise. “That’s where the power is, right?”

“Jeez, Pav,” You yelp, coming down from your initial shock. “We didn’t see ya there.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for scaring you, but seriously. I think we gotta tie her hands!”

“He’s right, that would solve all the cement throwing we got going on.” Hobie agrees, shifting to lean on the windowsill next to him.

You tilt your head. “Do ya think webs’ll be strong enough for that one?”

“Ours? Nah.”

“True, but Miguel’s would do us a solid right now with all this.” Pav interjects.

“He’s right. We need those ever so strong webs your boyfriend has to do the job.” Gwen nudges you with her shoulder.

Your cheeks flame, and you’re eternally grateful for the silky mask you have on. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Gwen! We’re not– he doesn’t– oh my god,” You pinch the bridge of your nose as best you can through the mask. “Back on topic!”

“Seriously,” Hobie nods. “You should ask the lad to help us out.”

“Why don’t you do it?”

All you get is a shrug from him.

“Or you, Gwen? Or Pav?”

They all give you a look, a look that tells you exactly what they’re thinking.

“No. Oh my god, guys! Seriously? He doesn’t like hearing from me, anyways.”

That’s true, you firmly believe it, and you have ever since you first got to Nueva York. Being the person you are, you originally doted around the idea of talking to him, of engaging in a conversation. But, to be frank, he scared you shitless. He towered over your stature, a whopping 6’9” to your pacifying build. But, somehow you found yourself standing next to a nonchalant Hobie, watching his floating platform float impossibly slow towards the two of you after a mission.

He’d been… you could tell right away that Miguel wasn’t the type of person to sugar coat nor was he very good at hiding the emotions that flew across his face, because oh my you felt it. You felt the trail of his scarlet gaze as he took in his first impression, you felt the razor sharp cut of disgust, felt the way his tongue ran along his accentuated canines as you rambled through your report.

He’d dismissed you as quickly as humanly possible, opting to talk to the laid back Brit, the one who didn’t have to clear his voice every few sentences. Maybe it was a force of habit, you’d tried to reason as your head bowed to scurry out of the room. He has been working with Hobie longer, there has to be an ease between them.

But, as time passed, Miguel remained the same. He tossed you a cold shoulder, and seemed to avoid your presence unless needed. You tried to shrug it off, to pretend like it didn’t hurt you as much as it did, but it was hard to pretend when the sting of rejection slapped as soon as he was brought up. Which actually happened a lot.

You weren’t sure where Gwen had gotten boyfriend from that. Sure, you thought he was attractive. It was hard not to with his broad shoulders, a stark contrast to his (slutty) waist. There was something about his fangs that intrigued you, it was something you’d never seen before. And it wasn’t just the appearance that did it for you: it was that under all the anger and the rough exterior and the mask was a man, vulnerable and caring and wanting to stop what happened to him from happening to someone else.

He might be blunt and mean and pushy and all those things, but he came from a truly caring place, from a want to help. You could see that shine through in the way Gwen and Hobie and even Lyla talked about him, and you could see that in the mission notes he writes and in the slim amount of time that you were graced with his presence.

“That’s why.” Gwen’s voice shakes you clear of the memories.

“Wha?” You blink incredulously at her, like that would somehow shock you into understanding her sentence.

She shoves your wrist, which hovers in front of you with the button to call Miguel in a booming orange. “Call him.”

You glare at her, but all that earns you is a tilt of the head and a not-so-encouraging punch from Pav. “Fine! Fine.”

You take a deep breath before hitting the call button. It sends off some sort of interdimensional wave towards Nueva York, and you buzz with a different type of frequency, suddenly nervous. The Miguel effect. Your brain blurts. Always nervous. You sigh and remind yourself that there are three other spiderpeople next to you as the call goes through, and Miguel’s face pops up unceremoniously in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” Are the first words out of his mouth. “Uh, well, you see–” You start, only to be rudely cut off by his attitude. “Get to the point. I don’t have all day.”

The blunt words don’t roll off your back like normal, maybe it was because you could hear the anomaly pound, inching closer. “We need help. We need your webs, they’re stronger and can hold this guy’s claws together. He’s been tearing up the city.”

“You’re supposed to be containing the threat, not me.”

“Miguel, if you don’t get your fucking ass over here right now, all four of us are gonna be dead.”

“Doubt it.” He sounds distracted, like he was observing something else in front of him.

“Seriously? You can’t take two seconDS..!” You cut yourself off to launch off the building as the anomaly slams her fist into the spot you were rested at just a few seconds before.

You go to follow your partners in chasing the monster away from the buildings, to yell at the stubborn man currently still on call from the watch encircling your wrist, but your spidey senses perk up and then you’re swinging back towards the anomaly. Your eyes train on a woman, not much older than thirty, running for her life from the gnarly creature above her.

You don’t think. Normally, you’re all about thinking and finding the best course of action to try and save everyone, but you don’t now. Not when you’re so short on time, not when that woman could die. You dive, holding your arms out as you beeline to the poor woman. Her face turns from fear to relief when she sees you, reaching out to grab your hand as you scoop your arm around her waist and carry her to the nearest roof.

You’re off before she can say a word, and the glance back you lend her tells you that she knows exactly why you couldn't linger and conveys the thank you she couldn’t say to your face. It fuels you, and you move quickly, pulling the anomaly farther and farther from the people. “Are you a quiet one, huh?” The anomaly’s voice is low and gravelly. “I’m always up for a little banter.” You shoot back, taking a quick left to navigate to where you see your partners waiting, hidden and ready to attack.

“Alrighty then, let’s banter!”

“Let’s.”

“Are you expecting me to now spew out my whole plan and sob story, cus it ain’t happening.”

You shrugged. “Nah. Most of you don’t anyway.”

“We don’t?”

“No,” You shake your head, coming to a stop. “We usually have you caught by that time.”

Right on cue, Pav, Gwen, and Hobie shoot webs out, attempting to contain the anomaly. You realize, as you're adding your own webs to the mix, that Miguel must’ve hung up the phone during your little fright. “What happened with the boss? We getting that bloody help we need?” Hobie calls out, tightening his grip. “Dunno!” You call back. “Maybe he hung up.”

“Call him back, eh?”

“I- I can’t! This is harder than it looks.”

“We know!” Gwen screeches, voice strained.

“What do we do, guys?”

“Try and hold on.” Pav’s voice is uncharacteristically dim, lacking its normal cheer.

His tone sinks into your stomach. “What if we don’t–”

“You will,” Miguel’s voice crackles from your wrist. “I’m here. Where are you?”

“Uh–” You risk a look around as the anomaly struggles with a scream. “Open field. I can see an ocean from here, and there’s mountains to my right. Actually, I think it’s a river– we’re at a bend in it.”

“Got it. I know where you are, I’ll be there in a minute tops. Stay on the phone with me, okay?”

“Will do.”

“He won’t be here in time.” You look up at the anomaly, her deep green eyes locked unsettlingly with yours. She yanks hard this time, and you see Gwen nearly topple and Hobie’s footing slip slightly, giving her arms more wiggle room. “Yes he will.” Your jaw sets as you shoot another web to wrap around her wrist, yanking her down onto her knees.

“You’ll lose. Wouldn’t that be crazy? Spiderman. Losing.”

“Crazy? Yeah, cus it won’t happen.” Gwen grunts from above, struggling to keep a clean facade.

“I’m almost there, cariño, hold on.”

“I am, we’re fine–”

And then you’re not. Because the anomaly bursts up in a spur of movement, effectively breaking the confinement you four had put on her. She runs forward, taking a straight track for you. You leap up, swinging away as quickly as you can. You pick through the strain on your forearms, through the cloud of fear in your head. You try to stay in the same general area you told him you’d be in, but it’s hard with the anomaly on your heels.

“Miguel! Help, she’s chasing me, I can only keep her away from me for so long–”

“I know, I know, I’m coming. Hold on.”

But you’re not responding anymore. The anomaly swings a mighty claw straight into your abdomen, effectively sending you into the ground. Pav lets out a scream, sliding to catch you before you can slam into the grass, and Miguel knows something is wrong. You can hear his yells and Pav’s telling you to respond, but the pain in your side is excruciating and your brain feels like mush and your mouth is dry like sandpaper and your vision is tunneling into black and you try to speak but–

…

It’s very dark.

That’s the first thing you notice when you come to. It’s nice. But there’s an off putting feeling about it, like something’s lurking in the dark, and then you’re itching to turn on the lights so you can see something. “You have something covering your eyes, you do realize that.” Miguel’s smooth tone slides in from the left, decorating across the bland abyss.

Ah. So that was the problem.

Your arms feel foreign as you reach up to pull the fabric off your eyes, exposing you to the room you were in, only slightly brighter than before. “Lyla said the mask was supposed to help you heal better,” Miguel starts, and you can’t quite bring yourself to look at the man next to you quite yet. “I listened, she’s better at this than I am.”

“Am I not in the infirmary?” You question, before frowning at the way your voice sounded. You sit up, clearing it a few times.

“You were, but I moved you.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want you in there.” He answered bluntly, yet it lacked any substance at all.

“Why?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

You chuckled dryly. “Miguel, you moved me from the fucking infirmary to your office. I think you owe me a damn explanation.”

“No.” He turns away, slinging a web out to launch him onto his floating platform.

“Miguel–”

“No.” The orange screens encircle him, effectively slamming his hard tone into the flow of conversation that wasn’t really flowing anymore.

You frown, half sat up in the bed that he’d placed you on. You’re frustrated, you don’t understand what’s been going on between you and him. He hated you. You’d previously established that, his vibrant reaction to your question confirmed it. But he saved you. And he moved you into his fucking office.

Your head swims with this new information, and you flop back down unceremoniously onto the bed. Your head tilts automatically to him again, the fiery red in the bleak, monotone room. His back is to you, and he’s furiously tapping at something on one of his many screens. The boldness of his stature, the way he’s standing is so unwelcoming that you’re now sure he never really wanted you there at all.

You sit up and hop out of the bed as quietly as you can, even though you know he can probably hear you in the silence that enveloped you both. Yet he doesn’t react, he doesn’t turn and yell like you thought he might. He stayed stoically and almost stubbornly facing his screens, so you turn and slip towards the door.

Fucking say something, Miguel.

He doesn’t. You don’t know what you expected anyways.

So you continue your walk, your path out of noose that the room brought. Yet, steps to the hallway seem harder and harder to make, like the hallway is getting longer or maybe you’re moving a lot slower than you normally do. You move to shoot a web, hoping to gain traction and move somewhat faster, but you can’t quite get your aim right–

And then your vision is fluctuating and you start to feel unbalanced. You’re not moving. You’re moving your feet, but you’re not going anywhere. Your brain is fuzzy and the ground is getting closer than it normally is- you don’t remember being this short? “Ay, cariño!” Is exclaimed from behind you, and then something’s grabbing onto your back and pulling you back upright.

Miguel has his arm wrapped around your waist as you wobble, guiding you back to the bed and then lifting you up to sit on it. Your hands come up to rub your eyes, trying to get them to refocus. They blur and then unblur, finally resting to take in your wobbly hands, which are held out shakily in front of you. In response, you twist your hands together just enough to feel the pain of it, reminding you that you were in fact awake and aware.

“Are you okay?” It’s then that you realize that Miguel is still in front of you. He’s got you caged in, blanketing you in his grand shadow. Your neck cranes up to reach his eyes, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t let your eyes linger during their ascent. When you meet the scarlet of his irises, you’re taken aback by the level of concern in them. Like he was actually worried about you.

“I’m okay,” You respond, tilting your head with a smile. “Don’t worry about it.” He scoffed, but didn’t move away. “I’m not worrying.”

“If there’s one thing you’re bad at, Miguel, it’s lying.”

“I am a great liar.”

“Oh?”

“Dios mio, cariño, yes.”

“What does that mean, anyway?,” You question, rocking backward to tuck your feet underneath your legs. “I tried to get Lyla to tell me, but she will not let the secret loose.”

He freezes. “Nothing, sorry, slip of the tongue.”

“You do realize I can just search it up, right? Would you rather me find out from the reach of the internet?”

“Not really, what if you just don’t–”

“Miguel.” You rise onto your knees, leveling your gaze with his own and resting a hand on his shoulder. “What is it? It can’t be that bad, it’s not like you’re saying you’re in love with me or something.”

“Well–”

“Right, cus that would be like…” Your words tumble over him, your brain too keen on keeping your feelings, your delusions to yourself. “Te amo? Te quiero? I’m not sure…”

“Either one.”

“Yeah, so it’s not one of those, so what is it?”

He takes a deep breath, looking slightly troubled. His face twists his face up like he’d just bit into a lemon, and then you’re panicking again.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that–”

“It’s a term of endearment,” His voice stops your apologies in their tracks. “It literally means affection, but when you use it as a nickname it’s more like sweetheart or darling. Dear is another way to say it, but you get the point.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, sorry about that–”

“Don’t be,” Your head tilts with his, following the way he turns his gaze away from you in embarrassment. “I like it.”

He meets your eyes again, curiosity and hope strung in his vibrant eyes. “You do?”

“Yeah. The way you say it is so satisfying, if that makes sense.”

“You like when I speak Spanish, huh?”

You nod, and suddenly you’re the one hiding your face from his smirk.

“Querido, mírame.”

“Miguel–”

“Ahora. I won’t ask again.”

You sigh, glaring at him. “I don’t understand you.”

“That’s okay, you’ll learn,” He leans down and then innnn, so that the two of you are practically nose to nose. “I know you can do it.”

“Do you?” Your brain is screaming at you, making you even more painfully aware of his proximity to your face, yet you somehow manage to clearly deliver the line.

“Mhm.”

“Well, it’s only cus I’ll have the best teacher. You.” You hit his nose with your finger, catching him off guard.

“I am happy to take that title.”

“Good.”

He hasn’t moved. Even as the room fades into silence, he hasn’t moved. He’s still so close, like you could lean in, barely four inches, and you’d be kissing him. You can smell him, a tinge of metallic blood yet so earthy and centering. It’s intoxicating: your brain is swimming and you're struggling to keep your head above the water.

Cariño. Sweetheart. A term of endearment. You still haven’t quite wrapped your head around that, not that you’ve been given much time to mull over it. Was that him telling you that he liked you, more than a friend? Was that a normal thing, using that term? You didn’t know, but you had a feeling that would be the best confession from him you were getting, if he meant it that way at all. You were gonna have to make the leap yourself.

“Everything okay?” His hand lands on your shoulder, a gentle reminder that you’d been staring into nothingness for what must’ve been a painfully long time for him. “Yeah,” You stumble to regain your words. “Sorry, I-”

“Spaced out.”

“Yeah.”

He nods, smiling just enough so you could see his fangs peek out. You were caught.

“Migu–”

“I could kiss you right now, you know that?”

“Huh?” stumbles stupidly out of your now slack jaw.

“I could kiss you. You’ve been staring at my lips for the past few minutes, mi amor, whether you realize it or not.”

“I have? Oh my god.”

He chases your drifting gaze, just like you did with his. “It was cute.”

“Cute is a word I never thought I’d hear come out of your mouth.”

“Cállete, you hear me? Shut up.”

You giggle, grabbing his hand and sliding it up to fit comfortably on the back of your neck. “You wanna kiss me, O’hara? You’re very welcome to do it.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Now he’s leaning in, closing in those four painstaking inches to lock lips with you.

And it’s insane. Showstopping. Any kisses you had before then? Not even a fucking kiss. Sure, it was a bit awkward at first– mainly you, you suppose– but it worked itself out. Miguel must’ve really gotten into it, because once you swear he nipped at your bottom lip with those fangs of his, just hard enough to draw blood. Your hands, in the meantime, explored his mass of brown curls, previously smoothed back but released by your fingers.

His own hands nestled themselves in your hair, tugging on it just enough to draw a sigh out of you. He tastes like blood– surely yours– yet ever so homey. You lean into him inadvertently, so content in the moment. The rational part of your brain reminds you that you’d probably suffocate if you kissed him for much longer, but nothing in you cared very much about that fact at all.

In the end, it’s him who takes a dip for air, who drags your face off of his reluctantly to gasp softly. You do the same, resting your forehead on his toned chest. His hand, still in your hair, guides you gently back up, just so he can absorb your appearance and vice versa. It’s crazy, taking him in like this. He looks so out of control, his hair disheveled and his lips puffy and his cheeks red, releasing air in quick puff puffs. You’re sure you’re not much better looking.

“Out of breath already?” He says, head tilted with a goofy sort of grin adorning his face. “I’m regaining it currently, don’t tease.” You puff back at him, dropping your head back onto his chest.

“Oh, but teasing you is the best part.”

You stab a finger into his side. “Be quiet.”

“If you fare like this, mi alma, you won’t last very long where we’re headed.”

Your head whips up, equal parts confusion and frustration. “First of all, I’m fine. Second of all, what?”

“C’mon.” he pulls you off the bed.

“Are we sure I can even–”

His arm is around your shoulders, hand clamped tightly around it to squeeze you reassuringly. “I got you.”

“Thanks.” Your smile towards him is mushy, but you couldn’t quite find it in yourself to care.

“De nada,” He smiles back, and you mentally note to tease him about his softness later on. “Let’s get all the way to home plate, huh?”

“Let’s.”

feel free to drop by my inbox anytime, everyone, before i run out of ideas

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #atsv #oscar issac #oscar issac x you #oscar issac x reader #oscar issac characters #oscar issac imagine #oscar isaac x you #spiderman #spiderman: across the spiderverse

553 notes · View notes

marvelfanfn2187a113 · 6 months

Text

Big Family

Sam Winchester & daughter!reader, Dean Winchester & niece!reader, Castiel & teen!reader (obviously platonic), Claire Novak & Winchester!reader (platonic)

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: You and Claire meet for the first time, but it doesn’t go so well at first.

“Claire, this is Y/N.”

Claire barely spared the girl a glance as she dropped her gear next to the table in the bunker and headed off to find a shower.

It had seemed like the whole ride back from the hunt, Sam Winchester could speak of nothing but seeing his daughter again, and Claire was sick of the girl before they’d even met.

It didn’t help that Cas and Dean kept adding bits about how great you were, and how much you and Claire would get along. She hadn’t felt so ignored in a long time.

She knew, deep down, how childish she was being, but she couldn’t help it. Ever since her parents had died, those three idiots had been the closest thing she had to parents, besides Jody. Hearing that they had someone, someone better than her, someone actually related…

It hurt.

…

Claire had half expected Sam to come after here to give her some stupid talk about how she was feeling, but even after she finished getting cleaned up, he was nowhere to be found. She went to the library of the bunker to find you and Sam; he was listening with wrapt attention while you caught him up on your past few days.

“You go to school?” Claire asked when you were finished speaking, and you and Sam turned to look at her.

“Yeah, I’m not that involved with hunting,” you explained with a shrug. “I usually just help with research sometimes, but I’d rather focus on school.”

Claire didn’t respond. This was the girl that they thought she’d get along with? She didn’t even hunt!

“So what happens when your dad needs backup? You’re too busy in math class to care?”

“Hey, um—“ Sam interjected. “Claire, how about I show you around the bunker. Hey Y/N, can you go find Dean? I think he might’ve gotten hurt by one of the vamps, but he’s being too macho to admit it.”

“Sure,” you said quietly to your father, ignoring Claire as you passed her and headed to Dean’s room.

“What was that?” Sam asked, and Claire was annoyed by his gentle tone.

“What was what?”

“Don’t,” Sam said. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You don’t even know Y/N, why are being so cold to her?”

“Oh, sorry,” Claire scoffed. “I didn’t mean to upset your princess.”

“Stop it.” It wasn’t Sam that had spoken this time, but Cas, who just entered the room. “Claire, what is going on?”

“Nothing,” Claire huffed. “I just don’t like her, ok? Get over it.”

“You don’t even know her,” Sam argued.

“I know enough.”

“No, no you don’t. And I think if you try to talk to her, actually try, you two could get along.”

“Yeah right.”

“Claire—“

“You can’t make her like anybody.” All three of them turned at the sound of your voice in the doorway. “She can think what she wants, guys. Just leave her be.” You turned all of your attention to your dad. “Uncle Dean’s fine, by the way, but you look like you seriously need to crash.”

“Yeah, ok,” Sam sighed. “I’m gonna go get some sleep.”

“I should get some food, we’re almost out,” Cas added after Sam left. “Are you two—“

“I promise we won’t kill each other.” You rolled your eyes. “Go.”

Once you were alone with Claire, she turned to look at you.

“So what, now we bond?”

You scoffed. “Do I look like Sam? Like me, don’t like me, I don’t give a crap. I didn’t do a thing to you, but if you wanna hate me, knock yourself out.”

Claire suddenly felt a newfound respect for you; you didn’t take crap from her, which was a start.

“Can I ask you a question?” Claire began.

“You just did.”

Claire rolled her eyes and continued, “Why’d you lie to Sam? You said you checked on Dean, but you went to his room and he was in the kitchen.

You shrugged. “‘Go check on Uncle Dean’ is dad’s most obvious code for ‘I want to have a conversation about you’, so I figured I’d stick around.”

When Claire didn’t respond, you continued.

“Ok, so now it’s my turn for a question. Why do you hate me? I mean we haven’t even met before, and I’ve heard only great things about you.”

This got Claire’s attention.

“You have?”

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “The guys talk about you all the time, half the time it felt like you were a long-lost sister.”

“Gosh, is my face red?” Claire muttered, without as much sarcasm in her tone as she would’ve liked.

“What?” You asked.

“Look,” Claire sighed. “Most of the time, the guys can do nothing but talk about you. I mean Sam brags on you like your Mother Theresa or something, and I guess…I guess I was jealous.”

Claire half expected you to laugh, or to get angry, but you just smiled.

“You? Jealous of me?” You laughed, but not the cruel laugh that Claire had expected. “That’s crazy! I mean, you’re the one that goes on all those hunts with them, and they love you!”

“But I’m not their kid,” Claire argued. “I…look, after my parents died, Jody and those three guys were my only family. So when I found out they had their own…”

“You think just because I’m Sam’s daughter, I can somehow…what, take your place?” You shook your head. “Uncle Dean likes to say that family doesn’t end in blood. You’re their family—our family. I can’t take your place, and you can’t take mine. Those three idiots can love both of us, trust me.”

“Yeah,” Claire cracked a smile. “I guess they can.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy

#dean winchester #dean and sam #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural dean #the winchesters #winchesters x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam and dean x child!reader #spn sam winchester #supernatural sam #sam and dean #sam winchester x daughter #dean winchester x niece

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ashdreams2023 · 2 years

Note

Hi love can i request a “too clingy” cliche with Loki or five??

Only you

Five hargreeves x reader

"Hi!" You chimed warping your arms around five’s shoulders from behind "how are we feeling today"

Five sighed, taking a sip of coffee from his fifth cup that morning "tolerable" he mumbled.

Diego then came in the kitchen just as you gave five a fast squeeze before sitting down next to him, now holding onto his free arm.

"You two are brighter than ever" said Diego.

Five continued to ignore his brother, not being in the mood to speak at all that specific day.

"Has anybody see my…oh-" klaus paused when he saw five drinking his coffee and a suspiciously familiar box of coffee beans open.

"Five…is that your first cup?" Five raised a brow at his brother then looked down at his cup, the coffee looked normal and tasted just fine but since klaus is making faces something is definitely wrong with it.

"Let me see" you reached your hand to take a look too but he snatched the coffee too fast resulting in it spilling on your hand "ow!"

Five slammed his cup on the table and dragged you to the sink, he turned the cold water on and placed your hand there.

"Five you’re a little rough don’t you think?" You said without thinking, and apparently that was his last straw.

"If you knew what personal space is maybe this wouldn’t have happened and I wouldn’t have to deal with your childish behavior!"

You froze, staring dumbly at him before snatching your hand away and storming out of the kitchen with both his two brothers watching uncomfortably.

Five’s short temper never bothered you that much, he went through shit and his family wasn’t exactly the best at handling themselves alone without him throwing himself in straight up danger in order for everyone to survive.

But for some reason this time it hurt, probably because he never mentioned it before and hearing it in that tone made it seem like he couldn’t breath with you around.

You asked grace for some burns cream to cool down your hand and spent the rest of the day in Alison’s room since allowed you to take it as a personal safe space away from family drama.

It was around eight at night when he appeared in the room, you didn’t want to look at him and pretended to be interested in the old vogue magazine on Alison’s desk.

"Hey, listen…I didn’t mean what I said you know that"

Still ignoring him.

Five sighed before going in to grab your hand but you moved away, that made him cringe and turn his hands into fists.

"Why are you being difficult!?"

You turned to face him with hurt and anger both mixing on your face "You can’t breath with me around so why should I get near you!? I’m giving you your damn fucking space ok!"

Five curses himself then stood in front of the door stopping you from going anywhere "you shouldn’t take anything I say seriously when I snap…" his voice was now calmer "please…I’m sorry, I wasn’t in a good mood"

"You’re never in a good one, and you…" you felt choked, frustrated and embarrassed.

"I’m an idiot for screaming at you like that, that’s what I am…I don’t find you suffocating or any ridiculous conclusions you had got in your head, you’re the only person that I don’t mind touching me and being this close with, you’re the only one I want near me." He breathed, he looked tired.

"Do you really mean it?" You said.

"Of course, I would strangle Luther if he tried to remotely give me a side hug let alone hold my hand or any of the stuff you do…plus your touch is softer" you felt your cheeks flush at that. Five took your hand onto his and brought you close.

"Only you can be this close, understood?" He said.

"If you say so…but if you yell at me again like that I’m beating you up" you pouted but he only chuckled.

"Fair enough."

#five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #five x reader #five x y/n #five hargreeves #five my beloved #netflix the umbrella academy #five the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy

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sixosix · 2 years

Text

𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄: 𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒

# pure unadulterated fluff, reveals >:) MORE FLUFF! wc 1.5k

a/n i am a sucker for the “he did that!?” trope. you’ll understand what i mean.

“thank you for holding onto it, yuuji-kun!” you beam at your underclassman after skipping over to him, nearly toppling over with relief when itadori revealed that he never once let go of your precious locket.

itadori grins, “no problem, senpai!” ah, he’s so bright. “here, let me help you wear it.”

“oh—” itadori spins you around before you can voice out a reply, leaving you no choice but to just push your hair and collar aside. with your front facing the field once again, you catch inumaki staring at the scene—the both of you turn away. “thanks, yuuji. you’re seriously a lifesaver.”

itadori hums, followed by a quiet click! from your necklace. “senpai, i’m curious, though. i always see you wearing this, even during missions. you only ever take it off when we’re training. did someone give it to you?”

you distractedly rub the locket with your fingers, smiling softly as you gaze at it. kugisaki and fushiguro look over, eyes curious and ears perked up with attention, alerting your classmates to wonder what’s going on, too.

the locket isn’t anything special. you were four when you begged for your family to give you spare change for it. it’s worn out, silver faded over time, but it will always be the most valuable object for you.

“no one gave it to me,” you answer, eyes fixed on the glint coming off from it. “i bought it myself.”

kugisaki leans over itadori, eyeing the locket. itadori makes a confused noise at your reply, clearly not understanding. “hmm, it is pretty. it clashes with our uniform, but i get it.”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “no, i didn’t buy it because it’s pretty. a locket is a locket for a reason, you know?”

“ah! i see!” itadori points at the clasp of silver hanging over your collarbones. “so it’s what’s inside?”

“can i see?” kugisaki’s eyes sparkle, and itadori copies her. now you have two of your underclassmen pleading for a grand reveal—even fushiguro walks closer.

your skin grows warm at the onslaught of attention, holding the locket as if mimicking a shield. “i-it’s nothing special… you’ll be very disappointed. besides, i like my mystery, you know?”

…

“stop looking at me like that!” you wail, flailing your hands over their faces to wipe those puppy-eyed looks.

“y/n’s right,” maki pipes up, parading to the scene. “it’s a dead flower inside.” kugisaki echoes a perplexed: a dead flower?

maki is the only one who has seen what’s inside; the aftermath of her persistence and you feeling too soft for your friend to refuse. she says it now like she was disappointed, but after you explained to her the meaning behind it, she looked pretty impressed.

that person… they must be really special, huh?

just the thought makes your face warm.

“what? maki has seen it?” panda wonders aloud, with a note of betrayal.

“you and toge were out,” maki snaps for your sake before you start panicking. “and i’m y/n’s best best friend, i deserve to know.”

inumaki’s eyes cut to maki’s, sharp. “fish flakes,” he protests.

“okay, second to him,” maki scrunches her nose. “but toge shouldn’t count. because i saw it first.”

inumaki glares at her, and maki glares back. a pink-haired teen bursts between them, eyes round.

“i want to see it, too!” itadori proclaims.

“it’s up to l/n-senpai,” fushiguro reminds him curtly, making itadori’s shoulders deflate.

“i don’t mind,” you assure them with a placating smile. “just pretend you’re not underwhelmed, or else my feelings will get hurt.”

they raise their hands in mock salute. maki and fushiguro roll their eyes.

your fingers click on the clasp clumsily, the gesture unfamiliar; you don’t quite unlock your locket every day, afraid of losing the contents held.

itadori elicits a noise of childish wonder, always one for the sentimentals.

inside, are petals, dried, shrunken up, and long dead. but the purple is like a spray of color that stands out from gray. to you, it’s still the most heartwarming sight.

the color reminds you of inumaki’s eyes.

your eyes flick up to him, only to find that he’s already staring at you curiously.

“a flower,” panda coos, breaking the tension. “someone special gave it to you?”

“yeah, he is,” you confess shyly, and their expression changes into one of surprise. romance was never a hot topic for sorcerers, so this one is truly a shock to everyone. you’re suddenly relieved that gojo is nowhere near to hearing this gossip. “not that you can meet him, though! the last time i saw him was when i was four.”

“...that’s—”

“real sad? yeah, that’s what i also said,” maki interrupts itadori. but you recognize it for the kindness maki offers in hidden ways—she’s thinking itadori might say something worse for something so special to you.

but itadori is not like that.

“ah, no,” itadori laughs sheepishly, “i was about to say ‘romantic’.”

you snap the locket shut in surprise, ears ringing with how loud your heart is beating.

romantic. they think it’s romantic.

you want to bury your face in your hands for the rush of giddiness you feel. maybe maki is right; this is really sad.

kugisaki scoffs, loudly smacking her friend’s head. “idiot! what if it was y/n-senpai’s brother? or dad?”

itadori looks horrified. “wait, y/n-senpai—”

“mustard leaf?” inumaki’s gaze is soft and patient, a hand on your shoulder to remind you of his question.

“um—”

“you’re kidding,” kugisaki gapes at your reaction, “you’re still in love with that guy!?”

“what’s up with second years and their devotion to childhood romance…”

“it’s not like that!”

inumaki sighs, reaching for your wrist. you let him, because inumaki toge would be the last person in a list of people you know that would seek to hurt you—but you’re not prepared for him tugging you so roughly that your chests collide.

“tuna mayo,” he says, head tilted in the direction of the dorms.

“yeah, okay,” you murmur, cheeks aflame. “get me out of here before i combust.” inumaki huffs a quiet laugh.

inumaki peeks out to stare at the small crowd behind you. “fish flakes,” he warns, and you swear you could’ve felt a thin veil of cursed energy in those words.

“we’re not gonna follow you!” panda says, laughing too eagerly for it to be not suspicious.

“…does inumaki-senpai like—”

“yes. yes he does.”

inumaki opens his door.

you look around, smiling widely at your best friend. you haven’t been in his room for a while, but mostly because he likes your room better so you two tend to spend your lazy days in your room.

“what did you want to show me?” you question, skidding to a halt when inumaki reaches for his windowsill, where his pots of flowers stand proudly.

inumaki mentioned that his family made him grow fond of decorating his home with flowers, so even here he takes special care of the plants he brought from his clan.

he reaches for a familiar flower, shaded purple from its care and fading white to the tips of its petals. “tuna,” inumaki murmurs, plucking one of it out and handing it to you.

you feel a grin snaking up to your lips. “do you want me to replace it…?”

“bonito flakes,” inumaki shakes his head. he puts the pot back and reaches for your locket, “mustard leaf?”

“yeah, i trust you.”

inumaki’s eyes crinkle with a soft smile as he clicks to open your locket. gently, he thumbs the flower in, leaving you with two, one gray and the other still bright and healthy. he looks very pleased looking at it, where his flower covers the entirety of the old one.

“i didn’t know you’re the jealous type, toge,” you tease.

inumaki narrows his eyes playfully, snapping your locket shut with: “bonito flakes.”

you were four.

everything is too blinding and loud, with the lights flashing and people from their stalls yelling for customers.

for someone, it should be nothing special. but for a four-year-old who just lost sight of their guardian and is now in the middle of everything, it’s extremely overwhelming. too much, that you fall to your knees and clutch your head in hopes of muffling the sounds.

a finger pokes your forehead.

you look up to see a boy around your age, with pure white hair and striking purple eyes. he’s holding out a flower, crouched across you as he waves it around.

but he doesn’t move, like he expects you to crawl to him. like you’re a cat prepared to strike for a treat.

“for me?” you ask, finally releasing the death grip over your ears. when he nods, you brighten, completely forgetting about why you were in tears earlier. you’ve always loved gifts. “thank you!”

“you’re real nice,” you tell him.

he blushes. it’s very cute.

the boy gestures somewhere. “tuna?” he asks, pointing at a frantic woman who all but rushes in to tackle you into a hug.

“y/n! oh, baby, i told you to hold my hand…”

“sorry…”

you hold the flower close to your chest, watching from over your mother’s back as the boy starts walking away— but not without shooting a knowing smile over his shoulder at you.

gloxinia - love at first sight

thank you for reading!!!! likes, reblogs, and comments r super cool and ill love u forever

#606:JJK #inumaki toge x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #x reader #jjk imagines #toge inumaki x reader #inumaki toge fluff #inumaki x reader

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theredofoctober · 3 months

Text

MANNA- CHAPTER TEN: RABBIT

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse, self harm, fatphobia, body dysmorphia

This is chronologically the tenth chapter in the series.

Read beneath the cut...

Napalm is the slow fire of waking from a terrible dream, blind, gasping, burnt. The pain, though delusive, is made actual by the action of nerves.

Only a hand at your shoulder, vigorous in its attentions, hauls you up from the putrescence of slumber into the light-dark of four in the morning. You find Hannibal's shape through lashes gummed with sleep's adhesive.

His face is as impassive as a star, but his hair, ever coiffed, is displaced from the friction of his pillow.

“You were screaming,” he says, as you sit, stunned, in his arms. “What were you dreaming about? Do you remember?”

“No,” you say, although the scenes remain briefly in your vision, doubling like silk screen prints upon the walls.

Hannibal fills up a glass with fresh water and bids you to drink, his eyes pensive, unconvinced.

Only the notion that he may suggest you share his bed or else intrude upon yours impels you to honesty.

“I dreamt that I was trapped in one of the Silicone Lover’s dolls. That he was trying to squeeze me inside, and I wouldn’t fit. He said, ‘You’ve gotten so big since I last saw you. I’d better do something about that.’

“Then he started cutting me up with kitchen scissors, and I couldn’t stop him.”

You pause, choking on a breath, a verbal stagger.

Dr Lecter offers you the water again, which you take in both hands and drain to its end.

“Take your time,” says Hannibal. “When you’re ready, go on.”

Lying will fail you before the all-seeing eye, so it is with a flat honesty that you say, “It wasn’t what the Lover did in my dream that scared me. It was what he said to me. Because he was right.”

You reach down to pull the quilt up across your stomach, which Hannibal, with a subtle gesture, prevents.

“To agree with such a statement there must be some basis of comparison for you,” he says. “You knew the person standing in as the Lover in your dream. Can you name him?”

Hannibal could guess it, from the little you’ve told him of your unclean past, but if memory conjures the name from the gully of silence he does not say so.

Instead, he comments, “I think it’s unwise for you to sleep again until your mind is settled. Perhaps we may take advantage of the hour to continue your therapy, in an informal fashion.”

He sits in a chair by your bed, producing a notepad and pen from a pocket of his dressing gown.

You see that he will not move.

"What if I don’t talk?” you ask, softly. “What if I say I'd rather take the punishment?"

Hannibal's slender lips upturn.

"I wouldn't be inclined to take such a claim seriously.”

In sullen defeat you flounce back against the pillows.

Dr Lecter takes his cue.

“I’m curious about the friendships you’ve formed throughout your life. Have there been any notable examples?”

“Not many,” you answer, looking at the raw edges of your fingernails. “I was kind of the weird kid. It was like looking through a dusty museum window at everybody passing by, not really knowing how to get out there and talk to people. Like I was too old and too young at the same time.

“I got bullied, kind of. Nothing worth talking about. Just dumb kid stuff.”

“Even persecution of a childish nature bears painful resonance in later life,” Hannibal comments. “Moreover, isolation from one's peers may disrupt development in those vital years.”

You think of dolorous hours patrolling a fallow playground alone, three hundred children staring through you with adult hostility.

“I did make one friend,” you say. “First year of high school. Amy Glass. She was a weird kid, too.”

Hannibal scratches deftly on his notepad.

"Describe how you met."

Closing your eyes, you find your way back through the forests of the past to a corridor whose tiled floor squeaks under your shoes. You smell textbook paper and saccharine body spray. The sweat of young bodies, and the stale cafeteria fare you’d never tasted throughout your time there.

“Between classes Amy would sit in a window listening to music, or reading,” you say. “Stephen King, usually. Sometimes Ann Rice. She seemed to be up there all the time. I don’t think she was getting shit from the other kids or anything; she just preferred hanging out on her own.

“I wished I was like that, not caring. I wished I was her, period.”

“In what way?” asks Dr Lecter, and in the hallway of your mind a slender figure appears, brown of skin and eyes, blue hair cut roughly to the chin, its roots seeping in atop it like a stain.

Amy.

“A lot of ways,” you say. “Before I really knew her, it was about how she looked. She had piercings— ears, lip, nose, eyebrow. Teachers would tell her to take them out, then the second she was out of their eye-line she’d put them right back in. And even back then she had these awful stick and poke tattoos of bats and crosses she covered up with band aids for classes.

“She did all of them herself with a safety pin. God knows how she didn’t get an infection or anything.

“Then there was the fact I knew we liked some of the same music because of the patches on her bag, and her t-shirts and stuff. Nothing you’d approve of,” you add, as interest touches the face of your listener. “Jesus, I can’t even imagine playing stuff like that in this house. Anyway, I didn’t want to just be like, ‘hey, you like that band, too’. It would have been too weird. Stalkery, maybe?”

“Music isn’t such a terrible way to form a connection,” says Hannibal, amused. “I was once approached in friendship through a shared taste in cheese.”

Picturing his restrained derision you cannot help but laugh.

“Oh, god,” you say. “What were they thinking?”

“It was a naive assumption of commonalities. Besides, my commitment to professionalism would never have allowed us to be as close as he would have hoped.”

You give a little start of affront.

“You’ve made friends with other clients.”

Dr Lecter’s smile remains.

“Only with those whom I feel my presence benefits.”

“Benefits you, you mean,” you say, pettishly. “Whoever it was, you just didn’t like him that much. That’s why you turned him down. Or maybe he was too like you.”

Without appearing offended, Hannibal turns a page in his notebook.

“I'm unconcerned with debating my personal relationships, little one. Let’s return to Amy. Who initiated the friendship between you?”

“Amy,” you say. “It was after this councillor was trying to get something out of me, and I didn’t want to talk. I walked out that room feeling so... heavy, and grimy, and embarrassed. Then there was Amy, heading to the same office I just walked out of. She looked at me, scrunched her face up, and said, ‘Wish me luck.’ Next time I saw her I made the same face back and asked, ‘how was it?’

“‘The worst, just like always,’ she said. ‘Where’d she get her certificate, anyway? Clown school?’

“I burst out laughing. ‘She’s so bad, right?’

“And that was it. Friends. We went everywhere together. Amy really liked me. I don’t know why. I think maybe she thought I was sort of mysterious and interesting rather than just depressed, probably because I didn’t want to talk about what was going on with me.

“She told me everything about her. How her dad didn’t believe in mental health issues even though he was just like she was, and how her mom just ignored everything, hoping it’d just... go away. But I didn’t tell Amy even one little thing about me, really. Not one.”

Guilt you’ve never truly confronted falls like a petal from a late summer bloom, cloying the dark with its flavour.

“Did Amy ever indicate that she’d recognised your particular illness?” prompts Hannibal, and you shrug glumly.

“A couple of times. I ignored every hint. Changed the subject. Acted like it wasn’t a thing when it obviously was. I knew that she knew. That was the dynamic. She was softer, around me. She got it. She got me.”

Suddenly your breath feels very high in your chest, catching on a rib.

“I can’t help but notice your use of the past tense,” says Dr Lecter. “Might I assume that you are no longer friends?”

“We grew apart after school,” you mutter. “I think she would have liked it if I stayed in touch, but then sometimes I wonder if that’s just wishful thinking, and maybe she didn’t care all that much when we drifted apart and stopping talking.

“I have her on Facebook. That’s all, really. She was never a social media person anyway, but still. I could have tried harder. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

Hannibal allows the silence between you to ferment before he speaks again.

“Looking back, what do you think prevented you from maintaining contact?”

“I felt like after school was over she’d find other friends, and I’d just end up being left behind. So I got out of there before I had to see it happen.”

"You abandoned a friendship on the basis of a prophecy that might never have come to fruition."

"It would have,” you insist. “All my life I've had senses about things. Like, if I get a feeling something will or won't happen, I'm always right. Like I was right about you."

Swanlike, Dr Lecter’s hands move across his notebook, tactfully punctuating a note.

"It's common for sufferers of complex post-traumatic stress disorder to misinterpret their hypervigilance as psychic premonition. A heightened awareness of your surroundings and the behaviours of people in your vicinity develops in order to predict danger before it occurs. Pattern recognition is more mathematical than clairvoyant."

"What about my dreams?" you ask, sharply. “Are they math, too?”

"You've had other nightmares?” asks Hannibal, and leans forward, poised to digest you answer.

Canny, you hoard the matter like a serpent its glittering lair.

Hannibal accepts his defeat with grace.

Gathering up his notebook and the empty glass, he says, "That's enough therapy for now, particularly so early in the morning. I'll make you some tea, and you may return to sleep. Peacefully, this time, I hope."

Later, there is a meal that sits, sinking in a bath of bronze on Dr Lecter’s dining table, so much of it that you’re gorged merely from the arithmetic of its makeup.

“Arroz de Cabidela,” says Hannibal, as he pulls out his own chair. “A Portuguese dish made with rice, chicken, or rabbit cooked in its own blood. Today I’ve chosen rabbit. Have you ever eaten it before?”

It occurs to you that he expects you to be disturbed by the notion, but you are not. Meat is meat, all of it equally cruel. That life must end for the furthering of your existence has driven you to veganism many a time.

Little chance of sustaining such a diet now that you sleep in the devil’s slaughterhouse.

“No,” you say. “I’ve never tried rabbit. I heard it’s really... gamey.”

Your palate is scarcely educated enough to comprehend the statement. Still, it is apparently accurate, for Hannibal makes a low hum of agreement.

“It has similarities to poultry, in flavour, though it’s rather lean and dry. The blood stew adds a richness you’ll find complimentary, however.”

The scent is certainly inviting, but you are so committed to rejecting whatever is served to you that you feel lightheaded, succumbing to the altitude of starving heights.

“Couldn’t you have given me a smaller portion?” you ask, piteously. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s so... much.”

Hannibal glances from your plate to his own, his visage neutral.

“I’ve served you a great deal less than I’ve given myself,” he says. “That said, I’m sure we can settle our differences. I’m not unyielding, if I can see some effort is being made.”

You look him in the eye, hoping you appear more bold than frightened.

“Dr Lecter, you make me all these courses, and they’re crazy even for a normal person. I feel like you do it on purpose. And afterwards my stomach hurts.”

“That’s normal, after a period of fasting. Your body will adjust. Now, please eat.”

You don’t. The cut on your plate makes you think of the Lover’s dolls, how even at your slightest you wouldn’t have fit into such a shell. How, changed as you must be through Hannibal’s cooking, you would ooze over every edge.

“I could use the feeding tube, if you’re unwilling,” says Dr Lecter, rising from his chair to stand at your back. “It would be relatively easy for me to administer. But I’d hate to sour an otherwise pleasant meal with brute force.”

He cups your throat in his smooth hand, and you envision how lovingly he’d coil about you in restraint, guiding the pipe down through you as you choked and flinched in his grasp.

“I’ll eat a quarter,” you say. “That’s it. Then... then nothing else until tomorrow. I won’t sneak out of bed, and I won’t do anything that breaks the rules. Please, Dr Lecter. Uh... Daddy?”

Your confusion between roles endears you to him, as does your breathless, eager willingness to beg.

“Should I allow you to barter?” Hannibal muses, still caressing the wand of your stiff neck. “It’s a symptom of your illness, after all.”

“Just let me choose how much and I’ll try anything you offer me.”

Dr Lecter releases a small breath of laughter.

“I wouldn’t like you to eat your words, little one.”

Gnashing your teeth, you say, “I won’t. I can do it. Please let me. You’re supposed to dote on me, aren’t you?”

You feel Hannibal’s lips against your hair in a kiss of paternal indulgence.

“Always so spirited,” he says. “Very well. I cannot deny my little beauty her request.”

What beauty does he refer to? You’ve only recognised it in the mine shafts of furthest hunger, mistaking a shadow for some precious stone.

Yet clearly you are not so low quality as you believe if both men have fucked you so freely over other women, whom they could conceivably draw into the net of the house.

Then again, there is no accounting for the tastes of madmen, and mad they both are, even Hannibal in his gelid divinity.

From the topiary of his language and flippant games you are beginning to see that you interest him in your very opposition to his being. Were you to succumb completely you would not be so worthy: all men bow to Hannibal, after all, seduced and deceived until they’d lick his fingers like lambs for the milk of his approval.

You, like Will, resist and evade enough of his passes to set yourself apart from the flock.

You may yet throw a halter over the head of the horned man, if only in as much as he allows himself to be reigned.

Quartering your meal as neatly as you're able, you glance up at Dr Lecter, afraid that, by some caprice, he’ll break his code and force you to eat down to the bare plate. But he merely stands by, retaining his honour, and as you look at him you picture his mild hands breaking the neck of the rabbit to drain as though for a ritual of blood.

Frequently through your days with Hannibal he immerses himself in hobbies and work about the house, cultivating a necessary solitude after the long hours of ingesting others’ anxious thoughts.

He reads, or writes music, sketches, telephones his friends and past lovers—of whom there are many—or else sets his pen to journals, having seen you safe to your locked room, where he need not prepare for misdemeanour.

In this way your residence in Hannibal’s home does not impede upon his individual pursuits, but rather compliments them, an accent of his sempiturnal glamour.

You are, after all, but one of his many pastimes. It is indulgence, then, when he insists on attending your evening bath.

As he kneels beside the tub to dampen a washcloth his intentions surface, another infringement upon the flesh.

“I don’t need you to help me,” you mumble, arms taut across your chest. “I’m not your baby.”

“Your inner child wails for the tenderness your illness has long obstructed,” says Hannibal, calmly. “Your independence would have you die like an infant abandoned to the forest. Let me carry you, at least in this small act of service.”

You look at him with eyes as dull as old blades and picture the futility of your struggle, his lithe arms holding you, kicking and airless, beneath the foam.

“Don’t you have your own daughter you can do all this with?” you ask; you’ve not yet needled him on his familial relations, and feel yourself more than entitled to know.

Hannibal begins to work the flannel over your naked form, paying no heed to your twitching affront.

“Abigail would have served the role admirably,” he says. “But it wasn’t to be. As for my own children, I have none.”

The revelation passes you without surprise. It’s only possible to imagine him having elegant, adult offspring, absent of the soiling indignities of rearing an infant.

“So you took me away for you and Will to raise,” you say. “Guessing he doesn’t have kids, either.”

The washcloth folds beneath the water, and you gaze studiously at the opposite wall so as not to think about the hand behind the fabric, how it has touched you in other ways, pleasantly, horridly.

“Will is also childless,” says Dr Lecter. “He has never known family, as you have. His mother left him when he was only an infant, and his father was a distant figure, though present. Now it seems that they’re estranged from one another. One can only imagine the loneliness Will has known in his life. Perhaps, with your assistance, this will change.”

Cloth, skin, hands, touch. Gentle and beguiling their trap, to distract from the permanence of this suggested triptych as fingers play against you underwater.

Unsteadily, you ask, “Is Will your boyfriend?”

Hannibal turns you an indecipherable look.

“Do you perceive our relationship to be romantic?”

A strange question, considering the violation with which you were inducted to their company. But not once did either man kiss or grasp the other— a technicality, certainly, yet one, it seems, that holds weight.

“Yes,” you say. “For you, anyway. I don’t know about Will. I know he thinks highly of you. He just sees me as something that’s in the way.”

You kick a foot testily, splashing water over the rim of the bath.

“What are you in the way of?” asks Hannibal, as he begins to lather your hair.

“Not sure. Your friendship, I guess.”

“Do you believe him when he implies that you're only an obstacle to him?”

Water pours over your head, and you close your eyes, enduring the sensation.

“He told me I’m unwanted,” you say.

“When you attempted to kill him?”

Fear bowls over you with a black suddenness.

“He told you?”

“I came to my own conclusions. You weren't quiet, either of you, that night."

You look at Hannibal, at the stag man of your dreams, and taste something like dirt, something like blood, at the back of your mouth.

“Had you seriously injured him or succeeded in your bid to end his life I would have been forced to conclude our treatment,” he says. “But you did not. I’m thankful to have been provided with a truth I hadn’t yet drawn from you: I know that you are not a killer, at least not at this present moment.”

In a strengthless whisper, you ask, “What do you mean?”

Hannibal draws a comb through your hair, unmoved by the conversation.

“As time changes the continents, people come apart through circumstance into new being. That shift may one day lead to the birth of murder’s country.”

A thought stings you like the cold: Will and Hannibal want you to be capable of killing, if not of them, then someone of lesser consequence, the hereditary illness emerging in the child.

That is the secret under this house, the whisper in the walls, its present haunting.

“I hope that never happens,” you mumble. “Never. No matter what you do.

“And yet the whetting of your blood thirst didn’t begin with Will and I,” says Dr Lecter, mildly. “Until you admit your liking of its flavour you will remain unsatisfied, little one.”

You do not ask how he knows you’ve thought of killing, once before, which you yourself had forgotten; having been in your home, the chill sanctum of your childhood bedroom, he may have learned, of you, a myriad, his interrogation merely a practice in contextualising his findings.

“I’d rather starve,” you say, at last, and sink your chin beneath the water.

Dr Lecter takes a razor from a nearby cabinet and begins to shave you with slow precision. He does not ask if you wish for it, only glides the razor across your underarms, groin, and each leg until you run silken beneath his hands.

That done, Hannibal rises, brushing unseen dust from his knees.

“I’ll bring you some fresh clothes,” he says, and leaves the room, a ghost departing the stage.

You look at the razor, entrapped in its plastic guard on the rim of the bath.

Had you a pair of scissors you might have cut the metal free to make a weapon, or else an escape into realms unknown to the living. Though its edge is still wickedness manifest, it would take a great deal of pressure to pursue death by this angle, though it would not be impossible.

It is not death you want to meet, however, but another, nameless coward.

You take the blade to your arm, and the pain is like eating, a sin that sates the freak of misery.

The bathwater turns like a devil’s baptism, and though they are but shallow cuts you feel suddenly faint. Lying back, you lay your arm against the porcelain, thinking murky thoughts of your mistake.

Hannibal returns carrying a muted lilac dress and pale stockings, stilling at the sight of you, of the water, red as autumn mud.

He sets down the clothing and kneels beside you again.

“Let me see.”

You let him take your arm and touch the crude little gashes softly.

“Shower, quickly. Then I’ll treat your wounds. Fortunately, they aren’t so deep.”

How gentle he is with you, this beast dressed as a man in his pressed shirt and waistcoat, guiding your numb form about with a soothing authority. You’d once yearned to be handled like this, to be absolved and set free of any and all expectation. That it comes from him is like being spit in the eye by the Fates, one after the other.

Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos: what have you done to so offend them?

It’s only after having bandaged your forearm and settled you, dummy-like, upon his bed, that Hannibal speaks again.

“What motivated you to do this?”

“You know.”

“Elaborate.”

You lie, face down, in the pillows. The cotton smells like him.

“To feel better,” you say. “Amy said it helped her, sometimes. Cleared her head.”

The mattress tilts slightly as Dr Lecter sits down beside you.

“You mirror her pain to feel closer to love lost. Has it helped you?”

“No. I feel stupid. I feel—”

Restless, you turn onto your side and feel a tear, compelled by gravity, mark your jaw.

“I feel like a kid,” you say. “It’s humiliating. I hate that I always feel this way. Don’t make me live like this.”

Dr Lecter presses a tissue into your hand, as much to save his bedclothes as to comfort you.

“Fighting the expression of necessary emotions will only stunt them further, little one. Will and I would dearly like to see you flourish. Amy would surely wish that for you, too.”

Cradling your wounded arm to your chest, you flick the used tissue to the floor with the other.

“Screw you,” you say. “Both of you. That’s what Amy would tell me to say to you, Dad.”

Hannibal stares at the tissue, and you sense the inward twitch of his irritation as he bends to pick it up from the ground.

“Your parents called again, this afternoon,” he says, offhandedly. “I informed them that you were struggling with your treatment. I advised that we continue your residence here a month longer than previously agreed.”

He casts you a pitying look, and you’re reminded of the futility of going to war with Hannibal Lecter.

“It seems that I made the prudent choice,” he says. “Don’t you agree?”

#hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal fic #yandere hannibal lecter #manna fic #tw eating disorders #tw fatphobia #tw self harm #dead dove do not eat #darkfic #hannibal darkfic

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xiudaddyhadmelike · 9 months

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Sehun as your boyfriend

- i’m back (i’m posting this and disappearing again for a year)

The Beginnings:

He’d be so awkward in the most endearing way, running his hands through his hair and fumbling around you.

I think he’d ask you out in the first week of knowing you, he’s a busy man has no time for waiting around.

Plus he’d be worried that someone else would catch your attention if he waited too long so...

Would probably ask one of the boys to talk to you first, have them hype him up and see whether you might be interested.

He thinks this is very clever and discreet but funnily enough you know what’s up when Chanyeol starts talking about Sehun’s shiny hair and his family’s long history of genetic health.

He strikes me as a bowling man. First date would definitely be bowling and then maybe heading to a latenight diner splitting a milkshake omg

After dating a while:

Orange cat dad, definitely. I will not explain.

He’s very patient, always willing to listen to anything on your mind - even if it’s about him.

His relationship with you would help him to mature.

I hope you’re patient too though cos this is still Sehun, man is goofy.

A lot of childish teasing, stuff like turning the lights off when he leaves the room or leaving the door open forget what I said about maturity actually

Not the jealous type. He thinks you’re the most gorgeous person in the world but you also know how to handle yourself if anyone tries to rizz you up.

Most he’ll do is throw an aggressive side-eye their way.

Loooves to treat you. That necklace you admired? Here you go. The restauarant you want to try out? Already booked a table. The vacation spot you’re desperate to visit? Get ready the plane leaves tonight.

On that note, he is the opposite of an airport dad, pack his passport for him and get him one of those toddler leashes head empty no thoughts

For your anniversary he’d do something lowkey and romantic, driving you both out to the countryside with a big blanket and spending the night stargazing together.

Habits and other shit:

Always goofin, would consider back and forth banter as flirting, you’ll have to be able to keep up with the sass.

This might lead to little spats here and there but since they’re not serious you can make up quickly.

If it ever came to real arguments he’d need to leave for a while to clear his head, take a walk with the dogs before coming home to stutter an apology.

He struggles to communicate seriously sometimes but he always wants you to know he adores you.

You’d both get into hiking, especially with having the dogs. They’re a great way to spend time together, productively but still somewhat intimately in remote hiking spots.

Speaking of intimacy, he loves to cup your chin and pull you away from whatever your task is for a soft kiss, and then he goes back to his day afterwards. Does this multiple times a day, it still melts your heart.

He might be a little messy to live with but he makes up for it by doing things like grocery shopping, cleaning the cars, and other out-of-the-house chores.

He’s not clingy in the traditional sense, but he wants to be around you all the time. You both often end up sitting together silently doing your own thing, like together-alone-time.

Dates:

This man loves any kind of beverage, so be ready for coffee dates, bubble tea dates, bar dates. Give him a yummy drink and you his yummy s/o and he’s happy.

Maybe more active dates, like skateboarding or paddle boarding in the summer.

Gym dates.

As previously mentioned, bowling. Idk he strikes me shoot me as a very competitive person and so it’s the perfect activity for him.

*NSFW warning minors go away with peace and love*

Sex:

He’s usually a pretty collected person, very in control of his actions and words.

Not when it comes to you though >:)

When it comes to sex, he gets desperate and messy, leaving clothes all over the apartment and kissing you like he craves you mm cos he does

Loooves to use his fingers on you, he gets a little cocky being able to get you off with just one hand.

Favourite position is definitely doggy so he can really grip your hips. He can also smack your ass, pull your hair, pin you down, just a great many positives in this position.

This man can move those hips so best believe he’s got the stamina to keep going for a looong time.

Equally, sometimes he gets overly excited and desperate for you and he cums early lol i stand by that this is a compliment

Dw though, he’s got long fingers and an eager tongue.

A lot of groans, light moans, dirty talk is a must telling you how good you take him omfgfg

Loves to shower together afterwards

All in all, a relationship with Sehun would be the definition of young, dumb and in love. He values you more than anything else in his life and will always go out of his way to spoil you where he can, knowing that you do the same for him. It’s truly like dating your best friend, and you cherish every moment.

#this has been in my drafts for 2 years lmao #sehun #exo #exo k #exo m #exo l #oh sehun #sehun exo #kpop #exo reactions #exo headcanons #exo scenarious #sehun scenarious #sehun fluff #exo as boyfriends

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saintsir4n · 3 months

Text

MYSTIC BALLS

what if adrienne and klaus go missing during the mikaelsons ball?

I could imagine adrienne wearing such an old Hollywood look for her ball gown which klaus would buy for her. Hair curled and styled in side part. It would be everything .

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE!

—

“Kol invited the Bennett witch?” Adrienne asked, not bothering to subdue her amusement.

“You would’ve known if you and Niklaus hadn’t spent the entire afternoon confined to his room,” Elijah retorted, polishing his dress shoes for the upcoming ball.

He was irked that Adrienne and Klaus were not taking it seriously. Rebekah had left their family home, Kol was in the living room trying on a suit with Finn who he ignoring his youngest brother’s attempts at cracking crude jokes.

“Well your brother gives the best hugs, he hugged me so tight, my pearls popped off, so we had to spend the entire night looking for them. Isn’t that right love?”

Adrienne giggled through her explanation.

“Accurate recollection of our night together,” Klaus smirked, interlinking their fingers. “brother let my wife breathe she barely slept, not with our Pearl searching.”

Elijah grimaced, “Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, let’s hope you put your antics to bed—“ his eyes rolled at their snickering, “when you will attend the ball.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re giving us any choice brother,” Klaus narrowed his eyes.

Elijah hummed, “Good, because I’m not. We are starting an anew in our old town and we have to try.”

“Yay,” Adrienne fake cheered, much to his dismay. “Nik, do you have my dress?”

Klaus nodded, smiling down at her, “In a box in your room my love.”

Adrienne squealed, “Can’t wait, now Rebekah and I have booked a manicures and pedicures. Whenever she gets back from inviting Stefan —“

“— she’s actually inviting him?” Kol strolled into the room, wearing the suit that was being tailored. “I thought he was courting that Doppelgänger?”

“Elena Gilbert,” Elijah stated, readjusting his tie after settling his dress shoes to the side.

“He was dating her,” Adrienne reiterated.

“Trouble in paradise,” Klaus informed with a cheeky grin.

“The annoying one is interested in Elena too.”

“Damon?” Klaus smirked at his wife’s disgust. “Yes he��s relentless with his attempts to woo her.”

“So you have that in common with him,” Adrienne mocked.

Klaus’ face dropped.

Kol grinned, “She’s got your there nik.”

“Shut it Kol,” Klaus snapped, turning to him.

Kol mocked, “Shut it Kol.”

Elijah cleared his throat, “Your juvenile disputes will cease for the night Nikolai. The treaty we have still stands, it must stand.”

A mirthful glint swam in Adrienne’s eye, “A treaty I tricked the Bennett witch into signing. It declares that if they dare start a war with us, or directly or indirectly provoke us into retaliation, her powers will weaken and then they’re truly defenceless.”

Klaus stared at her in awe, “Isn’t she clever?”

“Thank you handsome,” Adrienne gave him a quick peck, ignoring the groans she heard, just before they all heard the front door open, “Oh that must be Rebekah. Won’t leave you too long Nik, I know how testy you get without me.”

“Be safe,” Klaus said softly.

She snorted, “Why would I with the hybrids you have clinging to my every step?” She strutted away, “Come on Bekah.”

The youngest Mikaelson brothers turned back to each other after the front door shut.

“Let her breathe for once Nik. That begs the question, have you ever peed on her to show all the other monsters in this town she’s not up for grabs?” Kol taunted, dropping back into a chair.

Elijah turned up his nose as Klaus glared.

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’ll ask Enny when she returns,” Kol muttered.

Klaus threatening stepped forward, “You won’t dare.”

“A thousand years old and you’re acting like children,” Elijah remarked as Finn strolled into the front room, surveying the childish scene.

“Like you’re any better Elijah,” the eldest Mikaelson murmered, clutching onto a book he was reading.

Kol and Klaus started laugh, the latter lowered himself onto a chair and picked up one of his sketchbooks.

“I am not a child.“ Elijah exclaimed, turning to him disbelief, “Finn.”

A smirk played on Finn’s lips, “That’s not what Clementine relayed.”

Kol and Klaus laughed even louder.

“She what?” Elijah was a picture of aggravation.

“Oh I cannot wait for this ball, maybe you should invite sweet Clementine Finn, she would certainly love to let loose, break free from our noble brother’s chain,” Kol taunted.

“Don’t start Nikolai.”

“Please start Nikolai,” Klaus smirked as further dispute commenced.

—

a/n:

I might write a full one shot of adrienne and the mikaelsons ball and her interacting with everyone. this is without esther as in my headcanon she’s dead. klaus was already a hybrid from the events of dark twisted fantasy. kol is a vamp-witch hybrid and the drama with the mystic gang isn’t decent compared to canon.

#bonnie should’ve been invited to the mikaelsons ball #wattpad #fanfic #black reader #black girl #adriennelumiere #klaus mikaelson x black reader #witch #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaleson imagine #mikaelsonsball #bonniebennettsupremacy #bonnie x mikaelsons #bonnie x kol #modern day adriennelumiere #adriennelumere x klaus mikaelson #adrienne x Bonnie #klaus mikaelson x black!reader

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freddie-77-ao3 · 13 days

Text

Snippets of the Travis Stoll fic because i need motivation:

“I’m mature because you left me to take care of an entire cabin of people when I was twelve.” Travis rubs his arms self-consciously. “I had to grow up. Kids would die if I didn’t.”

Travis Stoll loses his virginity when he is twelve years to a sixteen year old daughter of Demeter on the grass behind the Ares cabin, and honestly, he wishes that their landmines had blown him up.

He is twelve years old and a counselor now, and Tammy is in charge of the camp store.

He's counselor now. The children shivering on the floor of cabin eleven, they're his responsibility.

But he doesn't have enough money for blankets and toiletries, and Tammy-- Tammy tells him that if he comes with her and does what she asks, she'll give both of them to him for free, so he does.

He goes with her.

He's twelve years old. He knows what rape is. Knows this isn't it, because he consented, right?

(Wrong.)

Travis’ leg is bouncing up and down. It’s a bit rhythmatic, and calming, if anything could be considered calm. He’s tense, and stiff, and the sound makes him wince every once in a while, when he forgets it’s his leg that’s tapping on the cool flooring, and not someone else’s winding footsteps. Malcolm would just pop! Into existance, scaring the shit out of Travis, but at least letting him know it wasn’t someone else, but… Travis doesn’t want Cecil, or Connor, -or anyone else really- to see him like this.

Not now, when they’re all so scared- when he’s so scared.

“Come on,” Travis fake whines at one point in an attempt to forget everything, “Drop the illusion! Become your true self!” He pouts, as Malcolm continues to ignore him, typing something without looking, at a speed that most would probably consider fast. “Your authentic identity! Drop all pretences in a society that worships fakeness! Embrace your realist inner spirit! Should I go on?”

Malcolm sighs, and while he rolls his eyes, he mutters, “You’ve been spending too much time in Cabin Ten.”

“Have not,” Travis scoffs.

“Have so,” but he shifts anyway, ceasing the- admittedly childish- argument (which was not cool, thank you very much, some of us have bad and annoying coping methods, Malcolm-), the short blond hair shifting to a slightly longer, curlier brown, and the grey eyes turning green.

It didn’t change much, really- Malcolm was still incredibly short- seriously, 5’2?- but Malcolm now had two bandages around his mouth and nose which were slightly wrinkled due to his mouth being shut.

Travis assumed Connor put them on. Malcolm often didn’t bother with bandages, and Drew was more clinical in her approach. It didn’t matter, really, except it made Travis wonder if Malcolm was missing them. His friends. His friends Travis has taken from-

Malcolm nudges him, whispering, “Hey. You alright?”

Travis opens his mouth to respond, but the only thing to come out is a strangled sigh.

Travis is prone to wandering. He thinks it might be a Hermes kid thing, the reasoning spread somewhere in between the cabin being so incredibly small that you share bunks and sleep on the floor, and that if you ever have to go to the bathroom in the night, chances are the entire cabin knows about it because they either get stepped on, or move, or the fact that Hermes is the god of travel.

Travis doesn’t really like either explanation- he was selfish like that, wanting one thing to himself, just one thing, but, well. He was counselor, wasn’t he. Chiron always said, counselors have to share, counselors have to–

Why isn’t he allowed to be selfish?

Travis started in on the waffle fries, drizzling them with syrup first.

“You know they’re called waffle fries,” Malcolm pointed out, looking slightly disgusted, “because of the shape, not because they’re actually made of waffles.”

“Don’t limit me.”

“It’s another cabin eleven thing, isn’t it?”

“Camp thing, really. Surprised you haven’t noticed yet- you’ve been here, what, two years now?”

“It’s not like I often go to the dining pavilion,” Malcolm retorted, and Travis gives a Cheshire Cat grin at the opening Malcolm has given him.

“So you admit you never eat? Cause you know what that sounds li-”

“I do not have an eating disorder, I simply prefer eating in the kitchen before everyone else.”

“So what problem did this come from- ooh, wait no, let me guess- it is because,” Travis waved his arms for dramatic affect, “you were having too many sensory overloads so you got permission to eat in the kitchens, come on, Mr. Pace, congratulate me!” Travis half bowed in his seat, but Malcolm didn’t seem to notice, staring at his own hands a moment too long.

“Hey,” Travis tries. “You okay?”

#pjo hoo toa #my fanfiction #wip snippet #travis stoll

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