#They’re meant to decorate the women they’re put on but it only ties them up and it’s like horrible | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mindofharry · 3 years

Text

Be My Baby

In which Prince harry and Princess Y/N are set to marry and are more than happy about it. They celebrate in more ways than one.

AHHHH!!! ITS HERE!!! FINALLY! Prince harry is my guilty pleasure. pls treat him with the respect he deserves. these two are officially my favourite people ever.

fluff & FILTHY SMUT!!!!!! feedback is welcome as always! <3

“Princess Y/N is arriving soon, Harry” Anne, the queen of england said putting down her tea. Harry is the prince, next in line for the throne - Marriage is very important to the throne and for the throne. Anne has been very strict about that, preparing Harry for marriage. Princess Y/N of wales, is who Harry is meeting with today. Hopefully, to settle a deal. Harry has never cared for marriage or for a partner. He’s a lone wolf as his family would describe. But if he wants to be king, he needs to marry. And Y/N is looking like the only option at the moment.

Harry nodded putting the paper down and looking up at his mother. He pursed his lips leaning back in his seat.

“Is something the matter, dear?”

Harry shook his head “No, mother. Just tired” he lied, reassuring his mother. Anne didn’t press any further just got one of the servants to pour her more tea. She could read harry very well, she knew her son better than he knew himself. Y/N is perfect for him. Even if they do not marry, she will be a life long friend. But anne is sure they will marry within the year.

And Queen Anne is never wrong.

Y/N was late.

Harry was beginning to become bored, don’t get him wrong he loves his sister and mother. But he can only take so much. All he wanted to do was to be curled up with a book in the abandoned side of the castle - no one except for the young prince had been there. It was locked up for years before harry found the key, it was like a whole new world in there. It was dirty, messy, filthy - just how harry liked it. He decorated a room in there, and it’s like his safe place from all of this. All of these stupidly important responsibilities. His safe haven.

They were meant to be meeting, talking about their futures together. If his mother thought this was what was best for the country, then harry would push through. He hadn’t see Y/N in years, meeting when they were both much younger. No pressure, just the two kids playing in the fields. Y/N was beautiful, so care free. Harry wished he was like Y/N - the only think she seemed to care about were the moon, the sun and the stars. They never saw each other again after that, they have both obviously seen each other in papers and at events. But never talked. Y/N didn’t know why, neither did harry. They weren’t on the same chapter in life. But now, they’re both willing to do what is best for their country.

And maybe it wouldn’t be too bad marrying a soon to be king.

A servant comes into the dining room bowing at the styles family. Harry waits for him to speak - except a tall girl, bumps into him making the servant fall foward. Y/N (the tall girl) giggled, before clearing her throat and bowing at the styles family. Harry smirked and leaned back. Anne was standing a smile on her face as she saw her soon beaming for the first time in months.

“Your highness” Y/N said bowing, nearly falling down again. But she grinned covering it up. Her dress was long and tight - her mother made her wear it. She would much rather be in a nice flowy dress in the woods right now. Maybe reading about the sun. But her mother needed her to do this, so Y/N would.

Y/N’s father died a couple of months back, it was sudden and no one saw it coming. So her mother needed her to marry as Y/N is the oldest of four girls. They needed a man of the house and once Y/N married, harry would be that man. Y/N didn’t like that one bit. She could be the man of the house if she wanted to. She didn’t understand why they needed a man to pay for things, to do stuff for them. Women are just as capable. But there was no fighting with Y/N’s mother. And Y/N knew she was having a rough time without her husband and Y/N’s dad.

“Princess Y/N, it’s good to have you here” Anne said, as a servant helped her back into the seat. Y/N had the same treatment but she looked rather uncomfortable. She was seated infront of harry, which was glad of. It’s a nice view, she’ll admit. He had grown into his baby face, she thought. And that hair. Fuck, that hair.

“Thank you for inviting me, your highness” Y/N said smiling softly. “Your castle is amazing” She said and Anne nodded pointing around at the paintings. “I actually just got these new paintings in from a new artist in rome. Just beautiful, right harry?” Anne said, giving harry the look. His mother is giving him that look a lot recently, Anne just wants what is best for him and harry just doesn’t seem to care at all. It’s like he’s away from reality. In another universe half of the time. Anne was hoping Y/N would be able to bring him back down to earth, but from her entrance in here - Harry and Y/N are a lot more similar than she thought.

“Yeah, they’re beautiful” Harry said staring at the girl infront of him. Y/N blushed under his stare. She had never felt anything like this before for a man. Her stomach was in knots and her cheeks were getting hotter by the second.

The dinner was nice. It was quiet with Y/N trying to keep up the small talk - Anne was impressed with that. Everyone she had invited to the palace would only talk when spoken to, but Y/N had a certain way about her. She had manners of course, the kindest soul, but she talked. She could talk all day if she was allowed. She just never ran out of things to say. But the food was really good, so Y/N was quieter than usual. Harry had one question: did they feed her in the city? The way she was eating was like she had been starved for years.

“This is amazing” Y/N said putting her fork down. Anne grinned at the girl nodding to herself. She had found a keeper.

“Harry, why do you show Y/N around? She’s going to be staying here for the next couple of weeks” Anne announced and Y/N nearly choked on her water, she tapped her chest.

“I am?-“

“she is?”

Harry and Y/N both spoke at the same time, Anne tutted and ordered the servant to fill up her wine.

“Your mother and I have arranged it. Everything you have is here already, you’ll have your own quarters too. Your horse is being transported down here as we speak” Anne said making new room for arguing. “Y/N your mother said she would be happy for us to host you here if the dinner went accordingly. And i think it went more than accordingly” Anne continued sipping her wine.

Harry and Y/N looked to each other their eyes both wide with amusement and shock. Only their parents would do this.

“Now, run along. Gemma and I have some talking to do” Anne ordered, the servants came and helped the princess and prince up following them out of the dinning room. Y/N was rather uncomfortable with the servants being everywhere, she had a lot more freedom at home.

“Hey, you wanna do something fun?” She asked and harry raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Hey! Intruder” Y/N yelled and the servants looked around quickly, harry was startled when Y/N laughed loudly taking his hand in hers and running down the hallway towards the abandoned part of the castle. Harry grinned and laughed loudly as they ran together.

This girl, he thought.

The door was locked. Harry brought a key out of his pocket and Y/N laughed loudly making harry shush her as he unlocked the door. Quickly they made themselves into the abandoned quarters and giggled to themselves when they heard the servants feet making their way to this side of the castle - but immediately they turned away, knowing that they weren’t allowed on this side of the palace.

Harry was distracted with locking the door, but Y/N was amazed. She looked around at this place and couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her. This place is really fucking amazing, she thought. It’s obviously abandoned, that man she could tell - but it was still so beautiful. Paintings, upon paintings and books at every end. There was high ceilings and stained glass windows giving a nice hew to the room. Y/N brought her hands to her hips and spinned around her dress moving as she did.

“This place is fucking amazing!”

Harry laughed and finally got the door locked popping the key back in his pocket. He moved beside the beautiful girl and didn’t say anything. But Y/N knew.

“You come here often?” She asked and Harry nodded.

“Found it a couple years ago. Think it was my fathers” He said and Y/N sighed looking around.

“It’s beautiful” you’re beautiful, he wanted to say but he bit his lip instead walking in the direction of his safe haven. Y/N quickly caught up placing a hand on his, harry flinched at the touch. This definitely wasn’t allowed. If anyone saw they’d have to marry immediately. But nobody was here, he reminded himself. And with that he squeezed Y/N’s hand a little tighter.

Harry opened the door the room he had been coming to for years now. It had a few chairs, a huge window with curtains on each side, a fire place in the middle and blankets and pillows surrounding the room. Y/N smiled to herself as she saw harry become more himself. It was like this room allowed him to be himself.

“You come in here often?”

Harry nodded making himself comfortable on one of the pillows, Y/N soon followed sitting very close to the prince. Harry had no complaints at all.

“I come here most days. When i need to take a breath, escape my mother and the stupid royal family” Harry said and Y/N giggled leaning in to harry, their lips close.

“I can think of many ways we can escape reality. Why don’t we try one of them?”

Harry let out a sigh and placed his hand on Y/N shoulder, it fell down her arm to her waist. Harry had been with people before, he had kissed and pleasured many, many people. But never did he feel like this. He felt as if she was a goddess, and she would brake it the touch of his finger. She looked almost fragile, like a painting.

“Kiss me, Harry” She ordered and harry wasted no time, placing his lips on hers.

Her lips are soft and gentle, just as harry had expected. He moved his hands up her hips to her shoulders again, Y/N moaned letting harry's tongue into her mouth. Harry groaned and pulled away smirking at that flushed look on her face. He loved it.

Y/N bit her lip standing up, unzipping her dress. She turned around, the only thing she had was a small night dress and corset. Harry cursed under his breath standing up behind her. Everything felt so intimate. They both felt a lot of things, Y/N never wanted this to stop. Harry hugged her from behind, kissing the back of her neck. After a few seconds, Y/N turned around in his hold, holding his gaze. She began to take off her corset and night dress, now bare. She felt confident in Harry's glare, he made her feel good. He sucked in a breath looking down at her perky breasts, her nipples hard from the temperature of the room. He made a mental note to put the fire on after this, Harry knew you two would be in here for as long as you possibly could. He knew his mother would be beyond pissed that they had gone off alone together.

Harry placed a hand on Y/N’s breast, teasing her nipple with his index finger. His rings were cold on her skin making her whimper. Harry smirked at the sound, lowering his head and taking her nipple in his mouth his tongue swirling the nub of it. Y/N’s hands found harrys hair and she tugged on it hard.

“Fuck” She cursed and harry let go with a pop, again he smirked at the sight of the princess. So undone and flustered. Harry absolutely loved it. Holding her gaze, he began to undress unbuttoning his shirt and pants. Heat rushed to his penis, as Y/N watched him undress.

“Want to have you in my mouth” Y/N said, getting on her knees. She knew she would have bruises by the end of this - but she knew it would be worth.

“Don’t make me cum” Harry ordered, Y/N just smirked and pulled his underwear down almost drooling at the sight of his red, cock full of pre-cum. What a sight, she thought. And it’s fucking huge. Bigger than she thought that’s for sure.

She hummed, pumping harry’s rock hard cock. His head flew back, a moan filling the room. Harry wished her hair was pinned back, he needed some to grip. He took both of his hands and gripped the side of her head. Y/N spit on his cock, keeping eye contact with harry.

“Shit”

Y/N licked the tip, running her tongue over the slit, tasting the saltiness of his pre cum. Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“You taste so good” She moaned, finally taking his full cock into her mouth. Her hands began pumping the base of the shaft, as she sucked him off. Harry moaned, but tapped the side of her head.

“Need to be in you, no more foreplay” He said and Y/N pouted whipping her lips.

“But i like having you in my mouth” Y/N argued, harry smirked pecking her lips, tasting himself on them. He hummed in agreement. “Next time, let me fuck you” He said kissing her neck, Y/N sighed and placed her lips on his before crawling over to the fireplace - there was a white sheet layed out. Y/N lay down and harry kissed down her stomach, teasingly kissing her thighs. “You’re definitely wet enough for me, aren’t you princess?” Harry said slapping her pussy, Y/N moaned and nodded.

Slowly, harry thrusted into Y/N making them both whimper. “Fuck, you feel so good” Harry said, kissing your lips. Y/N just moaned, gripping his back and putting her legs around his waist. Harry began to move faster, his hands either side of Y/N.

“Faster” Y/N said and harry complied, pounding into her. The moans coming out of the both them were enough to make them both cum within seconds. And that’s basically what happened. They both climaxed, harry falling down into Y/N’s chest. Y/N only felt pleasure and ecstasy.

Shit, her mother picked a good one.

***

“Fuck” Y/N panted into harry’s mouth as he took against the wall. They were left alone for ten minutes, and this happened. They were looking at the new paintings and architecture Anne had got, browsing around the hall. Harry had convinced the servant that his mother was calling and of course the poor servant couldn’t dismiss it, so they had a good ten minutes while the servant searched for the queen.

Harry pounded into her the paintings on the wall knocking loudly, Y/N laughed loudly making harry put a hand over her mouth.

“Don’t want to attract any attention, do we princess?”

They continued their hot and very messy quicky and then made their way to the gardens. Y/N and harry soon found that the gardens would be another safe haven. Beautiful flowers and when the sun is shining a beautiful place to sit and relax.

They couldn’t wait to marry - seen as harry wants Y/N in his bed, all the time. They fuck like bunnies, it’s amazing how they haven’t been caught as of yet. When they get their own palace, harry will christen to the whole place. They’ll fuck in every corner. Every room. Every library and garden.

Y/N looked at harry smiling as he lay on the grass. No one was around as the servant hadn’t arrived back. Y/N quickly looked around before pulling harry into what she could only assume was a place to keep all the fruit and veg away from foxes. It was closed off and you could lock it from the inside.

“Jesus christ Y/N” Harry mumbled kissing your neck as you leaned back on a bench.

“Another round?” You asked with innocent eyes.

“Another round” Harry confirmed lifting up the bottom of her dress and pushing her down so she was flat on the bench. He kissed up her legs, biting down on her thigh.

He pulled up her night gown and saw her bare pussy, wet and glistening just waiting for him. He could cum at the sight. He moaned kissing her thigh, teasing her.

Y/N tugged at harry’s hair, giving him a warning. “Stop, teasing” She pouted and harry smirked finally making his way towards your pussy.

Y/N closed her eyes when she felt harrys breath against her core. “so wet, princess” Harry said, the vibrations going right through her body making her jerk up a little. Harry loved the affect he had on her, the littlest thing would make her jolt with pleasure.

Harry spread her legs a little more, his tongue licking up her slit. Y/N’s tugged on harry’s hair, moaning loudly. Harry watched her unfold becoming so flushed, but Y/N looked so very beautiful in this light.

He pressed his lips to your clit, flicking his tongue up and down. Your hips moved with his tongue movements, harrys hands made their way to your hips trying to get them to stay in place. You wrapped your legs around his shoulders and began to shake and moan.

“Fuck me” You murmured coming down from your high.

“Oh, i will princess”

The days went on and more fucking occurred. Again they fucked like absolute bunnies. They were sure everyone knew by now, but the servants were way too afraid to say anything. Anne would have everyone’s head if she found out what they were doing.

“I can’t wait to marry you” Harry said laying down beside her in their safe haven. Y/N smirked rolling over on her side. He was so beautiful. His eyes, his freckles, that one dimple that came out when he laughed. She was so lucky to call him hers.

“You just want to have me in your bed everyday” She said and harry pretended to think about. “Hmmm, yeah” He said, making Y/N laugh loudly before pecking his lips.

“Can’t believe you’re mine” Harry said pushing her into his chest. Y/N grinned pecking his neck and looking up at him.

“Forever”

#harry styles #prince!harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles requests

928 notes · View notes

alfredosauce50 · 3 years

Note

would you be down to do 2p china hc’s? im very curious on how you characterize him!

I’m down! I’m guessing you figured I had my own interpretation of the guy after I answered an ask saying I’d write for him. I really like 2p! China as a character, but I have to say, I haven’t properly written for him before. Nevertheless, I’ll give you my thoughts on him as a person!

2p! China Headcanons

Zao’s appearance doesn’t give away much of his personality. He’s got a bit of a baby face, and he has a sociable and pleasant demeanor for the most part. So if you didn’t know him well enough to see past those traits, you would be surprised at how shady he can be.

Appearance

Like his 1p counterpart, his dark brown hair goes past his shoulders and is tied back in a low ponytail. It’s pretty thin too, so it stays flat against his back. But that’s what makes it look so good. He isn’t the tallest guy out there, as he stands around 170cm or 5′7″. Doesn’t mean you can easily take him out in a fight, though. He’s quite slender, but he’s muscular and knows a few martial arts to boot.

He has a lot of tattoos, and he doesn’t try to hide them. He has dragons curling down his arms, as well as Chinese characters etched into his back. Most of the time, he wears traditional clothing, such as a sleeveless Tang suit, so his arms are exposed. It’s almost as if the colors black and red were made for him. And he knows it. So unless he’s having a bad day where he’ll go for a simple T-shirt, he likes to dress to impress. Not that he even needs to try.

He’s devilishly attractive, and the way he talks gets girls flocking to him.

Personality

Zao is very easy-going and open-minded. He’ll talk about anything with anyone. Everything is fascinating in a way, and nothing seems to faze him either. So he’s the type to question the most trivial things in life--or list drugs as casually as you would your favorite candy bars. It’s also difficult to shock him, or anger him. When life deals him a bad hand, or springs up inconveniences, he’ll go with the flow because that’s life. So unless something involves the person he likes, he keeps himself pretty level-headed.

With his willingness to talk about anything, comes his brutal honesty and bluntness. So sometimes, he’ll find himself offending people even if he never meant to. If he does this to women, they’ll slap him before storming off, leaving him in confusion at what he did wrong. But if he does this to men, he’ll have to be quick on his feet to escape a potential fight. Unlike a few other 2ps, he has a good temperament so he avoids violence, but he’ll resort to it if he absolutely has to.

Despite the careers he’s depicted to have, like being a drug-dealer, something in adult entertainment, night-life, or anything illegal, he has strong fraternal instincts. If somebody embodied the “big brother” trope, it would be him. He cares a lot for his younger siblings, and they look up to him as a role model. But he’ll always tell them, “Do as I say, not as I do!” As comfortable as he is in his own skin, his own identity, he wouldn’t want them taking after him.

He’s very flirtatious, and a huge tease. How he shows he likes you is through making you blush, or embarrassed. He’ll call you pet names. Shower you with compliments. Refer to you as if you and him are already an item. If you bumped into him at a grocery store, he’ll help you shop, then say, “So, is that all we need? I can’t wait for dinner tonight.” Zao is also unapologetically dirty-minded. He’s all about dirty jokes, conversations, and gestures. The bigger reaction he gets, the more addicting they are.

He doesn’t have any qualifications, not even a high school diploma, but he’s street-smart to make up for it. That’s how he makes so many connections and hustles his way up to the top in shady businesses. If you need something, anything, legal or illegal, expensive or cheap, you can ask him, and 99% of the time, he’ll say, “I know a guy.” If he likes you, all he wants in return is something perverted. A kiss, maybe. Or maybe your underwear.

Interests

He loves anything cute, and he doesn’t hide it. Sanrio is a must--he keeps a collection of their plushies, most of them being Hello Kitty, but he also likes other characters such as Cinnamoroll and Pompompurin. Sometimes, he can get a bit obsessive over whatever sells fast. So if he has to, he’ll stay up and keep refreshing the page selling whatever he has his eyes on. If he’s infamous for his connections that let him get pretty much anything he wants, surely he can get his hands on the limited-edition Hello Kitty-themed towel, right!? He isn’t against having other kinds of merchandise either, like household items, but he keeps it lowkey for functionality.

In his house, you’ll find a lot of imports from East-Asian countries. Not only is he used to using them when he was back in China, they’re better than what you can find in America. Or at least, in his opinion. This includes cosmetics, snacks, alcohol, and decorations.

Although he doesn’t have a lot of time to, he enjoys watching anime. That’s why he makes sure to get through the most popular and mainstream ones first.

Zao likes to keep connected with his culture. He doesn’t care to assimilate, and being ‘different’ doesn’t bother him at all--he thinks it’s what gives him a unique personality and background. Since he doesn’t have a lot of friends to speak Mandarin with, he’ll look for his neighbors who can, and strike up a conversation every now and then. As well as that, he’ll give his siblings red pockets for Chinese New Year so they can spend it on food, videogames or whatever they want.

He can’t cook for shit. Even then, he has strong opinions on food, especially Chinese. While he enjoys westernised take out like Panda express, he wishes people would stop assuming Chinese cuisine is just dumplings, fried rice, noodles and yum cha. They’re B-tier at best. For a country with that rich and long a history, there’s so much more to indulge in. Too bad he can’t make anything if he tried.

Psychology + romance

Zao is used to being a second choice. His cheerfulness and bluntness make other people think he’s creepy or weird, so he can’t quite wrap his head around somebody liking him to that degree--or getting particularly close to him. At least, emotionally. There are a lot of girls who want him for one-night stands. But this doesn’t stop him from flirting with someone he genuinely likes, even if he doesn’t expect anything in return. It’s fun because they get flustered, after all. But when they start returning the same energy, get persistent, or even make him suspect that they like him back, he will get nervous. He’s used to being the chaser, not the other way around. So if the tables turn and things start getting real, he will back away.

As confident as he is with his image, it’s difficult for him to get intimate with somebody romantically. He’s open, but can’t be vulnerable. He’d rather keep things casual, so when he really falls for someone, he’ll be conflicted between keeping things the way they are, or pursuing them.

Eventually, these feelings will deepen to the point being just friends becomes suffocating. That’s when Zao loses his cool and gets frustrated. It could happen due to a build-up of his emotions, or an event that makes him explode from jealousy. He’ll get desperate after so long of not doing anything and make it very clear he wants you. “Just date me already!”

When he finally gets together with you, prepare to be coddled. He’ll want to help you with anything the best way he can, and go to extreme lengths to do so. Nothing seems extreme when it’s for somebody he cares so much about. While he never holds it against you--how much he does for you--he may or may not guilt trip you into giving him more affection. But only subtly. Instead of him kissing you, he'll loiter around your presence until you kiss him. And when you do, he’ll smile like an idiot.

He never makes it explicit when he wants to take you out on a date. Zao will just ask you if you’re free, and take you out for the night. He doesn’t see a point in labelling it as a ‘date’, because he doesn’t just see quality time with you through a romantic and sexual lens. He values the friendship aspect of it as well, and you really appreciate him for it.

Zao loves to cuddle. He doesn’t hug you much throughout the day, but when you’re at home and about to sleep, he will hug you, a lot. He won’t let go while he talks to you, and will only loosen his coils when you fall asleep.

Acknowledgements

I was mainly inspired by the 2p! China in the story, “Dragon District”, written by xYourHero. So props to them. The fandom’s perception of him has definitely deepened because of it, and it’s great seeing underrated 2ps finally getting the attention they deserve! I’m one of the people who’s had my characterization of Zao take after hers, so I’ll also be crediting her for my headcanons.

You can find the story on DeviantArt, Archive of our own and Wattpad. I adored that fic back in the day. Such good memories. I wasn’t even writing back when I was reading it. Any who, let’s get right into it. I’ve divided the headcanons into subcategories, appearance, personality, interests, and psychology + romance.

(Look at this fanart is by Amphany on DeviantArt. It was drawn for xYourHero. I’m gonna put it here for reference. https://www.deviantart.com/amphany/art/Dragon-smoke-548426383)

#hetalia #hetalia headcanons #2ptalia #2p!china #2p china #2p china headcanons #2ptalia x reader #2pchina x reader #axis powers hetalia #Axis powers ヘタリア #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia fanfic #alfredosauce50 #ask

116 notes · View notes

brattybookclub · 3 years

Text

A BDSMer’s Perspective on THAT Open Heart Diamond Scene

*WARNING: Discussions of NSFW content and BDSM done properly and poorly*

Hi, this is Cath! A major area of interest to me is BDSM, and while I am still a newbie (sadly my journey into the BDSM community was halted due to the pandemic, but that aside, I’ve been doing research since I was a teenager), I was able to identify several problems with the Ethan scene, from a BDSM perspective. This is meant to criticize PB, as I feel that this shows arrogance on their part, and that they just saw the Chapters ad for “Hard To Master” and decided “Hey, we should do that too!” (This will be kind of long.)

Something I didn’t see much discussion on was the fact that towards the end of the scene, Ethan says, “I’ve just never met someone whose appetites could match my own.” Meaning, Ethan has ZERO hands on BDSM experience. And neither does MC. Most of my criticism comes from the fact that neither of them is actually experienced. Hell, I have more experience than they do, and I’m a college student who has to save up for my kink gear, including collars. Yes, a top can practice alone on themselves, but Ethan and MC do very little negotiation. Most of the communication is taking place during the kinky activities, which there’s nothing wrong with, that works for some people, but it seems like the safeword was just there for decoration, and the diamond scene doesn’t really live up to “dark passion”.

When I saw that the scene was in the chapter, obviously I did not buy it, but I was shocked and kind of upset because the way PB marketed the scene was that it was some dark taboo activity where Ethan lets out his inner beast. This isn’t the case. I’m going to start from the beginning here. The context is that Ethan has just demonstrated that he cannot be trusted to maintain the integrity of an important medical study that could lead to breakthroughs in the industry. He showed arrogance and disregard for ethics. This is the backdrop for him asking to dominate MC. Just based on that, MC should say no. BDSM can be an escape from a frustrating day, to regain or give up control, but if one of my partners was going to lose their job, I would not trust them to dominate me that day. If Ethan is in this bad of a headspace, he could hurt MC during their activities (and not in the fun way) and make it worse. Second, HE ASKS AT THEIR JOB, WHERE HE IS MC’S SUPERIOR. The ethics of boss/employee relationship aside, that is blind to the power dynamic built into their workplace. This is the only point PB gives you the choice to consent until later, during the activities. In my opinion, this fucks up the Consent aspect of Safe, Sane, and Consensual, while Ethan’s current headspace and his actions prevent it from being Sane.

I know so many people have said this before me, but the way Ethan says what he wants is probably the grossest way of saying that. “… I need to feel in control of myself… and of you.” Ethan, you are in control of yourself. And saying that he “needs” to feel in control of MC… No. No, no, no. Submission is a gift that you do not take lightly, and must be given voluntarily. You do not ask someone for it without discussion first. And there is no discussion of what MC’s submission style is? Is MC a service submissive, are they a brat, are they a little? What if MC is a top or likes to be dominant? Nor does Ethan discuss what style of dominance he is into. Now that I think about it, there’s not a lot of power exchange. But it’s not just a top/bottom style activity either… Does PB know that you can participate in kinky activities with no power exchange, and that you can do power exchange without pain? It feels like they’ve just lumped all of it together. This scene fails to have any sort of distinct identity. It smells of a couple trying to spice it up in the bedroom and only reading about BDSM off of Cosmopolitan and Buzzfeed, and not really knowing what they’re doing.

As soon as MC and Ethan get to his place, he decides to pour you both some scotch. NO. NO, NO, NO NO. I have been to a discussion amongst EXPERIENCED kinksters about whether dungeons or events should offer alcohol, and it’s controversial because things can go wrong in a PUBLIC kink setting. For inexperienced people, especially with how bad Ethan’s headspace is at this time, and the fact that he claimed he wanted to “feel in control” of MC and himself, he should NOT be touching any alcohol. And over the drinks, Ethan and MC can discuss the events of the day when they could be, I don’t know, talking about what they are about to do??? Because MC has no idea what Ethan’s intentions are, exactly. Later, Ethan gives MC choices for what they can do; either he ties them to the bed, spanks them, or he decides (on all the playthroughs I have seen, Ethan deciding leads to him spanking MC). But they are already in the kink scene. You know how you should never go grocery shopping hungry? Well, you shouldn’t make kinky decisions, especially as a newbie, when you’re horny. They could have used this time to discuss if either of them has experience, and I must repeat, you don’t find out that Ethan has none till after you two finish. Ethan doesn’t tell MC any risks of what they do; if they might be bruised by anything he does, or if something will hurt after they finish. This is not following RACK; Risk Aware Consensual Kink. MC is not able to give informed consent. There’s also no discussion of limits or pain tolerance and… good fucking lord, this is a setup for shit going wrong.

So anyway, after their discussion of the day’s events, and Ethan’s feelings, MC assures him that they don’t want tender (hey, PB… BDSM can be tender!!! Also affectionate, loving, and sweet!!!!) so Ethan gives them a leather body harness and tells them to meet him in the bedroom. My initial reaction was, “How did he have their size, and how did he have that on hand?” I did some research, a lot of body harnesses are adjustable. Still pretty weird that he just had a women’s body harness on hand with no experience. I mean the men’s kind of makes sense because maybe he’s a switch, and as far as the handcuffs and riding crop despite no experience go… a lot of people hoard adult toys without using them much in case they do get the chance.

After MC puts on the harness, they meet Ethan in the bedroom and he asks them to pick a safeword. The default is “Free Healthcare” which fucking sucks as a safeword. The universal safeword is usually “Red” because of the traffic light system. When telling MC not to shy away from using it, he says, “You’re in control just as much as I am.” Uhhh… Who’s gonna tell him that the submissive has all the control? They decide what they consent to. The dominant operates within that. Also the part about, “This isn’t just about giving me what I need… It’s also about giving you what you want.” Yes… but also no. The dominant does not “need” their partner’s submission. It’s them mutually wanting what the other is willing to give. Also the “need” vs “want” feels… icky. So, so, icky.

From there to the options Ethan gives MC isn’t bad. I’ve had at least one of those exchanges in real life because it doesn’t feel cringe in the moment. Since MC and Ethan didn’t negotiate before the scene, I guess Ethan giving MC two options of what he can do to them, or he will decide between the two options if they want him to, isn’t that bad. I just think it would have been much better had there been communication beforehand since MC hasn’t done anything like that before. Thankfully it’s opt-in as opposed to opt-out, because opt-in is recommended for partners who are new to each other.

“Tie me to the bed.” Option: Ethan will muse about whether he should do rope or handcuffs. Maybe he has practiced with rope alone in the past and knows what he’s doing… But MC does not know this!! Mercifully, he picks handcuffs. Thank god he uses leather cuffs. PB has used metal ones in the past and those have all sorts of safety issues if they are not double-locking. PB is super vague about the setup so I’m a little confused about how he can be going down on MC then pull the chains of the cuffs so their back is against the headboard?

“Spank me.”/ “Choose.” Options: Ethan will get a riding crop, which is not at ALL recommended for newbies. I’ve actually had a friend demo a riding crop on my back, when I was fully clothed, but newbies are usually advised to either a) start off with a plain open hand spanking or b) test out how the implement feels by having the receiving partner rate the pain from a scale of 1 to 10 so one can get a feel for their pain tolerance, and how it changes as they are spanked longer. In my experience, it’s important to start out lighter especially with newbies. AND YET. “The first smack of the crop against your bare skin almost ends the game before it’s started.” NO NO NO. STOP STOP STOP. MC can barely take the first hit??? The first one should not push you to your limit, especially when it’s your first time. You may be wondering if riding crops actually sting that much. They don’t have to. It depends how much force you use. Side note, it is important for the top to know what each toy they are using feels like. Whether that means bottoming or testing the toy out on themselves, this makes sure they maintain empathy for their bottom. Anyway, MC gets hit by the riding crop like twice before this option converges with the sex part of the diamond scene. Really PB? You couldn’t at least say that the swats “rained down” or something? Two super intense hits is no fun compared to less intense spankings that last longer. In fact, if you change toys for different sensations, you can usually last longer, since the area gets more sensitive as you go along.

Anyway the sex happens. Ethan says, “Tell me what you want.” Which creates the options:

“Safeword/Free Healthcare” (God PB that’s so cringey, I get it’s a medical drama but just use Red!!!) Option: It instantly stops, Ethan is concerned, MC assures him that they just know their limits, which, good for you MC!! It’s not easy to safeword even when you want/need to. Though, I raise an eyebrow at the fact that you can safeword during the actual sex, as opposed to being tied up or spanked. I would think those would be where a person would be more likely to need to use their safeword especially if they are new to these activities.

“Harder.” Option: Gets more intense after Ethan asks if MC is sure. Goes into Ethan trying some orgasm control. Yay. Don’t see why this whole scene couldn’t have just been rough/wild sex since I’m pretty sure PB has done that before.

“Just like that…” Option: I think we can all guess what happens here.

I’m gonna fast forward through the rest of the sexcapades because there’s nothing interesting or worth critiquing. Safewording makes sure you skip all the rest of the scene and then it’s MC and Ethan in bed, him holding MC. I don’t want to say, “PB didn’t include aftercare!!” because cuddling is a lot of people’s aftercare, but I wish they’d talked about it more. Like Ethan asking if MC needed water or get out of the body harness, or some lotion or aloe vera for their butt if they got spanked. Or him checking their wrists if they got tied up. These are important things for aftercare, and while not everyone needs aftercare for every kind of activity, it’s important to talk about ahead of time, or communicate after the activity. Aftercare helps both parties come down gently from a high that you can easily just have an unpleasant drop from. I’ve gotten emotional after impact play. Some people feel guilt for inflicting pain on someone. Aftercare is necessary for the dominant or top as much as it is for the bottom or submissive, and I wish PB was as good about including that concept as they were about the safeword.

Anyway while they’re cuddling, MC and Ethan have the conversation where it leads to Ethan saying he’s never met anyone whose appetites match his own. While this might be acceptable for someone who lives in a small town… Ethan lives in Boston, Massachusetts. When looking up BDSM dungeons in Boston, I found two dominatrixes, and like three pages that talk about possible BDSM groups. And that’s not even checking on fetlife. Ethan simply didn’t want to look for like-minded people, and that’s on him. He could have found classes to help him learn how to do everything properly and safely, and maybe some friends. More people are kinky than you think!!! People in the community love it when new people join the community and express a desire to learn.

MC spends the night, and in the morning their sprite is STILL wearing the body harness. PB THOSE CANNOT BE COMFORTABLE. Like especially if it’s as fitted as they describe, how can MC still be wearing it?? Especially with them sweating on the leather??? Not going to lie, I laughed when I saw that oversight.

And that’s the end of the scene. Alright. The scene is not good. But it’s not Fifty Shades of Grey bad. I get the jokes and the comparisons, and while PB is arrogant, much like EL James, PB isn’t THAT bad. MC is clearly into the BDSM, which Anna clearly was not in 50 Shades. PB did a little bit of research, but I find it pretty obvious that aside from dirty talk, they have almost no experience actually getting into kinky activities, nor do they participate in the community.

I really hate how they acted like, “Ethan’s in dark mood…” but didn’t commit to that. Also how they didn’t really commit to portraying BDSM accurately. It’s kinky looking if you aren’t in the kink community, but to me, it’s vanilla pretending to be edgy and kinky. PB didn’t really commit one way or the other. They seemed to just use some iconography (excluding collars, surprisingly… that’s really easy to add??) and a little bit of kink, then set it aside and called it a day. This seemed to be there for the shock value. Going into the scene, I felt like SCC was being broken, but in the midst of the scene was a very different tone from what PB was acting like was going to happen. Ethan felt very different going into the scene as opposed to during it. I feel like this is what happens when you have to market kink to a mostly vanilla audience. Anyway, if you want a really great educational youtube channel, Evie Lupine is doing the lord’s work as a BDSM educator. Thank you for reading this 2500+ word rant from a kinky nerd.

#playchoices #open heart #choices oh #choices open heart #choices ethan #choices ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #choices ethan x mc #ethan choices #play choices #submission

67 notes · View notes

writerofthecourt · 4 years

Text

the secretary

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x reader

summary: you arrive at your husband’s workplace to deliver the papers he needs for a very important presentation. unfortunately, the only thing standing between you and this goal is his secretary

warning: slight time skip spoilers

a/n: this is such a cliché, but it doesn’t mean that i love it any less. is kuroo actually so high up there in position that he gets his own secretary? who knows, but i hope you guys enjoy

EDIT: reupload (tumblr, please stop deleting me from the tags)

The building in front of you stood tall and menacingly, its shining windows indicative of the building’s well-kept and professional status. Men and women dressed in suits could be seen walking around the lobby, with some hurrying to and from various cramped elevators, all in an effort to make it to their next meetings. You were beginning to think that you were a bit underdressed with your large hoodie and sweatpants…

Your attention was soon redirected when you felt the baby strapped against your chest wiggle in excitement at all the new and foreign sights around him. Tatsuya was only fourteen months old, but he was smart enough to recognize that the setting around him was not the usual park or grocery store that you would take him to, so all of this could only mean one thing: a new adventure!

“Tatsuya,” you giggled at your son’s endless wiggling, “please behave, all right? We just need to deliver papa’s papers, and then we can go home and watch your cartoons.”

“Papa?” your son asked, his eyes lighting up at the very mention of his father.

You nodded and smiled at your son’s enthusiasm. On some days, you would playfully complain to your husband that Tatsuya loved him more than he loved you. Your son was already a carbon copy of Kuroo, with their similarly dark ebony hair and golden eyes. Even dressed in his current red onesie, Tatsuya looked reminiscent of your husband in his old volleyball jersey. The only trait that Tatsuya didn’t inherit from his scheming father was the latter’s wild bedhead. You just hoped that your next child would look more like you.

“Yeah, we get to see papa today,” you gestured to your purse, which held the folder containing the papers Kuroo needed for his presentation that afternoon, “your papa forgot his papers, so we’re going to go deliver them to him.”

You nearly had a heart attack earlier in the morning when you saw the inconspicuous folder sitting on the dining room table as you were cleaning the house. Kuroo had been so busy working on this presentation for the past few weeks that he’d often skip food and sleep in order to have it finished. When he didn’t answer your phone call after the fifth time, you took it upon yourself to deliver his papers to him in person.

“Papa!” Tatsuya exclaimed in further excitement at the prospect of seeing his father.

You just chuckled as you made your way to the front doors of the Japan Volleyball Association. The security guard stationed at the front desk shot you a raised eyebrow, but said nothing as he gave you a nod in greeting. You bowed back before heading towards the busy elevators, workers staring at you in bewilderment, as you were clearly not meant to be there.

You nervously sent them all a polite smile as you got into the cramped elevator when it arrived with the rest of the employees. Tatsuya simply babbled away as his eyes stared transfixed on the glowing numbers that indicated to the elevator’s ascension. At least someone was having a fun time.

Once you arrived at the twenty-third floor, the Sports Promotion Division, you mused at how all of the decoration remained virtually unchanged since the last time you had visited, which was near the beginning of Kuroo’s career when he had first landed the job and wanted to show you around his workplace and office.

Oh, he got a new secretary, you thought as you saw a pretty, young woman sitting at the desk located just outside of your husband’s office.

She looked around your age, maybe a year or two younger, with pretty brown eyes and matching chestnut brown hair tied into a loose bun. Her blue suit flattered her slender body to no end, and her makeup was precise and flawless. You had no doubt that she could have pursued a career in modelling if she really wanted to.

Sensing your approach, she looked up from her monitor and sent you a bored look. “Hello, how can I help you today?”

“Oh, um,” you stuttered, suddenly intimidated by her beauty up close. “Is Kuroo Tetsurou in right now? I have something important to give him.”

At the mention of your husband’s name, her attention was now solely focused on you as she gave you a not-so-subtle scan up and down. “And what business do you have with Kuroo-san?”

Not sensing her shifting attitude, you removed the folder from your purse and showed it to her. “He left these papers at home and needs them for an important presentation today. I’m just here to deliver them to him.”

“Hmm,” the secretary mused before gesturing for you to take a seat on the sofa located on the wall opposite of her desk. “Please take a seat while I see if he’s in.”

Nodding in gratitude, you made your way to the sofa and took a seat while the secretary typed away on her computer. Tatsuya, who had been quiet up until this point, took the silence as a sign that the adults were done talking and that it was now his turn to speak.

“Mama,” Tatsuya began, pointing to one of the many dull paintings that decorated the office walls. “Birb!”

You nodded. “Good job, Tatsu-chan. What about that one?”

Your son followed the direction of your finger, his eyes landing on a large flowery landscape before he furrowed his eyebrows in concentration to decipher what the painting was trying to depict. “Fwower?”

“You’re so smart, Tatsuya. Good job!”

You proceeded to boop your son’s nose and shower his face with little kisses. His joyous laughter filled your heart with warmth as he looked up at you with mirth in his golden eyes. A clearing of the throat soon interrupted the moment, and the secretary gave you a strained smile. “Ma’am, can you please try to keep it down over there? We still have people working on this floor.”

“Oh, sorry!” you apologized before turning to Tatsuya. “Tatsu-chan, let’s play the quiet game for a bit, okay? We wouldn’t want to disturb other people while they’re working, right?”

Your son cutely nodded as he began to occupy his time by playing with the strings of your hoodie. After a few more minutes, the secretary called you up to her desk. “Kuroo-san is in a meeting right now, but I can deliver his papers to him if you want?”

“Oh, um,” you hesitated, clutching the folder. “These papers are really important to him, so I’d be a lot more comfortable with delivering them to him in person.”

You didn’t notice how her right eye slightly twitched as she tried to convince you to hand over the folder. “Ma’am, by denying my offer, you are the one that will be impeding on Kuroo-san’s presentation if those papers are as important as you say they are.”

“W-well, when you put it that way-”

“What’s going on here?” a familiar voice called out.

“Tetsu!”

From the end of the hallway, Kuroo, dressed in his well-fitted black suit, sent you a charming smile as he approached you and Tatsuya.

“Hey, Tatsu,” Kuroo greeted with adoration as he affectionately ruffled Tatsuya’s hair, getting a delighted giggle from the baby. Kuroo then turned to you with the same look of softness and adoration shining in his eyes. “Hey, [Y/N].”

“Hey, Tetsu,” you greeted back before curiously tilting your head. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting right now?”

“We just finished. So, what’s the problem here?” Kuroo asked, glancing at his secretary.

“Oh, Kuroo-san,” the secretary beamed with a sort of newly awakened enthusiasm. “This lady over here says that she has something important to give you. Is she a friend of yours?”

Kuroo hummed. “Something like that. What’s she talking about, [Y/N]?”

Pushing the folder into your husband’s chest, you revelled in amusement at the pure look of shock that overtook Kuroo’s face once he had recognized the folder in your hand. He quickly snatched it from you and hurriedly flipped through it to make sure all of his papers were there. Once he was sure that everything was indeed in the folder, Kuroo cupped your face and gave you an unabashed kiss.

“What would I do without you?” he asked once the two of you separated.

“Probably working for Kenma to make ends meet,” you joked with a shy grin. Although you were a little embarrassed about Kuroo kissing you so publicly like that, you weren’t one to complain…

“Papa!” Tatsuya exclaimed with his arms stretched out. He began to make grabbing motions with his hands, signalling that he wanted to be held by his father.

Always quick on the uptake, Kuroo unfastened Tatsuya from his baby carrier and lifted him up to place a kiss on his forehead. Your son then proceeded to happily squeal and marvel at his new found height.

“I-I didn’t know you were married, Kuroo-san,” the secretary stuttered out as she fell prey to witnessing the undeniably cute family right in front of her. She felt her chest boiling with jealousy.

“Hm? I didn’t know you were privy to that information. Besides,” Kuroo lifted up both of your left hands to show off your matching wedding bands, “I never tried to hide it or anything.”

As an awkward tension soon began to envelop the air, Kuroo cleared his throat to quickly dissipate it. Turning to you with a smile, Kuroo returned Tatsuya back into your arms. “Well, my presentation’s in an hour. Tatsuya, wish your old man good luck!”

“Luck-luck, papa!” Tatsuya said as you buckled him back into his baby carrier.

“Tetsu, you’re not even twenty-seven, let alone thirty,” you chuckled as you planted a quick peck on his cheek. “Good luck with your presentation. I’ll be cooking salted mackerel pike for dinner tonight.”

Kuroo looked at you with stars in his eyes as you turned to his secretary, bowing and thanking her for all of her help.

“You are the love of my life, Kuroo [Y/N],” Kuroo proclaimed as you gave him an embarrassed pout. Your pout quickly transformed into a radiant smile as you and Tatsuya waved him goodbye and left for the elevators.

Once you were gone, Kuroo dramatically sighed and leaned against his secretary’s desk with a happy grin on his face. “Isn’t [Y/N] the best? And Tatsuya’s just the cutest baby to ever grace this Earth. How did I ever get so lucky?”

“T-they seem great, Kuroo-san,” his secretary answered with a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah, they are,” Kuroo sincerely agreed. “Well then, I really should go get ready for this presentation. Good work, Amazaki.”

“I-it’s Hayashi, sir…”

“Oh, is it?” Kuroo feigned, glancing at the nameplate that proudly sat on top of his secretary’s desk, clearly in his field of sight and not hard to miss. “Sorry. Despite what [Y/N] says, I’m really getting up there in age. Ah, to be young again.”

As Kuroo walked off with his folder now securely tucked underneath his arm, he couldn’t help but let the smirk that he had been suppressing take over his face.

That’s what you get for being such a bitch to my wife and son.

#kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu reader insert #kuroo tetsurou

583 notes · View notes

peachtree-dish · 3 years

Text

A Te Che Sei il Mio Grande Amore Ch. 7: Niente ti farà del male piccola

23 Gennaio, 1970

The first indication of Luca’s growth spurt began with his school blazer suddenly feeling too tight as he raised his hands in class. The second indication came from bursting seams on his pants and his pants becoming more like capris as he wore them each day. The third time his inseam split, Signora Mia finally resigned herself to the reality of new clothes. Now, standing in front of his mirror, Luca could see the changes he had been too busy to notice before. His body was lengthening and becoming more svelte, with his legs becoming toned from cycling around the city. His face had slimmed down, losing most of the baby fat and child-like roundness he had grown accustomed to for most of his life.

The only features that hadn’t changed with time were his eyes; richly brown with flecks of gold and red. Luca wondered what Alberto would think of when he saw him. His friend’s voice had begun to deepen when they spoke two months prior, and Luca had all but melted into the warm depths of that voice. Would Alberto have a similar reaction to seeing Luca as he grew into himself? His thoughts were mildly put on hold as a gentle hand knocked on his bedroom door seeking permission to enter. Giulia entered, her hair damps from her bath and her skin glowing from the warmth of the water.

Dante and Luisa had left about an hour ago, having visited for after-school studying. He was not overly excited for their upcoming midterms, and with the added stress of assisting the teachers, he felt nervous about how his grades would fair. She plopped none too gently on his bed while the sounds of Signora Mia’s poor singing and the radio blasting in the kitchen echoed into his room.

“They’re playing the Beatles again?” He inquired, picking up the familiar tunes under Mia’s caterwauling. He pretended to brush imaginary dust from the light blue shirt he was wearing while strains of ‘Let it Be’ floated through the air. Giulia grinned and nodded, wincing when her mother’s voice reached for a particularly high note.

“I think Beatlemania has finally bitten her.” She rolled onto her stomach and faced him. “Were you going to try on the clothes we bought?” She inquired. He flushed under her scrutiny, not wishing to appear vain, and instead opted for sitting nonchalantly in his chair by the window.

“No, I was just thinking about changes.”

“Like what kind of changes?”

“The physical kind; I didn’t realize we were growing up.” Giulia hummed in thought. Just like her mother, both women had a gift to perceive and understand those around them with hardly any words or context.

“You don’t seem overly happy about it?” She cautiously pried.

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly, it’s something new.”

“Well, if it helps, you look good in your new wardrobe. I can hear the swooning girls now.” Giulia grinned wolfishly. The thought of girls noticing him more made Luca nervous and uncomfortable.

“I sure hope not,” he looked out the window to the hues of sunlight bathing the coral and cream houses orange. The lighting reminded him of Porto Rosso, and in turn, reminded him of Alberto.

“Don’t you want to start dating? Dante hardly shuts up about girls and most everyone in your grade is going out. Unless you’re only allowed to date sea monsters.” He continued to avoid her gaze, instead focusing on a flock of pigeons strutting along the rooftop to the left.

“No one interests me here.” He hedged after a moment.

“Not even Luisa?”

Now that got his attention.

“Ew, what? No!” He wagged his arms in horror, nearly losing his balance on the chair.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” Giulia soothed, baffled at his reaction.

“No offense to her or anything, I just… no. Definitely not.”

“Bene, she’s not interested, if that helps.”

“Why did you ask her?”

“I never said I did,” Giulia blustered, pink spreading across her face. Luca just stared at her with an unimpressed expression. She laughed nervously, glancing to the side.

“I was just curious,” she mumbled. She began to wrap strands of hair around her fingers, obviously avoiding his gaze now. A light suddenly clicked in Luca’s brain.

“Do you like her?” Giulia’s head snapped up and she glared at him.

“Do you like Alberto?” She shot back.

Looking back at this moment, Luca would realize he should have felt fear, or nervous, perhaps even anger, but Giulia’s question felt like a shock to his system. A switch flicked on and flooded his body with realization and for the first time in years, Luca understood everything.

A shock of laughter escaped him, “Yeah, actually. I do.” He laughed again, this time harder, unsure as to why tears were starting to leak down his cheeks, staining them green. Luca pressed his face into his hands as his laughter turned into hysterical gasps for air.

“Actually, I-I think I’m in love with him.” Oh shit, shit, shit, shit. “O mio Dio, I’m in love with my best friend, Gules.” He didn’t hear Giulia move until her arms were suddenly wrapping around him and she was awkwardly rubbing circles into his back.

“Is this okay?” She asked. He could no longer form words, so Luca nodded his consent instead.

When he eventually calmed down and the only evidence of his initial panic were the scale tracks on his face and neck, Giulia quietly went to grab him a glass of water and held it out for him to take.

“Sorry, that was dramatic.” He whispered croakily. Giulia laughed kindly and patted his shoulder.

“I think dramatic is a requirement in our family. Besides, you already know how I can be too much.”

They sat in silence for a time with their arms around each other, the light outside fading to the familiar dark and loud nightlife of Genoa.

“Per favore, don’t tell my mama.” Luca cast her a look of confusion. “About Luisa.” She amended. “As kind and accepting as she is, I think this is something that would be too much of a sorpresa.”

The red-headed teen scuffed her big toe against the floor, eyes downcast.

“Hey,” Luca nudged her softly, prompting her to look up at him. “She might be the one to surprise you. I’ve never met two people like your parents, Giulia, who truly only lived to make their child happy.”

“Ad ogni modo, I’m still not ready for that conversation. Besides, it’s not like I have a chance. Luisa’s, like, super pretty and smart, and Santa mozzarella! When she sings, it’s incredibile!”

Luca smiled as his friend rambled on about the Sicilian sea monstress, wondering if this was how he looked every time he gushed about Alberto. Eyes bright, cheeks flushed, and an endless amount of knowledge about the one person you consider to be your whole world. It was a wonder no one else knew of his feelings.

21 Marzo 1970

“Santa ziti! You’ve been in love with him this whole time?!”

“Zitto, Ciccio! I’d rather not have the whole town know, thank you.” Alberto flung flour at the blonde’s face, nervously checking to make sure no one had heard them. They were currently working in the kitchen behind the Pasticcini’s front area, with Alberto kneading the dough and Ciccio creating scores in the bread or decorating the more delicate sweets.

Ciccio winced apologetically and lowered his voice, leaning in for good measure.

“Does he know, or have you not told him yet?”

“Of course, he doesn’t know, stupido! I’m trying to not ruin our friendship.

“Don’t call me stupido, and how do you know it would?”

Alberto threw the ball of dough down on the wood surface with more force than necessary, the surrounding flour splattering like snowballs after the season’s first snowfall.

“I just know, é tutto.”

They worked in silence for a while, taking turns with switching pans from the clay oven and glazing sweet rolls with fruit jellies and powdered sugar. When the sun was beginning to set everything on fire, its orange gaze turning the sweet rolls into apricot imitations, Ciccio’s mother brought warm cider and a platter of buttered bread. Alberto liked Ciccio’s mother, she was as warm as the bread she baked and her personality as strong and opinionated as the spices she used. Bella shared the same round features as her son, with a strong nose and bowed lips that were quick to smile. Ciccio once explained to Alberto that he and his mother got their strong noses and blonde hair from Bella’s German heritage, but it wasn’t something they spoke openly about.

Today, Signora Bella’s smile was strained, but it had lost none of its warmth. Alberto knew that meant either some customers had been more difficult than others or some pastries hadn’t turned outright. He recoiled at the thought of her being disappointed in anything he’d done.

“Come va tutto, ragazzi?” She lovingly patted Ciccio’s halo of curls and squeezed Alberto’s shoulder with a large hand. “It’s smelling really good in here. Ah, che bello!” She motioned to the cooling racks on Ciccio’s right. The sweet rolls and scored bread glistened perfectly in the afternoon light and the Signora’s words made Alberto glow as well.

“If you keep this up, Alberto, I may have to bribe Massimo to let me keep you all year long,” she teased. Alberto could only shrug nonchalantly, hoping his pride didn’t show.

“How did the sales go, mama?” Ciccio asked cheerfully, taking a large bite from his buttered bread. Alberto watched nervously, eating his own snack at a slower pace, his stomach suddenly feeling as if hermit crabs were marching and pinching at his insides.

Bella waved the questions away, her mouth pulling sourly at the edges. ��Bah, Signor Tafani nearly scared away my customers this morning with his complaining. That man is never satisfied.” She sniffed dismissively. Alberto’s fingers began to pick at the bread, the smaller crumbs slipping from his lap.

“Was there something wrong with the baked goods?” He managed to ask, focusing on Bella’s crocifissione that hung around her neck. The older woman’s hand rested over Alberto’s, pausing the destruction of his bread.

“As I said, piccolo, he is never satisfied. No matter how perfect the bake is,” Her smile was small but firm and it made the hermit crabs release their pinching in his stomach. “God help that poor man’s wife.” Bella sighed heavily as she heaved herself to her feet.

“Ora,” she stood and clapped her hands together and both Alberto and Ciccio swallowed their bread quickly, the butter coating Alberto’s mouth with salt and cream. “Alberto, will you be staying for dinner?”

Alberto’s mouth watered at the thought; the signora’s food was always amazing, rich in seasonings and filled with love. Not to mention Ciccio’s father would usually play his guitar and serenade his family with music and singing. If he drank enough wine, Massimo would usually join in and the resulting cacophony would leave the rest of the family in tears and howls of laughter. Outwardly, the curly-haired teen hesitated, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

“I don’t know Signora, I don’t want to leave Massimo hanging…”

“Bah, but of course he is invited as well, what do you think telefoni are for?”

“To make long distances seem short.” Ciccio supplied cheekily, earning an inconspicuous kick from Alberto. Signora Bella gave her son a bemused look.

“Si, mio figlio, for that too…” deciding that it was safer to not question the odd antics of teenaged boys, Bella left to call Massimo and prepare dinner.

When she was out of sight, Alberto gruffly shoved Ciccio in the side, earning him a loud laugh.

“I think I preferred it when you were trying to hunt me,” he groaned miserably. Ciccio merely grinned.

“It’d be hard to catch a fish that’s already been caught.” Alberto kicked him harder in answer.

28 Aprile 1970

“You want me to start applying already?”

The headmaster grinned expectantly at Luca.

“Ma certo, Luca! You’ve shown so much potential these past two years, which is even more impressive considering your, ahem, background.” The balding man stage whispered behind his hand. Luca could only stare in confusion.

“Why are you whispering, we’re the only ones here?” Signore Bonetti flushed red for a moment, his thin lips disappeared under his obnoxiously large mustache as he frowned.

“It doesn’t matter,” he waved his hand away, his smile returning instantly. “What matters, mio caro ragazzo is that you could have the opportunity for great things.”

“Bene, I don’t know, Signore Bonetti.”

“You don’t know.” The signore’s mustache quivered as he peered at the curly-haired youth before him. Luca shrugged awkwardly under his gaze, feeling a nervous trickle of sweat make its way down the back of his neck.

“I still have two years here and I have to consider prices as well. Moreover, I would like to discuss future possibilities with my family first.” He offered what he hoped to be a placating smile at the headmaster.

“All the more reason to start now,” Signore Bonetti pressed, his hands inching university pamphlets across the oak desk. “Signora Castello has already agreed to help write your application letters along with several recommendations from our staff. And, I should add that we’ve had a growing handful of universities reach out with interest once I sent a copy of your grades.”

Luca sighed internally, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t be escaping this conversation without some sort of agreement.

“How many universities would accept a full-grown sea monster into their halls, Signore Bonetti?” Luca asked bluntly. Thin lips open and closed in an “o” shape. The mustache covering the top half of his mouth reminded Luca of an octopus who couldn’t quite catch its food. He decided to keep that thought to himself.

“Actually, quite a few would be ecstatic, if you were willing to supply their science departments with some information.”

Luca clasped his hands to keep them from shaking. “I will not be some science project that is locked away and never seen again.” He said firmly.

The headmaster quickly backpedaled, “No, no of course not! We would never allow-”

“I’ve seen what humans do to those they consider different. Fear is a powerful, if uneducated, weapon. If I am to go to any university, I do not want them to know about my…background, as you say.” Luca smiled condescendingly.

The bald man paled, his eyes round with shock.

“No, mio ragazzo, I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Bene, if that is everything, I need to head back to class.” Luca stood, he considered the colorful papers on the desk before grabbing the lot and turning towards the door. Signore Bonetti stuttered a farewell to his retreating figure. He didn’t look back.

“What’s got you looking so glum, chum?” Dante’s question sprayed crumbs everywhere, much to the rest of the group’s disgust. Luca glared up at his large friend, dusting the rejected food off of his copy of ‘Fantastic Mr. Fox’.

“Is it really that hard to swallow first then speak, Castello?” Luisa asked, her cupid bow lips curled in distaste.

Dante rubbed a large hand across his face, dispelling a few straggling crumbs from his mouth. Without saying anything, he stared challengingly into Luisa’s eyes and took a larger bite of a dinner roll, the crumbs falling to their doom. Luisa scoffed and turned back to braiding Giulia’s red locks in intricate patterns. Giulia hadn’t said much during their lunch hour, and if Luca had to guess, he would wager having Luisa sit so close with her hands combing through her hair had something to do with it.

They were currently sat outside on the campus grounds, good weather permitting it. Around them, other students sat on benches or laid out on the grass, soaking up the weak rays of spring sunshine. Today, Luisa brought an intricate blanket that they all rested on, with Luca lying on his stomach and Dante munching beside him sitting cross-legged. A very flushed Giulia sat leaning back so that Luisa could access her hair easily.

Dante made to speak again, but Luca interrupted him. “I’ll tell you if you promise to keep your mouth shut and your food inside it.” The larger teen rolled his sky-blue eyes in annoyance but didn’t say anything, much to everyone’s relief.

“The headmaster wants me to start applying to universities.” Luca started, immediately his friends turned to him, their expressions matching.

“Cosa?!” Their table received several odd looks from the surrounding students who were simply trying to enjoy their meals.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Apparently, there are universities already showing interest in me.”

“You don’t think they know about, ya know.” Giulia mimicked swimming, wincing when Luisa yanked her head back into place so she could continue braiding.

“I honestly don’t know, I told Signore Bonetti I don’t want universities to know about it, I didn’t think to ask if he’d already brought it up.” Luca allowed his head to rest heavily against the pages of his book. Up close, the letters were indiscernibly blurry.

“I’ve never heard of a sophomore applying for university before, my mom has never allowed it. Have you been getting tens this whole time?” Dante looked at him incredulously. A red flush crept its way up Luca’s neck.

“That and a few extra-curricular.” He mumbled. Who knew joining the swim team and being the chess club captain would be so impressive?

“Aspettare, why aren’t you happy? Isn’t this a good thing?” Luisa intervened, her honey eyes never leaving her work.

“I dunno, I’m worried about more people finding out, and then there’s Alb- my family, I don’t want to make any decisions without them.”

Giulia shot him a look through her curtain of hair, he responded by nudging her foot with his book. They hadn’t spoken much since that incident happened, something that Luca wasn’t eager to change.

“Ya know, I’ve heard my mom talk about these exchanges that universities will offer to promising students for a few weeks.” Dante tapped his lips thoughtfully. “You’d have to wait until the summer after next to do it, but that would allow you the chance to experience college life without the full commitment.”

“Veramente?” Luca felt a flicker of hope and excitement flicker in his stomach.

“Yeah, take a few classes, sleep in one of the dorms, meet your professors, etc. That kind of stuff.” Dante waved his hand nonchalantly, “You know my mom would be happy to help, it’s her job, but, like, she reaaally likes you. So, instant win.” He popped a cherry tomato into his mouth.

The bell sounded, causing the group of teens to quickly finish what they were doing. With a hum of contentment, Luisa tied Giulia’s hair and helped the other girl to her feet. Dante and Luca helped wrap the blanket up neatly, being sure to shake out any remains of Dante’s lunch. The group split into two and headed to their respective classrooms with the promise to meet after school per usual. Luca’s last two classes of the day were physics and music, and he hurried towards his physics class which rested resentfully on the other side of the school.

As he passed a darkened alcove, his ears picked up the sounds of muffled giggles and whispers. He slowed down against his better judgment and peered around the corner of faded, blue lockers that lined the walls. Two boys, at least a year older than him, were leaning against each other in the darkened hallway. The tall, lanky blonde Luca recognized from the group of teens that Luisa had soaked near the beginning of the school year. The shorter brunette was unrecognizable, especially with him facing away from Luca and most of his body being overshadowed by Lanky.

He knew he was interrupting a private moment, but Luca couldn’t find it within himself to look away. Lanky leaned down and began to gently press kisses to Brunette’s neck who laughed breathlessly in response. Luca felt his stomach flip at the sight, and if he gripped his books harder than necessary, well, that was nobody else’s business. He wondered if Alberto would kiss him like that, or if he would prefer to have his own neck pressed with gentle ministrations. The thought made him sigh forlornly and rest his head non too gently on the lockers before remembering he wasn’t alone. The two boys jerked apart as if burned but Luca was already turning the corner at the end of the hallway before either could see him.

03 Maggio 1970

“Finalmente!” Luisa exclaimed, slumping against her towel in the sand. Luca could only continue to itch at his skin, flakes peeling off and leaving red scores wherever his nails scraped. Next to him, Dante was already removing his clothing, the pale moonlight making his skin glow like marble. The tall Italian hid a yawn behind his hand, his eyelids still struggling to carry their own weight. Due to both Luca and Luisa being sea monsters, it was agreed that they couldn’t attend the beach during the day where people might see them. Thus, it had become a monthly ritual for midnight swims since Luca’s first year in Genoa. With the weather being too cold during the winter, Luca had to settle for long soaks in Signora Mia’s bath.

However, this time around his skin had felt particularly itchy, and transforming during his morning showers had revealed new scales pushing underneath his older ones. He had panicked and ran from the bathroom with nothing but a towel and a shriek. After a rushed phone call with his mother, Luca learned about the extra joys of growth spurts and puberty.

“You’re going to have to swim daily to help your body push out the old scales,” his mother explained in her matter-of-fact way. “Your tail fins especially will need the help and they’re also going to be the sorest.” Daniela’s voice turned sympathetic. “Just a few weeks more and then you’ll be home, we can help manage it from there.”

So, for the past week, Luca with his trio of friends would all pile into Mia’s small, bright yellow Fiat and drive the half-hour to the ocean at three in the morning. Without a second thought, he was in the water, pushing through briny waves allowing the ocean to peel scales away with gentle brushes. His mother had been right, his tail was instantly sore once it unfurled in the waves. The spines along his fins were growing longer and sharper, their bases pink with tender new skin. Luca did his best to stretch his body gently in the dark waters, taking brief breaks to check his location in comparison to everyone else on the beach. The signora could be seen snoring loudly on her quilt and Dante was doing his best impression of a starfish, his face mashed into the corner of the quilt. The only two who weren’t passed out were Giulia and Luisa, who appeared to be in serious conversation near the water’s edge.

Luca dove back into the cool depths, the water burned his eyes in a barely noticeable way, and he wondered if it was because more tourists visited Genoa in comparison to Porto Rosso. There were also fewer fish here, although a stray school of fish could be found here or there. He felt a familiar tug in his chest at the thought of Porto Rosso’s waters. The year was finally coming to an end, with finals taking place for the next few weeks, and then Giulia and he would be heading home. Luca grinned freely as he thought about Alberto again, the tug growing stronger in his chest the more he thought about him. He wanted so badly to talk to his friend about his newfound feelings, but there was also the risk of losing Alberto over said feelings. And then there was the decision of attending university in two years, who knew what could happen during that time? The fifteen-year-old groaned in frustration, sending a burst of bubbles to the surface. A smoothhound shark swam past him, appearing to roll its eyes at his dramatics. Luca stuck his tongue out in defense, not willing to argue with a shark at the moment.

When he rolled onto the beach with a swell, the sun was beginning to crest over the ocean’s face. Giulia and Luisa both nodded to him, neither having moved from their spot on the sand.

“Did you want to swim a bit before we head back?” Luca asked Luisa, already knowing the answer. The Sicilian girl smiled gently at his offer before shaking her head in a negative.

“Is it a self-conscious thing because I totally get that. But just to be very clear, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.” Luca balked at Giulia’s sudden boldness. The redhead in question looked at him as if to ask why he’d let her say that her face turning the same shade as her locks. “Sorry,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around her knees. “that was too much.”

Luisa had the most genuine smile on her face that Luca had seen in their entire time together. She wrapped arms the color of caffè around Giulia, pressing her grin into her shoulder.

“You’re too cute, Giulietta.”

Giulia looked dazed out of her mind, her face the definition of a satellite that had gone to space and made no motion of returning to earth.

Pulling away, Luisa’s expression turned carefully neutral, and she appeared to be at war with something in her thoughts. As the sun began to pour its warm rays along the sandy shores of Genoa, the young sea monster seemed to come to terms with something. Sighing, she gracelessly flopped forward and began to push her fingers deep beneath the sand’s surface.

“When I was really small, I was taken from my parents by fishermen.” Luisa began slowly, “I was sold to a Circo da baraccone in Napoli, and I was their star of the show. The circus was filled with other people who had anomalies, like me. For the most part, they were really nice.”

“For the most part?” Luca asked quietly. He suddenly felt oddly cold, even with the rays drying his skin.

“Our… master,” Luisa bared her teeth at the word, “was not kind. He wanted perfection instantly and he was very greedy, he barely met our basic needs for food and water. Instead, he would spend money on alcohol and parties with powerful people.” Luisa traced vicious lines through the sand, contrasting light and dark with her fingers.

“When he was particularly ubriaco, he would wake us up at all hours of the night and run through shows with us. Every time we would make a mistake, he would use his whip.” Her fingers stopped. “I was just seven years old.” She whispered.

Beside her, Giulia had become rigid, her face pale and her cheeks were glistening with tears.

“One night, he was more violent than usual, and he knocked over a lantern. The whole circus went up in flames. In all the chaos, my tank broke and I was afraid I would die without water, I’d never made the change before. When I realized I could breathe, it didn’t matter because the fire was too big by that point. The smoke and heat were everywhere, and I couldn’t run.

“But then, Marta came back for me.” Luisa gave a small smile and finally met their stricken gazes.

“She carried me to safety, and we escaped together, never once looking back.”

“Is that what brought you here to Genoa?” Giulia’s voice shook, though she tried to hide it. Luisa turned to her and laced their fingers together and they both held on tightly.

“No, I was only nine. Marta tried to help me find my parents, but I couldn’t remember where I had been taken from and I couldn’t find other sea monsters near Napoli. Actually,” she finally looked at Luca, “you’re the first one I’ve encountered in all these years.”

“I’m sorry,” Luca murmured. Luisa raised her eyebrows in question.

“Don’t be,” She answered easily, though her voice caught, “for the first time, in a long time, I have hope.”

“Anyways,” she continued, “we moved to Sicily to avoid recognition and Marta did what she could to teach me how to be a human, including teaching me my letters and numbers. Eventually, she was able to enroll me into a school.” Here, she frowned.

“I didn’t mean to reveal myself, but there was an accident with water, and I changed. I escaped school, which wasn’t hard to do when everyone is afraid of you. Marta and I fled here and changed our names, she’s sacrificed for me so much and I feel terrible about it.” Tears began to leave pink scale marks over her skin.

“No,” Luca corrected gently. He shared a look with Giulia, and wordlessly they embraced the weeping teen. “You did what you had to to survive. And there is no guilt or shame in that.” Luisa sobbed harder, years of heartache bleeding out and dampening the crystals of sand. They stayed that way until there was no guilt left.

#a te che sei il mio grande amore #luca fanfiction #queer fanfiction #luberto #luberto fanfiction #luca paguro #alberto scorfano #giulia is tired of this sh!t #giulia marcovaldo #giulia x oc #ocs #my ocs #my fanfic #there’s one brain cell and she has it most of the time #mutual pining #long distance relationship #disney fanfiction #pixar fanfiction

11 notes · View notes

imaginesandinserts · 3 years

Text

Irreverent Pt. 37 - Seven Months

Title: Irreverent Pt. 37 - Seven Months Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: 5302

Trigger Warning: Mentions of Rape/Nonconsent

Irreverent Series Masterlist

*The events of this chapter take place in the seven months during which Emily Prentiss was presumed dead.*

Penelope had decorated Derek's new office. He hadn't taken over Hotch's office - he'd felt weird about that. It was where you found him usually now, late at night after everyone else had left. You'd found yourself staying late quite a bit more.

Reid was taking Emily's death harder than anyone - you know that JJ had been over to his place a lot along with Penelope. Rossi was trying to take him under his wing and make sure he was keeping it together enough to still do the job. You were struggling to get your own oxygen mask on to really help Spencer with his. You hadn't slept more than a couple of fitful hours any night since Hotch left.

The team was down three people and none of you had wanted to go through the hiring process of bringing in and training someone new. However, this meant a lot of extra work for Derek as the new Unit Chief. Rossi was chipping in a bit, but with JJ also gone and no media liaison, his job was becoming impossible. You and Rossi had split up some of the remaining work, with Penelope automating case selection using an algorithm she'd designed. You'd taken on most of the media liaison work in order to spare Derek when he was already on edge. You were all on edge though - all the time.

*------------*

The four of you - Derek, Reid, Rossi, and yourself - were in Austin for a case. There was some sort of convention going on and the killer seemed to be targeting attendees. They'd found two dead already. The team had arrived earlier in the morning and made some progress, but had nothing more to go on for the moment, so you'd all arrived at the hotel for the night.

"They only have two rooms," Derek tells the rest of you, returning from the front desk. With the convention, there hadn't been much space available and the two rooms available were only free because their occupants were dead. The hotel had worked quickly to flip over the crime scenes back into functioning guest rooms.

The three men turned to look at you. "I'll bunk with Derek, if that's okay," you respond, looking at him to confirm if he was alright with it. You didn't want to console Reid tonight and didn't have it in you to deal with Rossi's insistence on talking.

Derek nods and the four of you head up in the elevators to your respective rooms. Reid and Rossi get out on the third floor while you and Derek continue on to the fifth.

"You wanna shower first?" he asks you, opening the door and letting you in first.

"Yeah, that would be nice, thanks."

You go to get clean and when you return, Derek has the case files laid out on the room desk. Upon your exit, he goes to shower himself, leaving you to look over the files and browse through the snack bar. You hadn't had an appetite during dinner and a late night snack was definitely the right call.

By the time Derek got back, you'd made it through half the pack of peanut m&ms and were sitting on the edge of the bed. You look up at his emergence, pajama pants slung low on his hips, and for a second, you have to admire how incredibly fit he is.

"Is that from the boxing?" you ask, eyebrows raised as you more or less ogle his abs.

Derek laughs - a laugh that doesn't quite reach his eyes but the gesture is there. "You should let me train you, princess. I think you'd like it. Work off some of that aggression."

"Hmm, if you can promise me results like that, you're on." You scooch yourself up towards the headboard and pull the covers up, starting to feel just a little awkward about having picked him to bunk with.

"You got it."

He senses your hesitancy as he climbs into bed on the other side. "You're sure you're okay with this? I can take the couch."

"No, I just," you pause, unsure of how to explain. The only other person on the team you've ever shared a bed with is Emily. Emily who holds you and brushes a hand through your hair until you fall asleep. "Sorry, no. It's not you. It's…," you stop again, knowing you really shouldn't say anything at all. And yet, maybe… "Emily used to cuddle," you mumble, your face immediately becoming warm.

You're not sure if it was because of how obviously embarrassed you are or because he too wouldn't mind having someone to hold right now, that Derek just smiles understandingly. "Come here, princess. We can cuddle too."

That's how you find yourself in a hotel room in the middle of Texas, Derek Morgan's strong arms wrapped around your waist, his lower half tilted respectfully away, and his lips grazing the top of your head in the sweetest way. He was no Emily, but he was exactly what you needed in that moment. You slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

*------------*

Strauss had shut down the investigation into Doyle. She'd cited jurisdiction and said that no one on the BAU was permitted to continue looking into it. You knew that both Derek and Rossi had protested against it, but it was to no avail.

This was the time where you felt angriest with Hotch for leaving. He would've stood up to Strauss way more. Nothing against Derek and Rossi, but Hotch no longer cared about the politics of the Bureau - you knew that by the way he'd stood up to her countless times before. Rossi didn't either but he also had an odd relationship with Strauss - something told you he actually liked her, so he was choosing to respect her decision on the matter.

Derek had far too much going on to wage a war against Strauss and keep running the team at the same time. You were on your own. You took out the card Easter had handed you at Emily's wake from the drawer it had sat in, along with the pearl earrings you'd worn that day. Pearls were for old women and funerals, as your mother used to say.

*------------*

"The Unsub is suspected to be a white male in his mid-to-late twenties. He will have poor social skills - he's probably someone who makes you uncomfortable but you can't figure out why. He will have a low income job which he does not like. He perceives himself as being better than those around him and likely had an older female figure in his life whom he feared. We ask that the public keep an eye out for any individuals meeting this description. Thank you."

You had just delivered the profile at the press conference for a serial rapist who was breaking into women's homes when they were alone, raping them, and then tattooing them with his signature, before leaving them unconscious, naked, and tied up outside their homes. It had been a harrowing few days and the entire city was on edge after the fourth victim had come forward, having been found by her neighbor early the next morning.

Derek looks up at you as you enter the room again. "You alright?"

You simply nod, sighing and lowering yourself into the chair next to him. Reid was working on the geographic profile and so far it seemed that you had your work cut out for you - there wasn't a pattern that was emerging. Rossi had gone out with the lead detective on the case to the newest crime scene. You watched Derek turn back and you could feel the frustration radiating off of him in waves. You have to wonder how much more these cases hit him.

It took another two days and one more victim before a real pattern emerged and after finally getting the results back from the lab, Garcia was able to track down the Unsub using a specific dye he was using in all of the women's tattoos. Everyone was upset with themselves - this was hardly a victory. You take note of how aggressively Derek puts the Unsub in handcuffs and shoves him towards the car.

It's evening by the time the plane lands in D.C. and you get back to the office. You're about to head out, but decide to swing by Derek's office to check on him. Grabbing your bag, you walk down the empty hallway towards his office.

"Hey," you say, arriving in his doorway. He's sitting in mostly darkness, only the light from his desk lamp illuminating his office.

He looks up at your voice, a soft smile gracing his face. "What're you still doing here?"

"Wanted to check in on you, boss," you tease, smiling back at him, and make your way into his office. You drop your bag to the floor and settle into the chair across from him, pulling your legs up. You had a feeling he wasn't leaving anytime soon, and you didn't really want him to be alone in the office on a Friday night.

He shakes his head as you make yourself comfortable and grab the top half of the files sitting directly in front of him, plucking a pen from the holder on his desk.

"You should go home, you didn't sign up for this."

You look up at him, taking in the eyebags and tired shoulders. "Neither did you."

The two of you work together and make a significant dent in the files that had sat on his desk. The growing stack of completed folders was motivating you to just barrel through. The more you two got done tonight, the less he would take home with him for the weekend.

You find yourself watching him as you work. You know this case was hard on him - both because of how brutally the victims had been treated as well as his own history with Carl Buford. Merely the thought of Buford was enough to piss you off - you were glad he was serving a life sentence, because when he'd first been arrested, it had taken everything in you to watch the detective put him in handcuffs and not punch him in the face. You'd barely known Derek back then, and yet you could tell how completely Buford's act had hurt him, changed him, and stayed with him.

"How are you doing?" you ask softly, pausing your work and watching Derek's face carefully. He'd know what you meant.

Derek stops and looks up to meet your eyes. He puts down his pen and leans forward in his chair, across the desk. "I'm alright. They're always rough. Him being in prison didn't make this part any easier. But…I'm hanging in there, I guess."

You nod. He's not alright, but it doesn’t really help to vocalize that unless you have the time and capacity to deal with it. It's easier to say you're alright until you are.

"Are you?" He'd noticed you had been just a little off - just a little too nice to the victims, a little too eager to rough up the Unsub in the interrogation. He'd been on cases like this with you before, but it was the first time since Hotch and Prentiss were gone. Everything about you lately was like a raw nerve and he knew something wasn't quite right.

"What do you mean?" You hadn't expected him to ask you that.

Derek fixes you with the same look he gives you when he's coaching you in the ring and you try to pretend you hadn't carelessly left yourself exposed. That was the bad part about getting close to people - it becomes harder to cover yourself.

You take in his expression, knowing he wouldn't just let you avoid it. You shift to put the files on his desk, adjusting to pull your knees in front of you, feet planted firmly on the seat of the chair, and wrap your arms around your legs. The darkness of the office helps you feel less exposed.

"It wasn't the same as you. I wasn't a kid," you tell him, your voice low and eyes trained on his hands which lay on the desk. You'd been old enough to know better and you should've been strong enough and confident enough to stop it. It was so different from how it had been for him.

His brow wrinkled as he took in what you'd revealed. Standing slowly so as to not startle you, he comes around to your side of the desk and crouches down to be eye level with you. His hands rest on top of your, sending warmth throughout you. You look to meet his eyes, expecting to see something akin to pity - you didn't want him to see you that way. However Derek's eyes are warm and kind and so very him - not a hint of pity in them.

He appears to hesitate for a moment, but seems to convince himself to go through with it. "Who?"

You move your hand to grip his and he squeezes. Your voice is barely audible. "My ex, Matthew."

Derek sucks in a breath at the familiar name. He'd had some indication in the past that your ex-fiancé was bad news. After all, you'd ended an engagement with him and he knew you well enough to know you didn't make decisions like that lightly.

There was a lot you didn't talk about when it came to Matthew - while the truth about Julian's death had been the nail in the coffin, propelling your escape, your relationship with Matthew had been rocky for months preceding that. In hindsight, you wondered when it had ever been actually good.

You know you owed Derek more of an explanation, however. After all, he'd trusted you about Buford.

"It was towards the end," you continue, your voice scratchy as you blinked back tears. "I didn't really want to sleep with him anymore, but - ." You stop. You hadn't realized how hard it would be to share this with someone. Derek's thumb is rubbing soothingly against your hand and you decide to focus on that. "Fulfilling your duty - that's a big deal in the circles I'm from," you explain. "I was set to be his wife. I wasn't allowed to say no to my husband. So I just…let him do what he wanted."

Derek could tell it hadn't been a one time thing but he didn't think he could stand knowing how often that bastard had forced you into it. All he could see was how small you looked in the chair - he didn't have a doubt in his mind that the woman in front of him today was more than capable of dealing with a monster like that. But back then, with no one to teach you how to protect yourself, he could just imagine how scared you'd been and how going along with it had been your safest option.

He tries to stifle down the anger he feels but his hand is shaking and he knows you can tell. But he also knows what it's like to share something awful and then have to comfort the other person instead. So for you, he takes a deep breath and forces a sense of calm that he doesn't truly feel. To be fair, calm wasn't a feeling he was familiar with anymore.

"You being an adult doesn't change anything. You being in a relationship with him - that's not an excuse," he says, his large hand cupping your face, looking into your eyes. "What he did - only someone rotten to the core could do that. And you still got away. You won."

You lean into his touch and allow yourself to fall into him. Derek shifts on the floor, back against his desk, bringing you down next to him. His hand still clasped tightly in yours as your head comes to settle on his shoulder.

"Thank you."

And you know you don't have to ask him to not tell anyone. Of all people, he wouldn't.

*------------*

You had spent the entire day at the Zoo - Jack, Sophie, and Evan had wanted to see every single animal and had dragged you through the entire place twice. You got a ton of photos of the three of them posing adorably in front of every exhibit. Jess would want a copy of every single one, you were sure. She and Andrew were spending the day at home without the kids and had plans to go dancing in the evening.

By the time you got back to Jess's place after grabbing burgers for dinner, it was late - late for children at least. Sophie and Evan were quick to clean themselves up, thanking you for everything, before turning in for the night. Jess had raised two really good kids and you got why it was easy for Hotch to leave Jack with her. You might not fully understand how he was able to leave Jack in the first place, but you could see that it was a little bit easier knowing that someone like Jess was there to help.

You and Jess had grown closer these last couple of months with Hotch gone. The first time you'd showed up at her door unannounced, she'd greeted you with a hug and welcome you in to see Jack. You'd been so grateful for her understanding. Seeing Jack made things feel a little better, if only for a few hours.

You approached the door to Andrew's office, which had been converted into Jack's bedroom. Knocking softly, you turned the knob at Jack's invitation. He had changed into his pajamas and was sat at the little play table in the room.

"Hey baby," you whispered, trying to keep your voice low so as to not disturb the other two kids. "What're you doing?"

Jack was sat in the little chair, his tiny hands gripping a marker in one hand. You walked towards him and sat on the ground next to his chair.

"Y/N, can you help me?" He mimics your soft tone, understanding that it was time to be more quiet.

"Of course I can. What do you need help with?"

"With my Val-Valem-Valentine's Day card," he explained, stumbling over the long word.

You smiled encouragingly. He was really getting better with the big words.

"Yeah, I can help. What do you need me to do?"

"Auntie Jess said we can mail it to Daddy," he said, pointing at the blue piece of construction paper that he'd folded in half. "Can you please draw the heart? Mine doesn't look right." The little pout on his face was too adorable to resist.

You looked at the card he was making. It already had Daddy written on it in Jack's childish handwriting and about a hundred stickers. Jack was indicating towards a small spot at the end right above his name.

Your heart aches, knowing that this is the kind of thing that Haley would've done with him. You're happy that at least Jess is around to make sure that Jack and Hotch both have some of these sweeter moments. Jess would think of something like this. Most of your actions around Jack were driven off of asking yourself what your own parents would do - and then doing the exact opposite. But things like this, you couldn't help but feel out of your depth - you wouldn't have even known to do it. Your parents hadn't been the kind to appreciate things like children's artwork and homemade gifts.

You smile at Jack and ask him which color marker to use. He picks out a red one. You carefully outline a heart right where he'd pointed and then hand him the marker to color it in. Once he's done, he blows on it to make sure its dry, before closing the card.

"Jack, did you put all your love into the card?" you ask, quirking an eyebrow up at him.

He turns to you, confused. "I put hearts everywhere," he replies, pointing at all the stickers on the front of the card.

"That's good, but I think its missing that extra little something. Has anyone ever taught you how to put all of your love into a card, before?"

He shakes his head and you can tell he's intrigued.

Your voice is low as if revealing a secret, making him lean closer to you to hear. "Cards are special because they come from people we love," you explain, "But you can make them extra special. All you have to do is hold the card in your hands, close your eyes, and think about the person the card is for. Think about everything you love about them and let that feeling fill you up. Then you place a kiss on the inside of the card and when the other person opens it, they'll feel it. They'll feel all of your love for them when they read the card."

Jack is quiet for a bit as he thinks through what you said. You watch as he gets up and pushes his chair out of the way to sit by you on the ground. He looks up at you, card clenched tightly in both hands. "Will you do it with me, Y/N?" he asks, his brown eyes shining up at you, a perfect reflection of his father's. "That way Daddy has more love so he gets back home okay."

You force yourself to smile at his request. You can't tell a child that you're still pissed at his father for running off to Pakistan. "Of course baby, come here." Pulling Jack into your lap, you wrap your hands around his, clutching the card. "Alright, remember, close your eyes and think about everything you love about Daddy."

You know Jack is going to take this extremely seriously, so you know you have to as well. Closing your eyes you (temporarily) let go of the anger you feel towards Hotch. Instead you choose to remember his smile that brings out his dimples, the warmth that radiates off of him and penetrates you anytime he hugs you, that time he drove out forty-five minutes in the rain to help change your flat tire, the way he makes you feel completely safe anytime you're with him, and how good of a father he tries to be to Jack. You take a deep breath and let the good memories of him permeate through every part of you. When you open your eyes Jack is waiting for you, card open. You watch as he places a small dry kiss to the center of the card and then holds it up towards you. Tightening your hold on him, you lean forward and brush your lips against the same spot.

Jack quickly closes the card shut, as if afraid the love would float away otherwise. You stand up, lifting him along with you. After tucking the card in a safe spot, you help him get into bed and pick up the book on the nightstand. He's out before you even get to the second page.

*------------*

You hadn't heard much from Easter in the way of Ian Doyle. Part of you thought you should tell Morgan and Rossi that you'd contacted him, but you knew they'd object. You figured it was better to wait until there was something concrete. Easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission. However, you couldn't help but feel dejected at the complete lack of progress. Doyle seemed to be underground and there was no intel on his whereabouts.

Work hadn't improved - if anything it appeared the cases were even more rapid fire, as though Derek was taking on more and more to avoid being home at all. This was only the first night you were back in two weeks. The last two cases had come back to back, so you'd flown straight to Tampa from Utah. You did understand Derek in a way - staying busy was the only way to stop wallowing. But he was running everyone, especially himself, ragged.

You and Rossi had put your foot down with him on the jet and insisted on no new cases for at least two days. Penelope was under strict instructions to not even hint at a case to him. Rossi had promised her a nice bottle of Chianti for her trouble and she'd been easily persuaded after you told her how tired Derek looked.

As you parked and got out of the car, you felt an overwhelming sense of unease. You'd been around someone or the other for the past two weeks straight with hardly a moment alone. Derek and you had gotten oddly comfortable sleeping next to one another, so even in a room with two double beds, you'd found yourself in his bed or vice versa most nights. Walking into a large, empty house all by yourself felt intimidating.

You opened the door and set your bag just inside, before locking it again. You drove first to the corner store and picked out some supplies, before driving again towards your destination.

When Derek opened his door to you, you could see the slight surprise on his face at the sight. There you stood, still wearing the leggings and sweatshirt you'd changed into on the plane, clutching a bottle of scotch in one hand while your other was wrapped around a box of the powdered sugary donuts that were his ultimate weakness. He finds himself letting out a small chuckle as he waves you inside.

"Thought you'd gotten enough of me already. Isn't that why we're on mandatory time off?" He follows behind you as you flop yourself onto his familiar couch.

You rolled your eyes at him. "You know we all needed the time off."

He sits down beside you, reaching for the box of donuts. Your last meal had been an early lunch before the plane ride home and you reckon he hadn't eaten anything since then either. You take the top off of the bottle of scotch, and not bothering with a glass, just take a swig straight from the mouth.

Derek raises an eyebrow at that. "Something you wanna talk about, princess?" His mouth already had the sugar dust around ,it as he reaches for a second donut.

"Just didn't wanna be home alone," you mumble out, handing over the bottle to him and breaking off half the donut in his hand for yourself.

You sitting on his couch - that wasn't an unfamiliar sight for him. You drinking scotch straight from the bottle, however, that gave him some pause. You weren't really a cheap liquor straight from the bottle kind of girl - that had been more Prentiss's thing. Even though it was the higher end of the bodega scotch, it still wasn't at the level of stuff you kept stocked at your place. He had to surmise that you hadn't even bothered to go inside.

"Are things ever going to go back to normal, Derek?" You settled in closer to him and he could feel the warmth of your thigh against his own. Your question caught him by surprise, but it was really the way you sighed out his name that made his brain stutter.

He had to really think about the question. He'd asked himself that countless times and each time he'd give up on crafting a response - he didn't have one. It had been more than five months since Prentiss died and Hotch left him in charge. That hadn't been how he'd wanted to get the job and every day he became more and more certain that he actually never wanted it. Hotch had managed it all, on top of a kid and made it seem effortless. He'd known it wasn't of course - Hotch worked harder than anyone else in the Bureau, but he was also working his way into an early grave. Derek didn't like seeing himself on the same path. But he couldn't quit now. Not when you'd lost both Prentiss and Hotch. He wouldn't leave you or Reid like that.

Normal though, he couldn't even wrap his brain around the concept anymore. None of this was normal. Strauss was pressuring him to hire someone already but he was resistant still. Keeping the team as it was - you, Rossi, Reid, and Garcia - that was the closest thing within his grasp to normal. He wasn't ready to let that go.

He realizes he's been quiet for too long and you're still waiting for some sort of response. He turns and he's met with your large doe eyes looking right at him and your face is so close to his. For a second he thinks you're drunk already, but the bottle of scotch barely has a dent in it. You hadn't drank more since you'd passed it off to him.

"I don't know," he says, his voice low and deep, sending a pang deep in your stomach. His face is so close to yours but you know it's your own fault for moving to be right beside him. Derek hadn't done anything wrong. You'd shown up at his door, at night, a bottle of liquor in hand. You weren't sure what you were thinking - all you'd wanted was to not be alone. It was Derek and right now he was the only person that made you feel not alone.

Your head is still rested against his shoulder and his face is tilted towards yours. There's a look that passes between you. You're not sure which one of you leaned in first, only that his lips are pressed against yours. In the next second, you're hauled up and placed on his lap, knees resting on either side of him. You'd opened your mouth and he's exploring yours, drawing a moan from deep within as his large hands wrap around your back. He tastes like sugar and scotch and you know you taste the same. Your own hands travel under his shirt, mouth never once leaving his, the trail of your light, cold fingers sending a shiver down his spine. He's pulling you impossibly close against him and wow it's Derek but oh my goodness it's Derek but it's Derek and it's Derek and it's Derek. You're panting into his mouth and grinding yourself into his lap and it feels so good. You've managed to slip his t-shirt up and he breaks away from your mouth to pull it off all the way, giving you a moment to breathe.

Your eyes meet his again, only this time neither one of you leans in. The moment to breathe was a moment of clarity and you both watch one another with uncertain eyes. He breaks first, and the sound of his laugh - the first truly happy laugh you've heard from him in months - sets off yours as well. It feels incredible to laugh again - like it’s a high. To laugh and to have it reach your eyes and to see it reflected in his - you hadn't realized how foreign that had become to you.

His chest rumbles underneath you as you come to grips with your situation. His hands drop from your waist and yours come back to your side as you swing your leg to get off of his lap. The remnants of laughter still linger between you as he slips his shirt back on over his head.

His hand finds yours on the couch and squeezes. "Are we going to be okay?" he asks, the laughter finally subsiding.

"We are okay," you tell him swiping at the sugar on his chin.

He nods, pushing up off of the couch and then reaching back to pull you up as well. "Alright then, princess. Let's go to bed."

Hand still gripped in his, you follow him to the bedroom.

It had been five months too long of this new not normal.

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #hotchner x you #hotchner x y/n #irreverentseries #hotchner x reader #derek morgan #derek morgan x reader

108 notes · View notes

callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Snow

Gifted to @dameintoyland for the Flash Holiday Gift Exchange @theflashholidaysgiftexchange

Pairing: Barry Allen x Iris West

Word Count: 5912

Rating: M

Summary: Softly falling snow, spiked hot chocolate, and some light smut for the holiday season.

I want a snowfall kind of love, the kind of love that quiets the world.

When the snow starts, Barry recognizes how ridiculous it was to decide to walk to the store in the middle of the night. But, in the end, he’s sure it had been worth it.

It’d been because of a mere case of insomnia, that and the gnawing need for sustenance. A look into his refrigerator had revealed only a carton of expired eggs, an empty jug of orange juice, and a ridiculous amount of condiment bottles, so he’d stuffed his socked feet into a pair of sneakers, zipped himself into a coat, and jammed a beanie on top of his head before he’d ventured out into the cold.

When the snow starts, he’s only a few minutes into the fifteen minute walk to the grocery store. His collar is pulled up and his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his sweatpants as he takes cursory glances at the world around him. The snow is just flurries, tiny drops that appear more like rain before it hits the ground, but Barry knows how picturesque this place will look when the snow gets going in earnest. The little neighborhood he lives in, one they’re calling the arts district, is filled with tiny shops owned by rich women and their Etsy jewelry, restaurants where the food speaks, murals painted on every single building that depicts a sort of effortless diversity that isn’t actually true for the area. That’s even more notable when he looks at all of the Christmas decorations in the windows of the shops, sparkling garland wrapped around every available column, bright green wreaths chock-full of shiny gold ornaments, brilliant red bows on door handles and lamp posts. It’s all been up, much to Barry’s chagrin, since the season apparently started on November 1st, and it’s why he’s survived on work, take-out, and The West Wing since.

He curses his own absurdity as he enters the small grocery store and picks up an arm cart with a half frozen hand. The store is one of those small ones, the ones that sell mostly single serving portions at regular prices, the store’s bright lights and gleaming floors convincing customers it’s worth paying five dollars for a half a carton of eggs. They’ve been bit by the Christmas bug too, a song he doesn’t know, I want a snowfall kind of love, that lights up the sky from below; I want a snowfall kind of love, that brings people to their window, playing in the background. They’ve managed to plop a tree smack dab in the middle of the store and the aisles are full of what he’s sure the manager thinks are only subtle odes to this godforsaken holiday.

He tries to be quick, to hurry home before he has to start sliding through the snow. He throws a loaf of bread into his cart, some cheese and eggs, packages of bacon and deli ham. He remembers that they’ve got a pretty decent frozen pizza section too, so he grabs a couple of those, trying not to focus on the fact that he’s 27 and lonely and still eating like he did when he was in undergrad—and let’s be honest, in grad school too. He rounds another corner to decide on a six-pack, or two, of beer. And that’s when he sees her.

She’s a petite thing, shorter than she normally looks when Barry sees her hightailing it from the apartment across from his, in pencil skirts and shoes with heels like spikes. Her hair usually falls straight against her shoulder blades, soft looking and shiny, and he’s only ever seen her mouth painted in shades of purple and red. Tonight, this morning, she’s as dressed down as he’s ever seen her. She's only in a pair of gray leggings, a tight white t-shirt that cups her firm chest, a faux fur-lined coat thrown over it. Her hair is in a curly wavy style that falls right at her shoulders, and he likes it, how soft and sweet it makes her look.

When he sees her in the mornings, as she’s leaving their building, it makes him a little tongue-tied, especially when she’s in those tucked in blouses that show off the deep curve of her waist. The look of her like this, though, makes Barry wonder what it feels like to have heart palpitations and if he’s having them.

He’s watching her, probably a little creepily, and so when she turns, she catches her eyes. Now, Barry really can’t breathe. Her face is improbably pretty: deep ochre skin, dark chocolate eyes, a full pouty mouth that calls for his attention as she bites at the bottom one. He thinks, for a moment, of what it might be like to be beside her, naked, her lovely brown skin next to his paler body, her small, soft hands laced in his. He wonders, in the same moment, what it might be like to kiss her—her mouth, the soft heat between her legs—her long-lashed eyes closed in ecstasy. It paints a pretty vivid picture and Barry is sure he loses a bit of time.

“Oh, I know you,” she says, a hint of passion in her voice.

Barry blinks, looks behind him at the freezer full of overpriced beer, and then back to where there’s more than a hint of a smirk on her face.

“You mean me?”

“Yeah. You’re the one with the lab coat.”

Barry would like to note that as long as she’s been living across from him, a few months now, he’s been hoping for glimpses of her each time he’s left his own apartment. It’s a bit astonishing to know that she’s noticed him too.

“I, uh, yeah,” he mumbles, reaching up the rub at the back of his head. “I, I wear a lab coat.”

“Nice,” she says, and there’s some honey in the way she says the word, the way it drips down off her tongue.

Barry tilts his head, a bit incredulous. “Lab coats get you off?”

It isn’t what he meant to say, but her grin gets wider and there’s no doubt that Barry’s face goes bright red.

“I didn’t mean…” he starts, but the words get stuck.

She doesn’t seem offended. If anything, her grin gets wider, turns dirtier, and she winks at him as she starts to push her cart away. “See ya, lab coat.

“Wait,” he calls, and she turns, neatly shaped eyebrows raised.

“It's, uh, it's Barry, Barry Allen," he manages to get out.

“I'm Iris West," she tells him. And then she—and Barry admits he could be hallucinating, admits that he might be high off the scent of her, of shea and coconut—gives him a slow, long look over, taking in the length of his legs and his slim torso, his broad shoulders. She lingers, in a few places he’s sure, at his crotch and somewhere around his throat, and then she's looking at his face again. She licks her lips. "I'll see you around, Barry Allen."

That should be it, Barry thinks, as she leaves the aisle and he presses as much of himself against the cold freezer glass as he can. Good lord. But then Barry pays for his food with the scowling person they’ve convinced to work the night shift at a 24 hour grocery store, and then he’s walking out of the store, clutching his purchases, prepared to make his way back home. And then Iris West is calling out for him, her car idling at the corner beside him.

“Just taking a late night stroll?” she wonders.

He licks at his lips where they've suddenly gone dry. "Yeah. I got hungry and there wasn't any food in my apartment."

“So you thought a quick walk in the snow would do it?"

Were it anyone else, he thinks he might have been annoyed at her for goading him. But she's pretty and he likes the way her dark eyes sparkle with mirth, and something a bit deeper, darker, when she looks at him.

“I feel like you're judging me," he says, his own mouth quirking up.

“Of course I am." She pauses as she turns back into the car. She seems to be moving things around. “Get in, Barry Allen."

They don’t make much conversation on the short ride to their apartment building. The night is quiet on the empty streets, made quieter by the radio turned off and only the hum of the heater as noise. He wants to talk, but he doesn’t know what to say, or if she even wants to speak, so he let’s the ride soothe him. It reminds him of time spent with his parents, years ago. He’d always had trouble sleeping, a condition that has no true origins. But, sometimes, when he couldn’t get to sleep and he’d started to get grumpy because of it, his parents would bundle him up, sit him in the back of the car, and drive around until easy listening jazz and soft falling snow had lulled him to sleep. It’s one of many memories of his family, of the parents he’d lost when he’d been old enough to register their absence. He tries to keep them at bay, those memories that could turn overwhelming and crippling were he to let it.

Christmas doesn’t help. They’d been big Christmas people, spending the Friday after Thanksgiving picking out a tree and dusting off ornaments that had been sitting in the attic for the year, baking cookies as they let him throw tinsel everywhere. The last year he'd had with them, when he was seven years old and had just begun wearing those hideous coke-bottle top glasses, had been the biggest one yet. He'd been allowed to do more: actually pick the Christmas tree, carefully put the cookies in the oven, write out the full thank you for Santa Claus. It'd all been so exhilarating, until the day after Christmas, when date night had turned into a crushed car and stoic police officers and a bull faced woman who'd made him throw clothes in a duffle bag he hadn't owned; when he’d been stuck with the reality that the last time he would ever see his parents was through the window of his old house, Christmas lights blinking back at him.

“Hey, we’re here."

It’s only when she speaks that Barry notices they’ve stopped and she’s parked in one of the spots designated for their building. He looks at her, blinking back into the present. He answers the question written all over her face.

“Oh, yes. I'm," he shakes his head, trying to clear it. He swallows. "Yeah, I'm good."

This time, the smile she gives him is kind.

“Sure?"

“Yeah." He rubs at his eyes. "Let's get inside before the snow starts falling more."

Later, Barry will give half a thought to what makes Iris West invite him into her apartment. They both schlep up the stairs to their third floor apartments, bags in hand, Barry trying not to wish her coat would rise a little higher as he follows behind her. He grabs his key from the pocket of his sweatpants, poised with a hand at the door, and when he turns to tell her good night, she’s staring back at him, her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. If he didn’t know any better, he might think she was nervous.

“Chances you’d want to come in?” she blurts, “for some hot chocolate?”

Barry has two choices here. He can say thank you and go into his apartment, where the snow will still be falling and he’ll drink at least two of the beers he bought, and he’ll think about what he and his parents might’ve been doing for this Christmas holiday. Or he can go into the apartment of the woman he’s been drooling after for months and share some hot chocolate.

So really, there’s no choice at all.

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

The clock on Iris’s microwave reads 1:15 when he finds himself standing beside her stove.

When they’d first come into the apartment, she’d left him awkwardly at the door while she’d gone to change. He’d kicked off his shoes at the door, placed his coat on one of the hooks near her door, and then he’d taken a casual glance around the room. Her apartment has the same layout as his, an open floor plan with a large living room and nice sized kitchen, a large island separating the two rooms in lieu of a dining area. A hallway off the living room leads to two bedrooms and a separate bathroom. That is where the similarities end, though. Her place is cozy, the living room featuring an overstuffed couch in a robin's blue fabric and a cream colored loveseat. A large rug under a distressed cream coffee table in a swirling pattern of blues and golds and greens ties it all together. It's a far cry from the hand me down-albeit comfortable-sectional that takes up most of his living area and the hardwood floors he hadn't bothered to cover when he realized that any decent rug cost his grocery bill for a couple weeks.

Even more is the fact that it's decorated for Christmas. There's a neat tree in the corner, teeming with shiny ornaments and blue garland and strings of white lights. There's some gold and silver tinsel thrown artfully in a way that Barry would never be able to manage, and even his cold, anti-Christmas heart can admit that with the giant blue, gold, and cream bow at the top, the tree is beautiful. Other knick knacks find their places around the room: two stockings on her mantle, a few blue bows tied on various pieces of furniture, an intricate figurine of a black Santa Claus. He’d thought that he should have figured her for a Christmas person.

When she'd come back, it’d been confirmed. She'd thrown on a pajama short set, the top with buttons and a collar, the bottoms showing the expanse of legs that look too long for her short stature, all of it in candy cane stripes. Barry doesn't always love the symbols of Christmas, especially those that remind him too much of the last one he had with his parents, but nothing in Barry's body objected to seeing her walking out like that, not even the reindeer socks covering her feet and ankles. He's glad that he'd showered and thrown on clean clothes after his Netflix binge.

Now, he stands beside her as she whisks cocoa powder into a large saucepan full of milk and sugar. Her kitchen is neat and clean, with bright yellow accessories and framed quotes that claim her love of coffee.

“Did you ever make cocoa with your parents?”

He glances down at his socked feet, and then over at her. She's still whisking, her small hands and nude nails gently gripping the base of the whisk. His heart clenches at the question, but when she starts speaking without his answer, he thinks maybe it expands, just a little bit.

“My grandma swore by homemade hot chocolate. Homemade everything, really. She'd only ever make it in December and only on Sunday nights. It was a thing to look forward to, I guess, a sort of tradition.”

“Does she still make it every Sunday in December?”

She shakes her head, her answering smile only a touch sad. "No. She died when I was 15."

Barry wonders how she does it, says the words without the pain of death overtaking her, without the memory of drinking hot cocoa with her grandmother sending her running away from milk and chocolate and sugar.

“I,” he says, and decides that this must be the way people feel when he used to tell them about his own parents, full of pity and sympathy. “I’m really sorry, Iris.”

“Thanks. She was ready to go, so I think I made peace with it early on."

Barry stays leaned against the counter as he watches her, the stirring methodical, an easy, constant clockwise motion. “Did your grandmother teach you how to make anything else?”

“She tried,” Iris tells him, laughing up at him. “But it never took. I am woefully inadequate in the kitchen.”

There’s something about a woman like Iris, beautiful and seemingly kind, that intimidates him. She seems so self assured, so well-adjusted, that he seems too good for him, like he’d only manage to bring her down into the depths of his own grief if he wasn’t careful.

“Can you cook?” She wants to know.

He shakes his head. “I literally just bought frozen pizza and eggs.”

“Good.” She gives him a sharp nod. “If you could cook on top of being this cute, I’m not sure I’d let you leave this apartment.”

Barry leans down and catches her eyes. “I could learn, if you wanted me to.”

Iris hums, holding his eyes, and hers flash, white teeth biting into her bottom lip. It feels like heat, swirling around them, taking over, settling in the middle of the kitchen. It feels tight, his entire body, the result of a strange mix of swirling thoughts and deep-rooted emotions. There’s the underlying feel of heartache, a steady companion since his childhood. The loneliness that usually accompanies has taken a backseat to the growing lust flooding his system, the tightening of his chest and the tingling in his hands he gets when he looks at her. He isn’t normally a flirt, is normally a fumbling mess when he gets around beautiful women. But it’s her, this woman, that makes him feel a touch bolder, a touch daring, a bit more like he would be if he didn’t live so much in his head.

“It’s time for chocolate chips,” she announces, and it’s the only warning Barry gets before she’s suddenly pressed against him. In reality, it’s quick, he knows it is. She merely reaches over him to grab a package of chocolate chips from the cupboard above his head. But god, if the world doesn’t stop moving as he feels the full length of her, supple thighs flush against the hardness of his, her flat belly and firm breasts almost molded to him. The smell of her is overpowering, the coconut and shea butter, the cocoa powder she’d stirred into the milk.

Barry swallows as she steps back into her own space. He would think that the moment would be gone, that her dropping those chocolate chips into the pan and stirring them to melt them faster would calm him down. It doesn’t.

It’s there, festering, as she finishes the hot chocolate, pouring the sweet drinks into giant mugs and topping them with a bit of Bailey’s. That earns him a wink, the gesture even more potent than the boozy cream he’s drinking on a mostly empty stomach. He follows her to her living room, where she sits down on the couch and motions for him to do the same. She grabs a blanket from the top of the couch and spreads it out with one hand, placing it over her lap and his, closing the distance between them just a little. He sits with his back fully against the sofa, but she’s cross-legged facing him, her attention on him intense. The room adds to it all, the Christmas tree providing the only light in the room, the small white lights casting shadows across her face. It doesn’t help, or it doesn’t hurt rather, this smooth setting. It brings it all to the forefront, the lust flowing as easily through his veins as the blood tends to do.

The following order of events he’ll give more than half a thought. He’ll question, but certainly not complain about, how they go from talking to falling against her bed, naked and twisted in her sheets.

The questions start innocently enough: how old are you? What’s your career? What are your hobbies? He finds that she’s 28 to his 27, a journalist to his research scientist, loves hiking to his personal science experiments. It’s almost like a date, the way they laugh with each other over their mugs, the spiked chocolate the invitation they need to go deeper than he imagines either of them would on a first date, to bare secrets he’d probably never speak aloud.

He learns that she’s been watching him, waiting for a chance to speak to him, except the combination of her rushing and his own grumpy morning face kept her from reaching out. He tells her that the feeling was mutual, that he’d had improper thoughts of her after seeing her in those skirts, that he’d figured she’d never go for a guy like him so he’d just kept his distance. This takes them into deeper, dirtier waters. She wants to know his type, and he tells her, between warming sips of chocolate, that “I didn’t know, until recently, my love for women with deep brown skin and wide set eyes, and a mouth I want to sink into.” It’s the Bailey’s, he knows, but it’s her too, and him when he’s with her, and he likes the way the words tumble from his mouth, the way she pulls the words from him.

If she were lighter, he figures there might be a touch of red at her cheeks, but she only looks down for a brief moment, a long pink tongue swiping over that bottom lip, and he watches as much as hears her say, “I always wonder if those moles are just on your face, at your throat, or if they’re everywhere else,” and Barry swallows at how her eyes drop down, as if she can see beneath his t-shirt where more moles are peppered, as if she can tell that they’re dotted on his thighs too, right around where he’s slowly growing thick and hard.

It’s after this revelation, that the tides turn.

He watches her, for signs that this isn’t just the talking of strangers drunk of chocolate and each other. There is the rise and fall of her chest, the parted lips, her eyes that keep caressing the length of him. There is her leaning towards him, her body titled enough that he can look down the front of her top, where the mounds of her breasts are free, calling for his teeth and tongue. He swallows the rest of his drink and sits the mug down on her coffee table. Iris’s moves are similar, yet more deliberate. Barry finds himself enamored by the column of her throat as she drinks, by her nude brown nails as she wipes the excess from her mouth. She stands, her shorts riding high up on her hips, and time slows again as she plops her mug down and then comes to stand in front of him. He sits back, so that he can see all of her, until she’s sliding into his lap, and then he can really see all of her, just in the curve of her smile. And then she kisses him.

The taste of her is unbelievable, like the cream she’s been drinking and like something else warmer, something else sweeter. It’s been months since he’s kissed anyone, and the times had been few and far between before, but Barry knows that nothing has ever, could ever, compare to the feeling of kissing Iris West. She’s so soft on top of him, so much warmer than he would have thought, and he’s so overwhelmed with the feel of her, that he doesn’t know what to do outside of kissing her.

Iris takes the lead. She grips both of his hands in hers, placing one at her waist and the other at her hip, and then she sinks her fingers into his hair. The kiss turns deeper, the slide of her mouth against his, the slip of her tongue between his lips, the soft clash of teeth as they figure each other out. He tries to learn her, to adjust. She likes when he nips at her bottom lip, when he brings into his mouth to suck, so he takes advantage of that, swallowing the sounds of her moans. He likes the way her fingers tip down his throat, her nails lightly digging into his skin.

It is the sort of kiss that is written about, odes to the shape of her lips, sonnets that praise the taste of her tongue. There are songs, made for nights like this, for faint lights. and warm hands and hearts pounding. If he had the ability, he would pen poems about her, about her thick thighs spread over his lap and the heat of her body he swears he can feel through the fabric of their clothes.

She pulls back, her lids lowered, those chocolate eyes more black than brown now. She licks her lips again, as she watches him, as if chasing the taste of him, and Barry groans low in his throat. Her response is to smile at him, easy and seductive.

“Want to go into my bedroom?”

Barry’s hands tighten on her hips. “I want to go anywhere with you.”

It becomes, Barry decides, the best night of his life. She climbs off of him, and takes his hand, pulling him down the hall. He only takes enough of a glance around to know that the blues and the yellows and golds extend to this room too, accents to the soft white comforter over her queen sized bed. He sees the matching dresser and bookshelf, and it’s all pieces of her that Barry hopes he gets to explore.

She instructs him to take his clothes off, and he does, peeling off his shirt, his sweatpants, his boxers and socks too. Her clothes come off in quick and elegant movements, and Barry laments not being able to stare at her for longer, at the even, deep brown skin and the full breasts hanging heavy, her nipples like the perfect pieces of chocolate chips she’d melted earlier. Her belly is flat, hips round, calves shapely, and the look of her warms him from the inside.

He has very little control, and he happily gives it up, falling onto his back when she pushes him down and crawls atop him again. She uses the sharp tips of her nails and the wide flat of her tongue to trace constellations into his skin, to connect the dots across his chest, the dots at the slight v of his hips; to stamp her name on the imperfections marring the skin of his thighs. It’s a heady feeling, only multiplied when Iris takes the length of him into her hand and then into her mouth. His head drops back onto the pillow, her mouth warm and wet. She takes as much of him as she can and then she pulls back to the tip. She gathers the spit in her mouth, letting it drip down his dick, and then she’s sucking him with purpose, her hands sliding up and down where her mouth can’t reach, the suction of her lips glorious. She swallows him down, the slight gag when he hits the back of her throat releasing something primal in him.

“Fuck, Iris,” he says and it’s something more like a growl, the feel of her indescribable. She hums around him, and then pulls away with a pop, giving her attention to his swollen, aching testicles. He lets her suck him until his breathing grows labored, and then he’s pulling gently at her curly hair, stuttering, “want, want to come in you.”

She stays on her knees in front of him, for moments longer, and then she smiles, the sultry one she’d thrown at him in the grocery store, the one she’d thrown him in the kitchen, the smile that’s got him in her bedroom.

“It’s insane how beautiful you are,” he tells her, and he likes the way it makes her body flush, a red tinge to her skin. He motions for her now, and she crawls back up, settling her crotch over him. He notes the warmth of her pussy on his belly, and it makes his own grin a touch sordid.

“Is this because of me?” He finds himself asking. “Did sucking me off get you wet?”

Her eyes flutter closed briefly.

“I like it,” she says, “when you say these dirty things I’m not expecting.”

“It’s only because of you,” he says, and then he curls his finger around her neck and brings her down to kiss him.

This kiss is wet, open-mouthed, filthy. Barry wonders how he got here, how a short walk in the snow led to this gorgeous person writhing atop him, mumbling increasingly coarse things in his ear. He touches her where he can: fingers tipping down her spine and over her hips; hands kneading her breasts, pinching gently at the hardened peaks of her nipples; thumbing her swollen clit until the wet of her is dripping down her thighs.

Then Barry flips her over, under the insatiable need to have her spread out beneath him, and he watches her tiny hands cover the length of him with a condom.

When he’s finally inside of her, Barry swears that, when she kicks him out of her bed, he’ll do everything in his power to be worthy of her. As her thighs clamp at his hips and he swivels them until he’s buried all the way inside her, he vows to work to be enough for her, and for him too.

She’s so wet, as he rocks into her, and he tells her so, murmuring into her ear, “god, you’re so wet, baby; you feel so good around me.” She talks back, as she digs her nails into his skin enough to leave scars. “I, I never,” she whispers, her voice is soft like white falling snow and sweet like warm, melting chocolate. “I never guessed you’d feel like this.”

She milks him, gripping him in her heat, clenching around him as pulls out, letting her wetness flood him when he pushes back in. Their rhythm is steady, rocking and sliding, rocking and sliding. He holds onto her thigh, hiking it over his hip, and he tangles his hands in her hair enough to hold her steady, enough to take her mouth again. His mouth is gentler on her, mimicking the slide of his body. This feels deeper somehow, their bodies so close he’s touching every single part of her. She pulls away only enough to gasp against his mouth, “damn, Barry Allen,” falling off against his lips, followed by a laugh that turns into a low, slow “ffffuuuucccckkkk.”

When he comes, it’s at the same time that she’s clenching around his dick, their bodies slick with sweat. He falls on top of her, and their breathing mellows out. Eventually, he tries to move away from her, but she holds him there, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face into his neck.

“You okay?” he whispers.

He feels her nod against him. “Perfect.”

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

She doesn’t kick him out after.

Instead, they clean up and then she asks Alexa to play a song, I want a snowfall kind of love, the kind that keeps you in bed all day; oh I want to walk through with you, and watch it all melt away, and she curls into him, her naked breasts pressing against his side, her leg thrown over his thigh. He’s in the space between exhaustion and awareness, his eyes heavy lidded as he comes back down from the high that was being inside Iris West.

There’s a sort of ambiance to the room now, one that makes this all seem more romantic and intimate than he knows what to do with. The blinds are open to the wall length windows that make these apartments worth it, and the night is dark, any stars in the navy blue blanket overshadowed by the softly falling snow. The flakes are thicker now, sticking to where they drop. It has the makings of a storm, especially in how much faster it’s coming down than when he’d been walking in it.

He can imagine them, in only a few hours, when the sun has barely crested the horizon and the cold is settling into the room, being wrapped up in Iris again. He can imagine even more, when the snow melts and the sun is on its way back down again, holding Iris’s hand in his as she walks beside him, in red high heels that match his shirt, in an easy smile that looks like his own, as they head to where they’ll talk and laugh and flirt over red wine and candlelight.

And because he can imagine it, because he wants to imagine it, to make it a reality, he finds himself telling her all of it: about The West Wing marathon he’d been watching since the start of the month because he remembers it had been his parents’ favorite show and he’d seen that it was on Netflix; about his attempts to befriend one of his colleagues, Cisco, because he’s never really had a friend and he thinks that he can be one, if he tries hard enough; about the crashed car that changed his life and the pain of Christmas lights and shiny tinsel that he’s begun talking to someone to alleviate.

For a moment, he thinks he’s said too much. Sure, she’s pretty and she’s sweet and she makes him feel like no one ever has before. But he’s only met her hours ago and it’s this, this kind of baggage, that’s kept him from reaching out, from trying to get close to anyone.

She still doesn’t kick him out. Instead, she tells him about her own childhood, about how distant parents had turned into divorced ones and how the strained tension hadn’t left just because they were no longer in the house yelling at one another. She tells him the struggles she’s had at work, at having to write whatever the paper deems as “black issues,” and the double edged sword that comes with wanting to write universal stories, and also wanting to take those black stories for fear no one else will write them with as much care and nuance. She explains how unlucky in love she’s been, how her thoughts are dismissed because men think she’s too pretty or how her well-earned independence is far too independent for them to see her seriously. It makes her more real to him, and Barry ponders how quickly one could fall in love.

They talk, until the sun does rise over Iris's window sill. And Barry rolls onto his back to pull her atop him, fingering into her until she’s dripping down his wrist. He sheathes himself and pushes himself into her, wet hands holding onto her hips as she takes over, grinding down onto him until they’re both a simpering, moaning mess, soaked and sated. After, Iris cuddles on top of him again, her mouth against his throat as she tells him, “of course, we’ll go out later,” when he whispers the question into hair.

They fall asleep to the still quietly falling snow.

Won't you bury me in your quiet love, oh bury me in your quiet love, bury me in your quiet love, and we will blow away.

#westallen fanfiction #Barry Allen #iris west

17 notes · View notes

darlingsdevil · 4 years

Text

Of What Could Have Been (John Marston x Reader, Arthur Morgan)

Warnings: gore, violence, reference to s*xual ab*se but never explicitly stated

Summary: Arthur missed his chance, and now he’s paying for his past mistakes.

Masterlist

A/N: This story is basically Satisfied from Hamilton! The song was a huge inspiration and I’ve wanted to write a fic for this song for a very long time! Hope you like it.

Words: 2k

•••

The air was sweet and mild, the sun had just dipped below the terrain, and the party was just starting. Everyone was in good spirits, especially the bride and the groom. The whiskey was strong, the songs and cheers loud and the smiles wide. The women were ecstatic, they prepared the dress and the decorations, the party was their resting moment. The rest of the men drank like no tomorrow, congratulating John on his ‘big catch’. Everyone was happy - except Arthur.

Arthur hid it well. The heartbreak, the jealousy, the lonely nights knowing you would never be his. He was happy for you, you got what you truly wanted, and John would make a fine husband. He wouldn’t ruin your special night by his stupid feelings, that would be a shameful thing to do. So he hid it, as he would for the rest of his life while John was around. Only Hosea knew of Arthur’s feelings for you, as Hosea had raised him, he could tell that Arthur was painfully in love, and since he had raised you too, Hosea knew that you didn’t love him like that, and you never would.

The reception was short and sweet, at sundown, as it was tradition in camp. Susan was proud of you, as was Dutch and Hosea.

“Dutch! We got a girl over here!” Arthur yelled, loud enough for John and Dutch to hear him. John was barely a man. Arthur was well into his twenties, and still relentlessly teased the younger boy to know end.

You watched Arthur with fearful eyes, blood splattering your dress. The coach was filled with gore, and you were at the center of it all, a knife in hand, ready to stab Arthur if he took one step too close.

Back then it was trivial, everything seemed so simple. Arthur was more carefree, wild and unpredictable, a young man who sought pleasure. John even worse, a troublesome kid with a mean temper.

“You get an inch closer and this knife is going through your chest!” You yelled, your hands shaking.

Arthur backed away slowly, and pulled his gun from the holster, setting it down on the grass.

“The other one too. And the knife.”

He put his other cattleman next to the first, it fell with a clunk. The knife on his belt dropped too. You ever so slowly put the knife down, still holding it with an iron grip.

“What’s your name, Miss?” He asked you calmly.

Your eyes welled up with tears, when was the last time someone had asked you that? You gave him your name, your voice wavering. He nodded, understanding.

“I’m Arthur Morgan. We’re bad men, but we ain’t them.” Arthur told you. You dropped the knife completely. John and Dutch joined his side, and you almost instantly picked it up again. The silver glint was menacing, but could you really win against three armed men?

Arthur mumbled something to them, they both raised their hands.

“What happened, Miss?” The dark haired man asked you, he was older than both of them.

“They.. they’re dead. I killed them.” You stuttered, with shock.

“Who are they?” The older man asked again, motioning towards the bloody corpses.

“They took me from my home, they kidnapped me. I don’t know their names.”

The older man nodded, reaching out to give you his hand, you took it, stepping out of the carriage.

You had been saved.

Arthur recalled his first encounter with you. You were a fretful thing the first few months, with good reason of course. You were particularly wary of the older men too, but you learned to trust them. The first few months you confided in both Arthur and John, and by the next year it was only John. Arthur was dealing with the aftermath of Mary, and was moody and lashed out constantly. Drink had a mean hold on him. Arthur regretted it the most, in the first year, you had started to fall for John while Arthur pushed you away.

Mary called it off with Arthur that night. He was angry, beyond angry. Seething and blind with grief. When he rode into camp, the air surrounding him was heavy and electric, it’s like if you looked at him he would kill you. But behind that rage, he was upset, like he could sob until he couldn’t see anymore.

And then there was you. When he saw you, he was suddenly helpless. You were sitting by the fire, mending a torn shirt. While he rode into camp with fury, he quickly hitched his horse, rushing to his small tent to brood, but he noticed you, a beacon of light in his darkness.

He walked up behind you, you were quiet, but set the needle on your lap.

“Arthur?” You spoke in a quiet voice, feeling his presence behind you.

Arthur was frozen behind you, taking in your beauty. He felt ashamed, Mary was suddenly pushed to the back of his mind, as if she had meant little to him.

You looked up and smiled at him. His heart damn near shattered with just one look. Your eyes glistening with happiness, the fire illuminated your eyes with a bright glow and they twinkled underneath the stars.

“Can I sit with you?” He asked, his voice strangely low, you could tell he was upset. Like he was cracking at his very core.

You nodded, watching him as he sat down on the oak log.

“What’s wrong, Arthur?”

“Arthur! Arthur!” Dutch shouted, tipsy and cheering.

Arthur looked towards the poker table.

“Say a toast for us, will yeah? John’s your brother!” The men laughed, the women smiled.

He nodded, picking up his whiskey bottle.

“To the groom!” Arthur shouted, the dark liquid sloshed in his bottle. Everyone cheered.

John lifted his glass, wearing a simple button down shirt and dress pants. Susan couldn’t force him to wear a suit. He even had his unruly hair tied back for the evening.

“To the bride!”

“Arthur? What’s wrong with you?” You asked him, those big eyes looking at him with fear. Shame coiled in his gut - he couldn’t be controlled.

“Go out and get some goddamn money for us and don’t come back till you have something.” He seethed, glaring at you angrily.

“I-” you started, but were quickly cut off by him. All you had been doing was gathering flowers and herbs in the field next to camp, to give to Pearson and press the flowers into a journal you had bought for Arthur. You were planning on giving it to him once all the flowers were dried.

“All you do is sit around. Give me those damn flowers.” He shouted at you, attempting to grab your basket of plants. You stuck it behind you, protecting your collection.

“What’s gotten into you?” You yelled, fear rising in you. The lavender in the field masked the smell of alcohol.

Arthur was unhinged, his hair messy and his clothes rumpled and loose.

“Don’t come back to camp until you have money or I’ll throw you out! I’m tired of you not pulling your weight!”

You were silent, backing away from him and his rage.

John shouted your name from across the field. You turned to him, suddenly feeling relieved. Arthur was out of control.

“Give me that damn basket!” Arthur shouted even louder, grabbing you forcefully and ripped the basket out of your hands, the flowers spilling to the floor.

John swiftly came to your aide and shoved Arthur to the ground. He landed on the flowers, now crumpled.

“What the hell are you doing?” John asked Arthur. Rage burned inside him.

“All she does it sit around! Aren’t you tired of busting your ass while she gets to relax all day while we’re risking our lives?” Arthur retaliated, quickly jumping to his feet and pushing John further, John fell back into you.

“You need to go to bed Arthur, you reek of booze. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” John told him, much calmer this time.

But I already regret it - Arthur thought.

The way you looked at him would be forever burned into his mind. You looked at him with fear and sad eyes, you were hurt by his words, shocked.

And there you were, with a wide smile, staring directly at Arthur. John held you, but you were staring at him. You were breathtaking, in a lace gown with multiple layers on your skirt, a sash tied to your waist and sleeves that fell just below your elbow.

“You’ve got yourself a fine wife, John, and Mrs. Marston, boy, have you gotten yourself into some deep shit!” Arthur chuckled, shouts of agreement were heard. You playfully nodded your head at him, looking up at your husband.

Arthur couldn’t sleep - it was usual for him after Mary broke things off. His mind clouded with what ifs, and what he would have done differently. But tonight was odd, perhaps it was the oncoming storm he could feel in the air or perhaps it was because of something more.

He heard quiet whispers from the forest next to his tent, mumbled and he couldn’t make out any words. Arthur was suddenly on high alert, grabbing his gun and sneaking out from his small tent.

There was a brush of trees that backed up right to his tent, so he could be easily hidden. All the lights were out in camp, not even Uncle was wasting away at the fire. The forest was quiet, except for the whispers. It was eerily quiet, a chill crept up the back of his neck, making his hair stand on edge.

“John..” Arthur managed to make out. But who’s voice could that be, and why was he up at god knows what hour?

“You know I like you..” He heard John say, as he snuck in closer.

“I like you too. I have for awhile.” You confessed, suddenly Arthur knew. And his heart shattered again.

He peeked out from his hiding spot, just long enough to see you kiss John with compassion and pent up feelings. Arthur wished that had been him instead. Arthur backed away slowly, holding back tears in his eyes. He wasn’t an emotional man, but that night he wept. He wept for lost opportunity, that you could have been his had he not pushed you away.

“You’ll make a mighty fine husband and wife, and even better parents. I wish the two of you the best, you deserve it.” Arthur told them, hiding his longing for you.

“To Mr. and Mrs. Marston!” Arthur raised his bottle to them, patrons of camp repeating his phrase and lifting their glasses in unison.

Arthur took a hearty swig, perhaps it was long enough to satisfy his aching heart if only for a moments notice.

You danced with John, as Dutch cranked up his phonograph, a slow melodic tune. Everyone watched with heartfelt eyes, Mary Beth - the true romantic held her hand over her heart. Tilly and Karen cooed at the sight of you swaying, and Miss O’Shea held on tightly to Dutch’s arm.

Arthur took in your beauty, imagining himself up there instead. He was jealous of John, no doubt, but you would be happy as his bride. John would be good to you.

And perhaps his feelings would fade with time, but there would be none of that now.

It would always be Mr. Marston and Mrs. Marston, never the Morgan’s.

And he would have to watch you with John everyday, oblivious to his heartbreak. You would take care of John and have his kids, watch them grow up and grow old with John.

And Arthur would have to watch, as he did now, watching you sway with John with loving eyes, realizing you had never belonged to Arthur.

He would never be satisfied.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #john marston x readed #red dead redemptiom 2 #rdr2 angst #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #angst #fanfiction #fanfic

94 notes · View notes

haro-whumps · 4 years

Text

Box Boy Meeting Yanni

(CW: slavery, dehumanization, creepy + intimate whumper, implied noncon, possessive behaviors)

I STRONGLY discourage readers with any kind of paranoia from reading this chapter.

Tag list <3: @thatsthewhump @whump-it @ashintheairlikesnow @fairybean101 @finder-of-rings @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @that-one-thespian @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @raigash @im-not-rare-im-rarr @spiffythespook

Masterlist

Much as they would have loved to quit their job and just lounge around with Soren for the rest of their life, Ren did in fact have to go back to work eventually. So they showed up in a white button down and a pencil skirt with red lipstick and their hair tied in a high ponytail, tips of their hair just tickling at the nape of their neck, and resigned themself to staring at Soren through the cameras all day.

“REN!” Yanni shouted, banging open the door of their office and draping herself dramatically in the doorframe. “My favorite gossipbuddy in the ENTIRE office and you left me alone for a WEEK!” she accused, storming over to their desk and nearly flailing a hand into one of their potted plants.

They liked gardening. Liked knowing that there were living creatures that, without Ren, would die.

“A week and a day,” Ren corrected with a playful smile. “It’s Tuesday.”

“Cruel and heartless, Ren, cruel and heartless,” she said, plopping herself on their desk. They laughed good-naturedly, leaning an arm over the back of their chair and smiling up at her. “Did you go on another cruise with your mama?” she asked less theatrically.

“No, actually. I was busy with something new.” They gave a wicked grin, which prompted her to lean in, ready for whatever they were about to share. They’d conditioned the response, personally. “I got myself a Box Boy.”

Yanni gasped, lighting up. “No! Show me pictures, show me pictures! Is he cute?”

“He’s so cute,” Ren said, pulling out their phone and bringing up a picture of their precious angel. “His name is Soren, he’s the same age as me, and his hair is this gorgeous texture.”

“Oh my god!” she squealed, “Look at hiiiiiiim, oh my gooooood!” She fanned at her face excitedly, and Ren swiped through a couple more pictures with their thumb. “Ren he’s adorable!!!”

“And he’s sweet as a peach, too,” Ren bragged, smiling down at Soren’s blushing face. “My personal little angel.”

“Ugh, now you’re making me want one! I swear, ever since Box Babes came out with their spring lineup, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Did you see that lineup? The one with that gorgeous big-titty one in the purple?”

“Was it the same line that had the one with curly brown hair and pretty green eyes?” Ren asked. Yanni tilted her head, her curly brown hair bouncing in its ponytail and her pretty green eyes looking off to the side in thought.

“Not sure! It’s not an uncommon complexion, though,” Yanni said with a careless shrug, and Ren hummed, a private smile on their face, eyes on hers. She smiled back. “But seriously, that one Babe was soooooo pretty, and I’ve been needing an outlet.”

‘You really do,” Ren agreed.

“I can’t help it that the gods made me horny. And like, none of the women in this office are bangable, you know? They’re all, ugh, smart.”

“Working with folk of our caliber, I’d hope they would be,” Ren said easily, mostly entertained by Yanni’s over the top theatrics. They felt warmly towards her. Not that she’d ever be in any danger of it, but if--in some other life--she were made into a Box Babe herself, Ren would’ve just as happily bought her.

It would still have meant that they wouldn’t have a pet they could really yank around, but at least neither would ever need to feel jealous of the other.

“Well, obviously,” Yanni said with a flip of her hair. “But it does shrink my dating pool to zilch. I mean, seriously, what’s a gal gotta do to get herself a bimbo these days?!”

Ren pretended to hum thoughtfully, and shrugged with an airy “Buy one.”

They shared a laugh, and Yanni leaned in to kiss their cheek. “You’re so fun, I missed you. You should invite me over to meet your new little plaything!”

“Maybe,” Ren said, “We’ll see how I feel at the end of the day.”

Yanni stuck her tongue out at them. “You just wanna hole up with that cute little bean and keep him all to yourself.”

Ren shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Guess you’ll never know.”

“Well, text me whenever you decide. Oh! But, I did get sent in here for a reason. Like, a reason-reason, not just to bitch you out for stranding me here!”

“Oh?” Ren asked unapologetically.

“Coffee machine broke yesterday. Help us Ren-bi Wan Kenobi! You’re our only hope!”

Huh. They hadn’t even sabotaged it that time. It meant the thing was actually malfunctioning, but they weren’t particularly concerned, as they stood and left their office. By this point, they knew the insides of the thing better than the manufacturers did.

A couple of their office-mates were gathered in the break room, one of them contemplating buying iced coffee from the company fridge, a couple chatting with empty hands, another very sullenly nursing a cup of water. Aimie looked up from said water cup and caught sight of Ren, and her face immediately lit up.

“Ren! Thank god; the damn thing’s been broken all week!”

“It’s only Tuesday,” Ren said with a laugh, basking in the turning attention of the break room, each and every one of them delighted to see Ren.

“It’s already Tuesday,” Yanni corrected, hopping up on the counter next to the coffee machine as Ren pulled open the panel. “You’ve come to us in our darkest hour!” she said with a dramatically raised fist.

Ren poked around, checking the usual spots they sabotaged it in. One of the wires they used most frequently had jiggled loose all on its own. They must have used that wire too much, and now it was worn down from the constant in and out. But, that just meant they didn’t have to sneak in here and break the thing as often anymore, and would be able to walk in with other people and be lauded for their competence without needing to time things perfectly when the room was empty. If they could just get access to the security cameras legally, this would all be so much simpler.

“And booting back on,” Ren announced calmly, the room watching with baited breath, and they all let out a playful (but only so playful) cheer when the thing beeped to life.

“Our hero!” Yanni shouted, flinging her arms around their neck and kissing their cheek. They laughed, hugging her back, and offered her the first paper cup off the stack, as a monarch bestowing riches to a favored knight. They placed their hand on the nape of her neck while she filled the cup, pretending to lean on her while they looked at their phone (Soren was on the balcony again).

One of the first things they’d done when they decided they liked Yanni was touch her neck, like this, their hand pressing down on the clasp of her necklace. It dug into their hand, but it dug into her neck too, and was the first step in conditioning her to put up with mild discomfort in exchange for Ren’s touch and attention. Of course, they would never do anything terrible to her, no no, they wouldn’t be mean to their friend, but they liked knowing that they could, that their friends would let them. They were better now, than as a teenager. Smoother, sharper, smarter about this. They hadn’t conditioned Soren successfully in their youth, having to wait until he was a precious little Box Boy to get him acting like he should, but they were doing a fine job of manipulating Yanni. She was willing to put up with most anything, these days.

“See you at lunch,” Yanni said, steam wafting out from the little hole in the plastic lid. “You’ve got so much office gossip I need to catch you up on!”

“Looking forward to it,” Ren said honestly, giving her a quick kiss on the temple before returning to their office.

They thought about it. Yanni was very, very much a lesbian, so therefore would pose no “threat” for Ren with Soren. Her interest in him really and truly would be entirely aesthetic, and she would have no interest in taking what was Ren’s. She wasn’t violent, and respected other people’s properties (Ren’s more than most), so she wouldn’t hurt Soren, but she was also a little careless and very energetic, so she might play a little rough. She might shake Soren up a bit, leave him nervous and trembling and desperately folding into Ren’s embrace, which was definitely desirable. She might also just coo over him, pinching his cheeks and braiding his hair and fawning until she got bored and demanded Ren distract her in other ways, which was also fine.

Ren tried to think of possible downsides to inviting Yanni over, examining potential outcomes thoroughly. They did, after all, like to be prepared. They especially couldn’t afford to be careless with Soren, not when they had him just like they wanted him. But all they came up with were pros. Yanni would undoubtedly like Soren, and would be further convinced to buy a Box Babe of her own. That would mean she’d waste less time trying to find hookups or dates, which detracted her attention from Ren, and would leave her better able to focus on them, devote her time to them.

If she bullied Soren a little, it would leave him clingy and needy. If she bullied Soren too much, it wouldn’t happen instantaneously, and Ren could step in when things crossed a line, and Soren would be grateful and view them as his savior (which they were, anyway). If she was nothing but sweet and friendly, well, Soren deserved that. Ren would be able to show off how well trained Soren was, which was a stroke to their vanity, and Yanni would get more quality time with Ren, which the two of them hadn’t had in a while.

They checked in on Soren again (in the kitchen now, and when they checked their clock it was about lunchtime), got up from their desk, and headed out to the vending machine. They bought a bar of super-dark chocolate and swung by Yanni’s office, decorated with streamers and rainbows and artfully nude paintings and photographs of women.

“Knock knock,” they said, after they’d already crossed the threshold and were in the middle of sauntering to her desk. She looked up, grinned bright, and then saw that they had a chocolate bar in hand.

“Oooo, you get me something?” she asked, hand already extended, and they dropped it into her palm with a pleasant hum.

“You know I like spoiling you.”

“I dooooo, you dooooo,” she cooed, unwrapping it and taking a bite. “Is it lunch already?”

“Sure is. Also, you should stop by after work today and meet my little Soren.”

“Hell yes!” Yanni said, sticking the bar in her mouth so she could lock up her computer with both hands. She looped her arm around Ren’s, and the two went to lunch, Yanni informing them of all the office gossip over green iced tea and shakshouka. The knowledge that Carl’s father had recently passed was useful. It meant he would be… vulnerable. It did put a closing-window-time frame on whether or not Ren liked him enough to want him, though. If they didn’t, he wouldn’t be worth the effort, emotional vulnerability or no. Sure, Carl was nice enough, but he was getting kind of old, and didn’t exactly have enough clout to make him useful.

But he did have that lovely sense of humor, and he gave out compliments easily, which Ren liked. Decisions decisions.

“Back to the grind,” Yanni said with a sigh as they tossed their trash.

“Halfway there,” they comforted, touching her back. “I’ll see you after work, puppy,” they said, playful and quiet. Calling her puppy was an inside joke between them, given how excitable and bubbly she was, how easy it was to get her wound up. They always said it affectionately, so she knew they weren’t calling her a bitch or anything, that was the last connotation they wanted with their words. But she really was, she was their cute little puppy.

And Soren was their pretty little bird, whose wings they’d finally clipped.

Yanni’s voice echoed through their home when the two walked through the front door that evening, and when she laughed brightly Ren took the opportunity to call out, “Soren, baby, heel!”

Soren rounded the stairs the moment after; he must have started coming when he heard their voices. “Ohhh, he’s even cuter in real life!” Yanni squealed as he came down, and when Ren opened their arms he rushed to them, eyes lingering nervously on Yanni.

“Soren, this is Yanni,” Ren said sweetly, voice once again taking that high pitch like they were talking to a child.

“Hello, Yanni,” Soren said, reluctant to be pushed away from Ren’s chest.

“Hello sweetie!” she cooed, reaching out and pinching his cheeks. Ren chuckled breathily. They were definitely pinchable. “You are just as cute as a button omg! Oh, oh, is he name brand?”

“He is,” Ren said proudly, stroking his hair and letting the silky strands fall off their fingers in a small cascade.

“So he comes with like, positions and stuff, right?”

“Soren, position two.”

Soren collapsed to his knees, eyes turned to Ren, who smiled at him.

“Aaaa, okay, okay, uh, position four!” Yanni said. Soren glanced to her, then back at Ren, who made a ‘go on’ kind of gesture. Soren lifted up off his ankles, though remained on his knees, and extended his wrists to Yanni, who giggled.

“How abouuuuut, twelve! No, thirteen!” Soren stopped mid-motion, then slipped easily into position, and Yanni rattled off a few more random numbers.

“Which one’s your favorite?” Yanni asked, beaming at Ren.

“Soren, Position 22.”

Soren knelt, much like position two, only this time his jaw dropped open.

“EW! You perv!” Yanni said with a high giggle, punching Ren in the shoulder. Ren laughed along with, and punched back. They always punched back harder, and they always punched back last. She accepted this about them, though sometimes in her rowdier moods they would be forced to leave her rubbing at her arm with a half-hidden wince. “So, you fuck him then?” she asked, rounding Soren and tugging experimentally on a lock of hair. “Oh wow it is soft,” she muttered, grabbing a handful.

“Not yet,” Ren said lazily, observing Soren’s cute little winces, the way his throat worked as he tried to swallow his spit with an open mouth, attempting to prevent himself from drooling. “I want the first time to be perfect.”

Yanni nodded with a noisy inhale. “I do know this about you,” she said. “Man, now I really want a Box Babe.”

“You should get one; they’re delightful.”

“Huh Soren, should I get one?” Yanni asked, sitting down on her haunches and pulling him back against her shoulder, hand on top of his collar.

“I-If you think you’d like one, ma’am.”

“I wouldn’t wait to fuck mine, though,” she said, almost conversationally, booping Soren on the nose.

“And I know this about you,” Ren said with a chuckle. “Noisy slut that you are.”

“It’s true, I’m the sluttiest,” Yanni said, standing and using Soren’s shoulder to help herself up. She pulled on his hair, forcing his head back so he looked up at her. “And these pets really are just to die for, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say die, maybe just spend lots of money on,” Ren said. They snapped their fingers. “Soren, here.”

Soren rushed to them, barely even hiding that he was glad to be out from under her tugging and prodding hands, and when they kissed him he kissed back eagerly, pressing his body up against theirs, gratitude and relief clearly bleeding through his touch.

“Oh that so does it, I’m getting one. Wanna help me look?” Yanni asked, wrapping her arms around Ren’s waist from behind and going tip-toed to rest her chin on their shoulder. Thoughts of what it would be like to have her collared and doing this, of being sandwiched between two of their favorite friends, maybe tugging on Yanni’s collar a little, came into Ren’s mind, and they smiled brightly.

“Sure! I can show you some of the other sites I was looking at too; even the ones that aren’t big brands can have some attractive wares.”

“Okay,” Yanni said easily, “Oh but first, we have to see if that purple one from the lineup is still available. Seriously, Ren, you’re gonna lose it when you see her, she’s SO pretty!”

“Well, c’mon then,” Ren said, beckoning them both into the living room and pulling out their computer. They pulled up the Whumpees-R-Us homepage and Yanni nuzzled up against their side, giggling. “Soren baby, come up on the couch with us too,” Ren said as they pulled up the Box Babes lineup.

“Oh, she is pretty,” they remarked, zooming in on the one in purple. They hooked the arm they weren’t using to navigate the mouse around Soren’s shoulders, pulling him in nice and close.

“Isn’t she though? God, she’s just, look at her tits!”

“I’m looking, I’m looking, they’re hard to miss!” Ren said with a laugh.

“How do we see if she’s still for sale?” Yanni asked, and Ren clicked around.

“Oh, yeah, she’s sold. Here, let’s pull up the available listings? Or do you want to customize?”

“Ugh, I’m not that rich. And I’m not my mama’s special favorite, either,” she said teasingly, and Ren elbowed her in the rib.

Yanni laughed. “Filter it though. I want big tits and low intelligence.”

After a bit of scrolling and some more filters, Yanni found one she liked, a beautiful young thing, and Ren tugged on Soren’s hair.

“Huh, Soren, what do you think of her?” Ren asked, angling the laptop a little.

“She’s, um, very pretty? And, her number is pretty low, which means, I think, she’d be happy to have a mistress, and grateful.”

“Do low numbers mean they’ve been there a while?” Yanni asked.

“Mm. Usually. That, or th-they were, um,” Soren looked away, and Ren tightened their hold, which made him unwind ever so slightly, “refurbished.”

“Ohhhh, so she could be a naughty bitch,” Yanni said thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against her chin.

“E-Either way, she’ll be grateful, ma’am, I, I’m sure!”

“We should check her personality statistics,” Ren said, smoothing their palm over Soren’s pretty head, letting him press his face to their chest and tremble against them.

Personality stats were good, she was as-of-yet unbought so concerns of refurbishment were null, and Ren enjoyed the little twitch that Soren gave every time the word “refurbish” was said. Yanni ended up buying her on Ren’s computer, with her credit card, and kissed their cheek before she left for the night.

“See you tomorrow!” she called.

“See you tomorrow,” they answered, and as soon as she’d closed the door they turned to Soren, lifting his chin.

“My pet, you seem distressed.”

“I, I,” Soren tried, and they felt a thrill up their spine at how tears were gathering in his eyes. “I didn’t… I don’t…”

“Shhh,” Ren hushed, thumbing away his gathering tears. “Shush, now, darling, think it through, use your words. Take your time my sweetheart, shhh.”

Soren pressed his face to Ren’s shirt, clinging to them, and they pet his hair.

“I. Don’t like thinking about the facility. I don’t like r-remembering--I, I know you said what I was before d-doesn’t matter, but,” Soren took a deep breath, “i-it was scary, and, and then we, talked about,” Soren hiccuped, “refurbishment, and, Exalted, Honored One, please, please, I-I’m good, please, I don’t…”

Soren was trying very hard not to break down, it was clear, but he was getting glassier, out of focus. Ren shushed him again and lifted his face, exposing his neck.

“Soren, baby, give me your hand,” they purred, and they guided it to his collar. The shift was instant. His whole body shuddered, lips parting, and his eyes closed with a heavy exhale, other hand coming up and gripping the collar also.

“I’m yours,” he murmured, reverent as a prayer, “I’m yours, I’m all yours. I won’t ever belong to anyone but you. No one else will touch me, no one else will get me, I won’t go anywhere without you.” He rocked slightly on the couch, knuckles white from how tightly he held his collar, and Ren smiled, happy and sweet and content.

“That’s right baby. I’ll let my friends come over and play with you, but they’ll never hurt you. I’ll sign you up for classes, but you only go there with my knowledge and permission. Everything about your life, I have ahold of, Soren. I’m taking care of you.”

“Yes,” Soren moaned, “Yes, I’m yours, I’m yours. My whole life is in your hands, you have the control.”

“That’s right,” Ren cooed, pulling him into their arms and kissing his hair. “That’s right. That’s my precious boy, oh, Soren, take comfort in me.” Their arms squeezed around him a little tighter. “Take your comfort in the fact that you are mine.”

#whump #slavery #box boy #bbu #dehumanization #brainwashing #creepy whumper #creepy comfort #intimate whumper #possessive behavior #dependancy #slave #pet #ren #soren #yanni #mine #writing

78 notes · View notes

anosmi16 · 3 years

Text

a story

I felt neither good nor bad… A giant television on a metallic coffee table in the Hall Leopard print seats Wallpapers decorated with white roses Buffet full of colorful drinks A giant black air conditioner Wall mounted antique turntable setWe tied up on a handmade rug with a burgundy pattern. Stars were falling on us from the bright stones of the chandelier above us. For the first time in the light, I had the opportunity to examine everyone.If you ask me I'll tell: I'm 19; I'm not national yet. I made a living making french fries at McDonald's for a while. I make breakfast with milk and biscuits. I say I drink tea without sugar, but I don't drink much. My grandfather said I didn't have as much intelligence as open yogurt. Maybe he's right; my grandfather was a yoghurt man.

Every fall he falls in love again, chasing after racy women; I'll finally sleep in the bosom of honest women. When the rain comes down on the city, the wet bridge bottoms, I think of hazy parks. Although I'm very sorry, I don't like to give money to a beggar.

My boyfriend and I had been separated for a week. I worked for the White Pages cleaning company on minimum wage. That's where we met the trust. We were sent to wipe the window of a skyscraper.

The trust called me home on a cloudy April day. I set off at sunrise in the morning. The bus was full of breath. I put my head against the glass, wandering among the colorful flowers of the Rising Sun, I watched him cover the horizon with curtains between wine liquid and gold dust. My uncle next to me drove the worst Cologne on the market. Suddenly it started raining. Why does the rain suddenly start in my stories?..

My companion wiped the misted glass with his hand and created a space the size of a turtle. We were just watching it together. The rain descended into the city like a wall of water. Rainwater that fills the hole in the concrete, he ran Mother Nature, who made coffee with milk, like a “barista.” The same waters, in the soil, were a visual feast of chocolate pudding. Water gushed from both sides of the bus, which went like a knife. So to speak, his city was flooding; and so to speak, … I got off in Hatay and walked home. The rain stopped, and a silvery rainbow appeared. The last silver drops were creating Mercury-colored balls where it fell. The water dripping from the eaves to the tin roofs kept the rhythm. It was the oldest building in the area, with cracks in the wall in places.Trust Fish-stamp blue eyes, Auburn blunt hair, he was a boy with angular facial features, bright skin, a bird of prey look. The trust had interesting moves: He would turn his eyelids upside down, showing off his bloody skin. We went out on the balcony and watched the boys play ball. The ball was drawing muddy pictures on T-shirts, with the natural palette the street offered. At that moment, I loved those children more than he did.A sweet sun opened, caressing the hair of my arms. As the Rays descend in a yellow wave, a lemon butterfly flying upside down hit a clothesline and took off again. It was like I started life today. A happy baby giggled inside me. I hung from the balcony and looked down. On the lower balcony was an aunt who sang songs to the lovebirds. A grey cat was rubbing its nose against melted house slippers. As if at that moment, there was a softness of cat hair all over the city.

The floor was full of bait, and birds were placed on our balcony. His mother used to feed birds. The balcony was a dump. I got an idea! I collected all the bait and poured it all the way to the Hall. He came in eating about ten pigeons. We jumped them ... but one of them was caught. He fluttered his tail like a dying fish. We cut off his head and plucked his feathers and cooked and ate them.

Two hours later, his mother came home. She was one of the old Istanbul women. Her hair was Golden like a wet kadayif sucking sorbet. He wore glasses with a pink frame that were appropriate for this Color. He had an aquarium on his lap. A coral-colored goldfish was swimming in it. His mother looked at us with her blurred face after the cambered glass. His face was bigger than it was; or so it seemed to me. He didn't like slang, blasphemy, he was an obsessive type. When he saw me, he showed sweet kindness, which is trust.; - A few people from the apartment when we caught the pigeon. he was rude and swearing, but don't worry, we fucked them, too. quoth. 🙂

I showed the trust the fish; it raised one eyebrow and said, " Never Mind.” he made a sign like a der. Her mother told me when she went to her room: - Since the fish died last month. I think he thinks he'll die if he doesn't.

I was ashamed to see loyalty to the covenant that I had not seen in anyone in this woman… "Didn't you see the prayer necklace around his neck?, ” my mother is extremely distressed at the moment, " he said. 🙂 Substitute dementia drug Dozyl Easy she said she often took birth control pills. She lamented that she still couldn't forget her husband, who died of cancer. He made an arrow and showed me the photo on the wall. It was a picture of a man with a mustache in a striped short-sleeved shirt. He was a member of the Butchers ' Association. A meaningless expression sat on the trust's face.

I noticed that until that moment, he never mentioned his father.; I didn't know what to say. Did he expect me to laugh or be upset? It annoyed me that he determined my actions. I'm not sure I left the house and locked the door, I was in that moment of ambivalence between leaving and coming back. Fortunately, he dropped his eyes on the ground and moved on to another topic. I sucked my lips so I wouldn't laugh.

It was like our classic mothers.… Clicking on the icons in”quick launch " many times before opening… Bank passwords are 1234… He doesn't know the email passwords and gets a new one every month… Who never throws away yogurt containers… "Eat stale bread today, eat fresh tomorrow” what he said, entered the endless cycle of bread at home… Even for fresh bread to come in line, or guests to come or a few weeks had to pass…

They can't focus on anything but what they think! It doesn't matter what you ask, it matters what you think. That's why the answer you get with your question is completely irrelevant.

He said his mother locked the bathroom even when he was at home. - What, I said, Everybody does that. - He said I wouldn't. - But you love her, right? I said. - It doesn't matter to me! quoth. - How can it not matter, I thought it meant so much to you? I said. - He's important to me, not his thoughts! To see your dreams more clearly, do you know he's been sleeping with his glasses on for three days? quoth.

Suddenly his mother called out from the kitchen: - Guys, come on, I made tea!

I was so surprised when I walked into the kitchen. His mother filled the glasses with hot water and looked at us with candy in her hand. When I saw the empty water in the bottom and top teapot, I knew you didn't put the tea in. But he kept asking how many sugars we were going to throw in the water, as if nothing had happened. Confidence began to scream: - Mom, are you hard to tell, or is the signal late?

Apparently, until this age, he lived like a plant in a pot… If I'd stayed in that house a little longer, I'd have lost my mind!

2 Months Later… The fact that we rarely saw each other prevented our friendship from deteriorating. On a hot June night, my phone rang at three in the morning.

Güven: Brother, we're coming for you! “Yihuuuuu” sounds and shouts from behind… Girls with cracked, detonated voices mixed with road noise…

I'm wearing my best clothes; I think maybe I am. An hour later a grey Audi braked bitterly in front of me. There was confidence at the wheel. Because of two girls dancing in the back, Foundation, sweat, underarm, crushed lipstick scents wrapped the car like black tulle. Inside the car was so dark, their faces were mice, his eyes looked like a pinhead. A Midsummer Night's car that gives me goosebumps, he was moving forward, knocking down the trees he had dismantled on the windshield. The dark blue cool of the morning gave me the creeps, licking my face. He was driving full of confidence. He just turned and; – I have good news and bad news to you. Which one would you like to hear first? quoth. - The bad one, said one of the girls. - We're almost out of gas! - So, what's the good news? he shouted, another one. - But it's not over. When we arrived in the rich district of Hatay, Nokta, we got out of the car. The building was like a bright star rising stubbornly to the houses next to it. There was another bug-black Audi outside the door. Handan, - It's dad's spare car, they're in the summer, he said.Girls by word of mouth: "He left the key at home!"they shouted. The apartment was on the fifth floor. The balcony door was closed. - Is the balcony locked? I asked. - No, it's open, they always said it.The famous " free dynamite, let the ass explode!"I remembered our proverb. It was a marriage to climb that apartment for free. I hugged the ground floor irons running. I crossed the first floors like a spider. As I rose, an invisible, malignant hand hung down my shoulders. The month of June, the depth of the apartment… In that purple night that moves inside me… Rusty balcony irons soaked in moisture in the air…I wanted to go to the inside of the balcony on the last floor. I hung so hard on the iron that I watched tiny dust flow from the wall. I jumped in and looked proud from high to low. They raised their arms and applauded me. I was a rock star greeting fans on the concert platform. And they are poor "groupie"… Why didn't I fly at them? Only the shadow of that thought passed through my head!..I was afraid the balcony was locked. Fortunately, it opened and I barged in. The house smelled of fried apple peel. Completely different feelings in this rich house… Would I feel the same way if I went into a slum? Or would I feel patetic? I greeted them like the flirtatious Prince of the rich house.Trust my ear, when you see me climb Handan - Oh, I am doing sex with this guy, and he said he curtsy. I felt neither good nor bad… A giant television on a metallic coffee table in the Hall Leopard print seats Wallpapers decorated with white roses Buffet full of colorful drinks A giant black air conditioner Wall mounted antique turntable setWe tied up on a handmade rug with a burgundy pattern. Stars were falling on us from the bright stones of the chandelier above us. For the first time in the light, I had the opportunity to examine everyone. Handan He was medium-sized, fat, sparse red hair, with tiny eye sockets. His eyes looked like cigarette ash. He pulled a tight pair of shorts under a lion-patterned T-shirt. He had a Band-Aid on his heel. Her lips were purple and superimposed. His voice was”contralto". There was a” Hasbian " side. It was as if it had been cut from an old village photo and glued to this world. You know the story of the Red Chief's ransom: Guys kidnap a rich banker's kid. But the boy is such a pain in the ass that in the end, bandits, they pay the banker to get the boy back.That's what this girl had. He was the kind to love with gloves if he was a son…

Dilan She was a medium-sized brunette beauty. His shiny temples were dislocated. Her dark hair was falling out like a black stick of pasta. From him I smelled a clean aselbent. When you said his name, his black velvet eyes were wide open and greased. Her pink lips were healthy. The lip pit extending to his nose was as deep as a plain. She was a smart chick with a stupid look. His nose was upturned and bony. It was possible to see the bone from the skin of the nose. She wore a red dress that showed off her waist thin and spilled over her hips. Her well-groomed nails were transparent nail polish.

If you looked at him hard, a maddening smile would settle on his face. Maybe he was laughing to suppress his stress. His vervain-white teeth were as bright as candlelight. His voice was”soprano, " and his harrowing vibrations were sweet. You were afraid to touch the baby through the window because it would break. It was ringing like a crystal in the sun. Immediately after crying so as not to upset you, he looked like a woman laughing and wiping her eyes. It was a sharp and biting beauty. He noticed it when I took a picture of it with my eye and recorded it in hidden places in my memory. But he laughed again… It was locked in my eyes for ten seconds. All night long, I went crazy for him to do the same thing again.

One of the girls was sent by angels, the other was the devil's seventh daughter who ran away from home. I don't want to talk too bad, but, a homeless man who drank three bottles of wine could have slept with him when he was in an alcohol coma. I don't want to break your heart, but if you were left with him on a deserted island you'd jump in front of the Sharks and swim away. I don't want to overtax you, but, anyone who had sex with him would be sexually angry and asexual. If he slept with his math teacher, he'd be out of numbers. If he was a bodyguard, the teacher would be crippled. If he slept with a doctor, he'd quit the profession, if he slept with a cop, he'd shoot himself., if he'd stayed with the guard, he'd have agreed to life in prison. I don't want to exaggerate, but if he slept with a gorilla, he'd cool it off., if it had entered the zoo, it could have caused the shelter to move. If he fled the country to another continent, they would bomb the continent so that he would never be discovered again. If he went to Mars ... … They poured dry grass into a cloth and wrapped it in white paper. Handan burned the cylinder he made a cigar and handed it to me. When I pulled it out, I got red needles stuck in my throat. It was as bitter as a hard stove smoke. Handan Was Next. He drew a huge breath and blew a cloud of blue smoke. He was always shouting. His voice was so loud and he wanted everyone to hear him. Tropical fruits were on the table. He stopped drinking and spat the cherry core on the floor like a bloody tooth. I wasn't really interested in what he said. I was drinking cool drinks in colored glasses. I wasn't even interested in fruit. I Had My Eye On Dilan. His eyes were marijuana. He pulled his tongue out of the edge of his lip and drew half a moon in the air and pulled it back. With his sharp facial features, he was a real Amazon. Handan explained that he started a new book and solved telekinesis. He said he could influence people far away with his power of thought. It didn't even affect those nearby. With red lettering on the black cover, It said” techniques for developing spiritual powers." I felt like laughing when I saw the book come out of cross-border publications. 🙂At one point, he decked out and ran and hung out the window half to his waist! Only his butt in shorts could be seen “I am in love with love, as Zeki Moren said: I love it!.."he shouted.I was thinking about where it came from to Zeki Müren!…"Where is the strong man who will take this noble woman! HAAA, TELL ME! WHERE'S MY WHITE HORSE RICE?"he blared. "He's definitely not here!” I said to myself. 🙂 Returned to us. He was sweating like an appendage. He was the type to be a goalpost when he played ball in the street.He looked deep into my eyes: He had a side that humiliated people. It was as if he was looking from the opposite side of the binoculars to see them as small. I looked like a solid object.And then he started complaining about the hairdresser who cut his hair wrong. Filhakika's hair was cut like crazy girls in the neighborhood. Trust and I made eye contact. “You're getting the evil eye, girl, the evil eye!"he faded. He was comforted by taking refuge in this secluded port. I put a drink in Dilan's empty glass. He raised his head slowly and pinched his eyelashes. The heat wave in his eyes melted a grain of ice in my mouth. From the crease on the back of her dress, pink lacy underwear was visible. He had a provocative sexuality…*Handan suddenly turned on the TV. He changed channels so fast., one jumped to the other before it opened. He wanted everyone to see his satellite TV with hundreds of channels.So we like Güven ... "he has expensive TV"? We didn't have a TV in our house when we were kids. We were so poor that the word “poverty” came into the country after us. As he sleeps, he looks out the window and likens the rain to movie frames. I'd dream and just sleep…*I didn't see a clock on the wall; we didn't have the concept of time. In one canal, guests were like dogs barking into the opposite garden. The end of the argument bothered me that they hugged and came home. And at home, it was chaotic. I was in a good mood; I was singing a song I changed in a hoarse voice: When I say I want to tell a joke; Guven made a phone call with his little finger and scratched his ear hard. Dilan spoke little, listened with extreme interest. He was sensitive, like putting cream on a child's scrawny shoulder. Handan was playing with his phone. It was about shopping, jewelry, luxury cars, sex, and football. No one talked about poverty. Maybe this was the last place he would talk. I wish I'd been born fifty years ago and not seen today! Because that night, my head was like Ashura, and a Dostoevsky book flew out of my brain!*Everyone began to retreat to the rooms…We're alone with the trust; in a whisper; - I said I want Dilan. - He said My son Dilan had his period, or I'd have arranged it anyway. - Then we don't have to do it with Handan, even if we stick it in him, he won't feel it, chubby. He said If you don't sleep with Handan, you'll close our door in this house, you have all my hope. - Son, am I an English Kemal, what hope, what mission? Everything's gone, and I have to stick it in Handan? I said. And why aren't you going to bed?- My son is very close friends with my girlfriend. Then we'll break the plan. Brother, lay the pipe, please!I found the bedroom. My hand turned slowly on the knob of the door. As the Gladiators entering the arena said to the Great Emperor: “The man who will soon die greets you!” Every unwanted sex meant a little dying… He lay in his bed like a consul's dog. In the room, the Red Night Light was burning to death. The closed curtains were bindall red. The golden satin cover of the round bed was on the floor. ” You know how unworn underwear smells, and you smell like it, " he said. It turned and stuck to my lips. His mouth smelled of rotten straw. It got harder and harder; there were teeth marks all over me. He was eating me alive. His tongue went in and out of my mouth like a little snake. Enthusiasm is ecstatic and makes a person insensitive to the outside world. I patted his ass, like he was growing all the time.Her breasts and vagina were slowly bubbling like Well-fermented dough. I sucked your chest and wanted to split it. He was one of the infinite; he could not be cut off. Then it could be razor-sharp!For him, life was to go to bed, change men, and suffer. His excitement rose from his toes to his alarmed lips. Everything he touched seemed to warm up; he was obviously impressed with me.He took my dick in his mouth, and after a while he came out on top of me. It was narrower than I thought; I was rubbing it with sandpaper. It was an irritation of inverted hair. I just started sliding in. Fortunately, he came right away. Then I came too. I've always counted your reflex: 1-2-3… 19-20-21… The curtains of the room from the wind are like a cinema decor, he disappeared into the Red night and came back.Then I got up and washed. He was looking at me when I came in.I sat on the bed and I said,” Are we going to do it again?" “How is that a word, shame?" said. Right, it was a shame if he was asked, but it was good if he fucked up… I went quietly to the balcony; My Shadow did the same: Suffocating air approaching dawn Neighbor's noisy running air conditioner Television that no one watches Moneyed partisans with dung brains arguing on screen Baby crying from next door Primate who listened to arabesques in the park and broke bottles Spiritual fatigue collapsing on my shoulders Longing for my old blanketI put my back against the wall and fell to the floor. On the balcony, air conditioning water dripped where I was sitting. Listening to these life-shortening noises, I began to wait for the morning. I left the house this morning while everyone was asleep. I got on an empty bus and went to the back. My soul was crippled, I was humiliated. But I had a strange pleasure in pain.He was always going to live in that luxury house. The time will come, he will move into a skyscraper. And I was just a fingerprint on the window of that Skyscraper. I was a minimum-wage Nefer for a cleaning company.He had never suffered from misery; he did not know what absence was. He read books, but it was just licking pages with his eyes. Some think it's a fight book without reading Fight Club; others read the back of gum paper and discover the secrets of the universe.I was a baby rabbit that escaped from a snake. But the poison needed time to take over my body. Faced with this fact, the bodies of orphaned children cut me off. I could feel it, even my fingertips were aching with pain. And this action was against my team.*Flower dust from the garden The smell of food covering the apartment Ashy garbage barrel A gray cloud of flies resembling dust Dedicated to making you happy, more precious than first love That dirty stray animal that loves you more than your mother, waiting for you every day Feveran eden puberty cravings Here I was back in my friendly neighborhood, where I belonged. Actually, I didn't miss them, I missed myself in those years!.. A week later… Looking for trust: - Why haven't you called for how many days? - I'm the one who doesn't call when the phone doesn't ring. - One more word and I'll kill you!!! Don't even sneeze! - Why? - I know you slept with her! 3 if you entered the Oro*pu kids competition. I said You will. He walked away from the handset to avoid laughing. - Why 1. not? quoth. - Because Charlie Chaplin Is In Monte Carlo., He entered the Charlie Chaplin-like contest and finished 3rd. It has happened. I said. And I added: Trust ... I wish I hadn't returned your calls. I said, Maybe you'd come to see me, and I unplugged the phone.Human beings have beautiful periods of suckiness. All of us we tried. First barbecue with the Dragon, and then say, “my hair is on fire”! I chased a rich girl for one night!.. And it was my fault!So, which one tells me better: “If you can't figure out who the sucker is at the gambling table for the first half hour, that means you're the sucker!"the Rounders movie?He drove the royalties from his unwritten novel to the gambling table; and to himself, “When are you going to write a novel?"said the casino owner, “Here I am writing!” Dostoevsky, who can?“A woman presents herself as an idol to the powerless, an object to the strong.” he said and burned all his notes in his hotel room in Turin, Pavese, who committed suicide with 21 sleeping pills?Virginia Woolf, the mermaid who entered the River Ouse with stones in her pockets?Cut off the earlobe and put it in a napkin, Van Gogh who sent it to a fah thing in blood?“I was told I should be afraid of whites, but here all the crimes are committed by my race."the black artist who said" 2Pac? Tell me which one?..We're mad at them, but... aren't my brothers responsible? Doctrine: "when you're young, you think you can connect with anyone. And then you realize it's only gonna happen once in a lifetime.” – Before Sunset

#story #my story #author #funny #long reads #writers

1 note · View note

fyrapartnersearch · 3 years

Text

Sci-fi shenanigans!

Obligatory long post ahead warning: this post is quite long and I know it may be intimidating to some readers but please don’t let it put you off if you’d still like to rp with me :) Hello ladies, gents, and fellow rpers. After having a writing blast and seeing how I’ve got room for some more partners I’ve decided to come back in search of some partners who are interested in what I’m looking for.I’ve got a good ten or so odd years of rping experience under my belt but any potential partners do not necessarily have to have the same experience, they simply need to fit under these three things: -third person only with correct spelling, grammar and punctuation. - at least one small (no less than seven lines) paragraph per post as well as being willing to write more if the situation calls for it. Please do not contact me intending to give me only small paragraphs with each response as the above is simply the bare minimum I’ll accept if there’s not much going on in the rp that warrants a full paragraph. -no one liners, one worders, script talk, poorly written sentences or just laziness in general. This isn’t terribly much to ask for as picky as it sounds. An important thing I shall mention is that NSFW (i don’t fade to black nor do I care when the smut happens. Just please don’t leave me once the smut has happened like lots of people seem to unfortunately do) and dark themes are a thing that occur in all my rp’s so I require you to at least be eighteen before you reach out to me. I will not accept anyone younger than 18 since I myself am in my early twenties. Underaged characters are also a no go as well. Please know that I’m in the eastern Australian time zone but almost any time zone Is compatible for me as I am awake at very odd hours. Another important thing I shall add is that you must be able to post at least once or more a day and if I don’t get any response after two weeks then I shall simply move on (only exception is if you notify me beforehand as to why you may not be able to post for a while. I’m not that vicious). I only rp as male characters, as it’s simply my preference, I do MxM or FxM pairings. I will not double and I do not play multiple characters. I don’t do sub/dom dynamics when it comes to any aspect of the relationship. My characters are also non human (they’re aliens since this is a sci-fi rp after all) but what species your character is doesn’t matter to me at all as long as it’s not some god modded Mary Sue. Please remember that alien simply means a creature not from earth. Aliens can have fur, scales, feathers, etc, depending on where they come from. An alien with fur or scalies is not a furry or a scalie and please do not refer to them as such as it’s rude to label someone’s character as something they’re not. I will not write with someone who will insist that the theory of chimpanzees and humans unable to crossbreed should apply to hybrid characters regardless of whether they’re alien/alien or human/alien. This is fiction, not reality. Please also do not control my characters or dictate their actions. My characters are also premade and only have descriptions, I don’t do face claims or pics. I also do not care if you make a character up on the spot. Please remember that this is a sci-fi rp and that I will not accept requests to do fandoms or any genre that doesn’t fit within the category of sci-fi. i will not accept a character that has no place in a sci-fi rp either like a dragon,harpy,demon, elf or some other fantasy creature. Space criminals and the law: *humans and aliens have been living amongst each other side by side ever since humanity dared to venture beyond the Milky Way and made first contact with aliens. With the solar system no longer being man’s only playground other planets were quickly colonised under the new alliance between extraterrestrials and Homo sapiens. Whether you were an alien, human or a hybrid did not matter in the known galaxies. All that mattered was who you were. Not everyone took to the integration very well (there were numerous protests on both sides) but most people were willing to share in the hopes of peace. Not everyone had good intentions though……* Trouble in the alien kingdom: *the planet of (insert generic planet name here) was one of prosperity, hardship and wealth. The kingdom of (insert generic kingdom name here) was ruled by a king and a queen whose heir was betrothed to a rival planet in the hopes that a political marriage would prevent another war from happening. Only problem was that no one could see the rival planets true plans….all but one. Unfortunately no ones going to listen to a deranged commoner who probably may not even be telling the truth. What’s one to do when no one will listen?* Exile: *The wind howled as thunder crashed and shrieked all around the abandoned cargo ship. Rain pelted the metal hull, turning the ground into a cold, treacherously slippery and muddy shallow river. The ship itself had crashed into the planet countless centuries ago and was slowly being reclaimed by the environment. Plants grew from cracks in the floor as moss and vines decorated the walls. A figure sat miserably hunched in what was once the cockpit of the ship, their only shelter from the raging elements outside but not from the storm that raged inside of them. The figure leapt to their feet as the sounds of footsteps in the mud drew closer and they held their breath. Who would dare to venture out here on such a miserable night?* War of the worlds: *humans and aliens were never meant to coexist peacefully with one another. There was too much fear, Too much misinformation and too much bias on both sides for such a thing to have ever been successful. It was the humans fault that the war had started. They were the ones who’d shot down the alien ship that had been packed with specially chosen diplomats that represented each alien race known to the galaxies they dwelled in that had been on their way to earth to negotiate a truce and a plan for peace. They hadn’t even hesitated to shoot the ship full of aliens yet they’d been surprised when war had been declared on the spot. Two races. Two worlds so different yet the same fighting one another for what was either a mistake or intentional murder.* Rehab: *The UGWP alliance (unite the galaxies for the protection of all worlds and for peace alliance) portrayed themselves as calm, charismatic and kind men and women who held only the thoughts of a life together with all species living happily together. They advertised campaigns for inter species jobs, provided information to the public about human/alien interactions and encouraged diversity amongst planets. Their rehabilitation program for troublesome fellows was considered to be a god send to try and cut down on the amount of space related crimes. No one ever questioned what went on beyond the closed doors to the facility, if they did, the UGWP would have their darkest secrets revealed. Something they strove to keep under wraps. When the arrival of a particularly wild prisoner occurs, the threat of their first failure and first escaped prisoner is lurking around the corner.* (Important point of notice: in this rp idea I’d be playing said prisoner, I don’t mind if you choose to be one as well.) Academy days: *the galaxy alliance and military defence force academy was one of the most respected training academies in the known galaxies. Men, women, aliens, humans and all of those who were in between went there to study, train and, one day if they passed the mentally, emotionally and physically gruelling years of tests, fly and be put in their own squadron. There were approximately six spots to fill on any team and the cadet who suited that spot the most would be given the title of pilot, squad leader, second in command, engineer, gunner and navigator. Each team was similar but unique in what they did. Not everyone gets along though and rivalries grow high during that delicate time between graduating and being put on a team. What happens when the top student and the lonesome outcast with a temper clashes?* Captured: *Space criminals have been around ever since advanced technology allowed others to travel and live in space as if they were living anywhere else. They’re often cunning, tricky to catch and more often than not are clever at disguising themselves whenever those wanted posters come up. It takes skill to be on the wrong side of space law and true talent to get away with it. The galaxy's current most wanted man has finally been captured by an alliance captain and his crew. Will he beg for mercy? Will he be given a trial before being thrown into a cell to rot or will he be given a chance to turn himself around with some hard labour?* (Important point of notice: I’ll be playing the criminal for this one. You will be the alliance captain) Enslaved: *imagine living the life of one of the most successful people on the run that could exist. Galaxies trembled at your name. You and your crew swam in wealth and the going was good. Mutiny, sadly and sometimes not sadly, exists on its own accord. One man reflected on this as he was forced to his feet. A collar attached to a chain and electromagnetic handcuffs prevented his escape as he stood for all those who cared to glance as they walked by in the market to see. No one wants to have their only life’s purpose to be to serve another......only sometimes people don’t get that choice.* (Important point of notice: I’ll be playing the slave/servant. You’ll be the master/mistress.) Betrothed: *for as long as there has been civilisation and leaders, there has been arranged marriages. Arranged marriages, or betrothals as they were more often called, consisted of pairing two people together and making them get married in order to secure ties to another land or another planet. Political marriages benefited everyone but the married pair it always seemed. After all, you couldn’t possibly be happy being married to a complete and utter stranger? How does one who is betrothed build a life of love and prosperity when the one who bears the rings of their union is not the one who also bears their heart?* (Important point of notice: this can go two ways, either our characters are betrothed to each other or one character is betrothed. The idea has endless possibilities) Invasion: *march 18th in the year of 6079 was the day that the aliens invaded earth. They’d been planning the take over for some time as they came prepared and easily took out Earth’s defence forces. No one knows exactly why the extraterrestrial beings from the outer worlds came to the humble blue and green planet the humans had existed on for millions of years nor did they seem to have any true intentions known other than conquering the planet and taking it for their own. This has led to the belief that all aliens must be the cruel monsters the humans stories have made them out to be. What happens when the actions of one alien puts that to the test?* (Important point of notice: I’m open to having this idea turned around and having the humans invade an alien world to take over.) The chosen: *The galaxy alliance had chosen its newest crew to serve and protect the known galaxies. Five young cadets who’d graduated at the top of their classes and would hopefully mark the start of a new generation of spacers and heroes. The leader of the new crew has yet to be decided and tensions are high because of this. Can differences be put aside and acceptance shown? Or will nothing but chaos ensue?* The Walking wounded: *when one worked as a galaxy defence force member, they were on the frontline of everything. Every battle. Every loss. Every victory. Every struggle that the force went through they had to be there and follow the rules. You could not kill an unarmed person regardless of whether they were hostile or not. You could not turn down a plea for help even when there was reasons to suspect something was amiss. In simple terms: you simply couldn’t do anything that would make your morals be questioned. What happens when even the captain says to leave all those rules and everything you were taught by the door when faced with someone who seems to be the exception to the rule. What’s the right thing to do not by them but the entire galaxy?* Sooooo..... about those pairings. What is in Bold is what I’m going to play if we choose the scenario: 1: enemies to lovers or rivals. 2: **captured criminal** x prison guard or other prisoner. 3: two soldiers from seperate sides falling in love. 4: **academies bad boy/outcast** x top student 5: **low ranking ship crew member/second in command/captured space criminal** x captain. 6: **commoner/rogue/street rat** x prince 7: **slave/servant** x master 8: army superior x **lower ranking soldier**. 9: married person X unmarried person PLEASE DO NOT APPROACH ME IF: 1: YOU GHOST AT THE DROP OF A HAT. 2: YOU ARE NOT WILLING TO PUT EFFORT IN TO MEET MY REQUIREMENTS. I’m open to discussing and potentially mixing these ideas up till we get something that we both like. If you want to learn more about a certain idea tell me the name and I shall expand on it. The only platforms I rp on are discord,telegram,email and google hangouts. I will not rp on any platform other than the ones listed. In the opening message tell me what idea you liked, why you liked it, what platform you rp on and give me a little introduction about you and you must put 123 somewhere in your message so that I know you’ve read all of my post, don’t just put “hi wanna rp”. Make it interesting. My discord: tiberionsunsconqourer#6187 My hangouts and email: [email protected] My telegram: Tiberionwars I look forwards to meeting potential partners.

#oc rp #multiple paragraph #para #long term #literate #action #original #post apocalyptic #romance #scifi #submission

1 note · View note

gerudosage-a · 3 years

Photo

❛ CLOSE-UP HEADCANONS. ❜

@bransles asked for two, hair & six, eyes.

nabooru’s hair is, as with all gerudos, a distinctive, eye-catching flaming red. texture often differs between gerudo women, influenced by their unseen fathers, but it’s commonly accepted that their hair is always long & impossibly straight, with rumours abounding in all corners of hyrule of how it is ornately decorated & threaded with jewels. it is, for the most part, exaggeration, though nabooru will not deny that she loves the opportunity to dress up & adorn herself with fine things, as the situations which call for it are few & far between. her own hair has always been the customary vibrant red, but rather than ramrod straight, there is a gentle wave to her hair, seen most often when she frees it from its clasp at night, or the rare occasions ( such as weddings, funerals, & religious ceremonies ) where she deliberately wears it down. as a child, she preferred it just long enough that it could be safely tied back, & for much of her younger years, it reached only to her shoulders, & was often braided, to ensure it did not trouble her. as she grew, she embraced the traditional look of the gerudo & let it grow further out, to the length she maintained it at as an adult - when left to hang loose, it reaches to the tops of her thighs.

for practical reasons, nabooru has worn her hair high since she was an adolescent, embracing a high ponytail, held fast with what passed for an elastic - a small length of rope or strip of leather, tied tight enough to keep it in place. on an unauthorized raid at age fifteen ( for which she was severely punished, & now regrets for her recklessness ) she & two friends managed to get their hands on some jewellery & other accessories, & nabooru quickly laid claim to a golden clasp ornamented with the biggest jewel she had ever seen in her life. she wore it daily over the tie in her hair until her thirtieth year, in which the clasp finally broke, before deciding instead to replace it with something less ostentatious for her day to day life. that didn’t mean the golden ring she chose to replace it was plain, of course, but it was a pleasant surprise to her that her neck no longer ached from carrying the weight of a ( potentially fake ) jewel the size of her fist upon her head every day.

she also, for a small amount of time as a teenager, braided it when going on a raid, or when she anticipated a fight might occur. at the bottom of her braid, over where her second tie laid, she would slip a heavy, spiked ring, also claimed on the above mentioned night, believing that being able to swing her head & let her braid & the weapon at the end of it take people out would be an intensely cool thing to do, & would be something which would gain her infamy. she discovered instead that more often than not, she ended up hurting herself, either by the weight of the ring pulling hair out of her head, her inability to aim correctly often resulting in just smacking herself with it, or the fact that it resulted in a very visible target for those she was trying to fight against. she tried it for two weeks, & now she pretends that it never happened. instead, when in battle now, she splits between her usual ponytail, or pulling it back into a tight bun, depending on how much time she has to prepare herself, & whether or not she will be armoured during the fight.

as mentioned, on special occasions, nabooru prefers to wear her hair down entirely. for ceremonies involving her role as chief of the gerudo, she ornaments her hair with a headpiece in the traditional gerudo style, made of gold, decorated with small precious stones, & held in place both by weaving it into her hair, & liberal use of golden hairpins. it’s a rather simple piece of jewellery, all things considered, golden tines forming a sort of halo behind her head, & on more solemn occasions, she ornaments it with a silk organza veil. when meeting with the other sages, & undertaking duties relating to them, she chooses a plain golden circlet to rest atop her head, & lets her hair hang loose. it’s a tradition she regrets starting, in truth, as it’s so long it’s quite annoying to deal with when left to its own devices, & she’s ripped more than enough out of her scalp by sitting on it without thinking, but rauru is something of a stickler for tradition, & she cannot be annoyed with his complaining should she change something on a whim.

as you can imagine, living in the desert is not especially kind on the body, & the hair is no exception; serums & potions for hair health are almost as coveted in the gerudo fortress as lotions for the skin. nabooru is quite particular about her personal hygiene, & her hair is no exception. she washes it as often as is feasible, though she will begrudgingly go without if the water supplies they have begin to run low, & uses whatever shampoo-adjacent products she can in an attempt to keep it sleek & clean. she also takes great care in trimming it, that there are no dead or split ends, & though it can take a great amount of time, she brushes it thoroughly every morning & every night. sleeping with sand in your hair is not a pleasant experience, & she does everything she possibly can to avoid it.

nabooru’s eyes are one of her most striking features. upturned & deep set, deep goldenrod in colour & heavily lidded, it’s often said that nabooru’s eyes burn bright with the ferocity of the spirit she carries inside her, & she would agree wholeheartedly with that statement. the lashes which surround them are not especially long, but they are surprisingly dark, giving her an unintentional yet permanently intense look, which does work in her favour - it’s hard to stand against her, be it in battle, or simply an argument over who gets the last bread roll, when her jaw is set & her eyes are dark, & flashing like lighting. make-up is, as with most cosmetics & luxuries, a rarity in the gerudo fortress, unless they deliberately set out to steal some, but when cosmetics meant for the eyes come in, nabooru is often one of the first to scavenge from the haul. she likes to paint her lids to emphasize her eye colour, as she believes that it, besides her hair, is her most defining feature.

for most of her life, nabooru’s eyes are of no concern to her - her vision from childhood is spectacular, & she earns praise for it & the accuracy it lends her when it comes to archery, as whilst her strength allows her to nock the bow & pull the string, it is the sight she possesses which lets her hit a target from fifty paces, or one which quickly flees from her, be it on foot or on horseback.

after she is released from twinrova’s brainwashing, nabooru begins to have problems with her sight, & she never pinpoints the source, but it manifests mostly in odd sightings at the edge of her peripheral vision which leaves her in a state of lowkey paranoia, & results in anxiety becoming the background radiation of much of her adult life. she can’t fully put a name to the things she sees - sometimes it looks like insects, sometimes formless shadows crashing into her line of sight, only to disappear with the turn of her head. she believes it to be residual dark magic, meant to torment her, but with no idea how to go about identifying it, let alone how to get rid of it, she tends not to speak of it. only those whom she loves & would trust with her life ever find out what it is which makes her jump with little provocation, what sends her head spinning like a top as she frantically tries to track that which has startled her.

at the tail end of her forties, nabooru’s sight begins to go. it starts with a gradual dimming at the corner of her vision ( though it does nothing to quell the appearance of the shadows ), & she invests in a set of eyeglasses, rimmed with gold, in order to help her see better, which gives her quite a distinguished appearance, in her opinion, but they are only a temporary measure - no healer can mix a potion strong enough to save her, & she resigns herself to the loss of her sight with as much grace as she can. she has seen the rise & fall & rise again of hyrule, the betrayal of her people & their redemption, seen her daughters’ smiling faces in the sunlight, & a world thought by many to be beyond mortal reach. she cannot deny, she has seen more than enough in her lifetime than others could in a thousand. she is seventy years old when her vision leaves her entirely, but she doesn’t let it get her down too much. she has faced every challenge life has thrown at her, & overcome them all, & the family & friends who surround her have been extraordinarily supportive since the day her vision began to fade. learning how to see with her hands won’t be easy, but she has never been one to back down from what is difficult, & she has excelled at most things she has tried her hand at ( or so she says. ) why should this be any different ?

though her sight disappears, her hearing is as sharp as ever, & it helps her in training young warriors in how to be stealthy. her not being able to see them means nothing. if she can hear them, they’re not good enough. it becomes a game for the children in the fortress, to try & sneak past her as quietly as they can, & her snaps & shouts when they inevitably fail results in plenty of laughter from all involved. everything has a silver living, as they say.

#❛ A REVELATION IN THE LIGHT OF DAY. / headcanon.#❛ NO BETTER VERSION OF ME I COULD PRETEND TO BE TONIGHT. / answered ask. ooc.#bransles #( me: can we please just write this headcanon you’ve thought about it all day just get the words down #my brain: ♪ istanbul was constantinople ♪ now it’s istanbul not constantinople ♪#thank you so much for sending me these ones love !!#nabooru's hair is amazing i'm glad i got to ramble about it )#long post /#blindness mention /#sight loss /#sight loss mention /#insects mention /

1 note · View note

bloodyfangedtiger · 4 years

Text

Goodbye Jack, I'm Sorry

So yeah, another mpreg prompt but if you don't like it then shove off.

Rhys bit his lip as he looked at the results, his closest friends sitting right across from him in the privacy of his own home. "I-but how? I was on suppressants! I have an implant! How could this-?!" He bit off on a choked sob and his friend the accountant rushed over to his side to help him hide. "Hey, it's going to be okay Rhys. We'll figure something out."

Their other friend bit his lip and looked over at the PA with a look that screamed I'm sorry. "Judging by the growth, it seems that during the time of the attack on Helios is when it was conceived and that was during your heat correct?"

Rhys nodded.

"During the attack, Zarpedon set off an EMP that wiped out most electronics on the station. Which includes your implant and unlocked your womb. Rhys, you are currently four months pregnant."

The omega wailed and hugged his friend tighter while their doctor friend joined them in a group hug. "You should call him, if there's one thing Jack hates the most it's surprises."

Rhys held the man's hand "Thank you, Tim, for everything." He leaned into the doctor's embrace who looks almost exactly the same as the man he has been sleeping with for the past year and a half.

----

Brr brr brr

Click

"Really not the best time, cupcake! These assholes have got a murder on!" Handsome Jack's voice rang from the echo while Rhys leaned against the doorframe of his bedroom with a hand around his stomach.

"Jack- I mean sir. I have something to tell you." The PA choked as the gravity of the situation hit him hard.

"It can wait till I get back, come get me you sons of bitches!"

The call cut off and Rhys dropped to his knees, he couldn't do this. It just-he and him-no they can't. Jack has a kid of his own, he's running his own company and he's also engaged so...there's no room for the two of them.

He knows what he has to do but it is going to be hell of a lot hard for him to do it.

----

He wipes the sweat off his brow after he finishes the manual he's created for his replacement, he picked a law student grad who knows how a company runs and has some daddy issues but is a Beta. The other choices were old men or women that couldn't tell their asses from their elbows.

He glances around the massive office once last time before he hands the receptionist his key card and pass codes and bids the place farewell. Tim and Vaughn pick him up from the office and bring him to the clinic for one last checkup. "Vitals are stable, hormone levels are adequate and...heh you've got three beautiful pups in ya. Looks like they're identical."

Vaughn snorted "Three mini Jacks running around the house, oh your life is going to be hell!" He chortled which earned him a slap on the back by Rhys robotic hand.

Tim gave him a years supply of prenatal vitamins and some other supplements to help with fetal growth before they all bid each other goodbye.

††††

The doors to Jack's office burst open as the king himself walked in with the air of an egotistic hero. "Ahhhh it feels great to be home!"

All that happiness left in an instant when he heard his little girl sniffling and immediately runs to his daughter's side. "Angel! Angel baby are you okay? What's wrong?"

The fourteen year old looked up at him while she held a letter in her hands "Dad, Rhys left."

Jack bit his lip then threw on a smile "Maybe he's gone down to Pandora to get some ice cream? You know how much ice cream he eats." He tried to soothe his little girl.

The siren growled "He left for good!" She yelled, her arms glowing as her powers activated. "He said that he is sorry and that he hopes you're happy!" She shoved the letter into his chest and ran off to her room. Leaving the king like president dumb founded.

He looked down at the letter she had thrusted into his chest and could smell the distressed scent of his PA wafting off of it like he was standing right by him.

Jack. Mr. Lawrence. Mr. Handsome Jack sir, I apologize for the inconvenience my sudden.

(The whole top part of the letter had been scratched out.)

Jack, I'm sorry that this is sudden but I can't stay here under your employment anymore. I'm sorry but I can no longer be your quick fling nor your personal assistant.

I've made a manual for my replacement and have chosen a grad student Beta to take my place. Just give them the book and they'll know what to do.

Tell Angel that I'm sorry for not saying goodbye but I wish you both the happiness you both deserve.

Congratulations on your future wedding, may you have happy days.

Rhys Gallagher.

He should feel angry, furious, disappointed but none of that comes to mind. He should tear up the letter but he can't move. "Rhysie. Dammit, why? Why are you doing this?" He brought the letter close to his face and inhaled deeply the scent of his Omega. The quirky, lanky programmer of a PA who he hired on a whim and now doesn't regret a single thing. Until now.

He shoves the letter into his drawer and storms out of his office, past his receptionist and straight to security. He kicks the doors in and barks "I WANT EVERY JACKASS IN THIS ROOM TO TRACK DOWN WHERE MY P.A WENT!" he howled.

Yvette freezes in her chair and subtlety calls Rhys so that he can hear what is going on up on Helios.

"I want him found and I want him home yesterday!"

Rhys, on Pandora, bit his lip as he listened to the call. He didn't think Jack would care, he didn't think he meant much to the fucking King of Helios. He thought that he was just some code monkey fuck buddy to him. He shook his head and ended the call before looking over at his arm and then at the replacement Atlas had designed for him. "I'm sorry, Jack."

From then on, his days as an Atlas employee began and he disappeared from Jack's radar.

→→→→

Fifteen years later*

A fifteen year old boy with auburn brown hair and green eyes grinned as he faced a bunch of psycho bandits. "C'mon, sweethearts, you really think you can take me on? Only in your sick dreams." His sharp chin and square jaw makes him look like the oppressive ruler of Hyperion but if you asked this kid he would say "That guy? No way are we related. 'Sides, I'm cooler than him by far."

He's wearing a navy blue sleeveless tunic and a pair of baggy trousers with some black swamper like boots that make him look like a pirate rather than a desert dweller of the dirt planet called Pandora.

A girl with brown eyes of similar age and dark brown hair rolled her eyes while she sat on top of a shanty house and watched the boy. "Mom is going to kill you."

The boy only grinned and began to slaughter all the psychos with the gauntlets around his hands which fire small rocket like bullets upon impact that decimate its target. Creating a bloody mess and no hopes of identification.

The girl rolled her eyes and adjusted the blades on the back of her arms as well as front. She recalibrated her weapons and flexed her arms till she was satisfied with the results and puts her tools away into the belt around her waist.

"Jackson, quit screwing around. We have to get ready for mom's party." She announced, her long hair pulled back into a ponytail with one long bang covering her left eye. She is wearing what looks like a tube top with two belt straps that connect her shirt to her shorts. Two more straps wind around her legs and snake down to her slip on shoes that have small decorative wings on the heels. On her back is a strange backpack that actually holds mechanical wings she can control with her back muscles and by moving her core.

"Harley, do you really have to be a buzz kill?" The boy known as Jackson with slicked back hair griped before wiping his face and body off with a towel to remove the blood. "This party is just going to be a drag, a bunch of fat ass aristocrats who either A.) Want to get into mom's pants or B.) In his pockets. Why the fuck should we go?" He rolled his eyes.

Harley took a deep breath before slowly exhaling "For support, it would mean a lot to him if we were there. We don't have to talk to anyone, just stay still and look pretty."

Her brother narrowed his eyes in what can only be described as disgust. "If I get groped again, there will be blood." He promised green orbs that promise murder.

Harley only smirked "Don't worry, we'll have your back. Les and I will make sure those gross aristocrats don't pinch your ass again."

»»»»

Rhys stood in the ballroom wearing his usual black jacket and trousers with his platinum plated cybernetic arm outstretched to greet the on coming guests. Even though fifteen years have passed, Rhys doesn't look like he's aged a day probably because of his healthy diet of fruits and veggies.

Even if he did have gray hair and wrinkles, Jack would still see him as the most beautiful creature in the world. "Rhys." The name slips past his lips as he watches his Omega, his former PA and the man he is going to beat the shit out of soon.

"You look awesome mom!" A teenage girl with one green eye and one brown eye squealed as she hugged Rhys, wearing a gold colored sundress that gleams brightly like the sun itself. Her brunette and auburn colored hair tied back into a luxurious bun that sits atop her head like a crown.

Rhys petted her head and gave her a tight squeeze "Thank you, Les. You look adorable in that dress." He smiled before letting her go and then darting his eyes around the room looking for someone. He persed his lips and sighed. "Where are Jackson and Harley?"

Les or Lesley if you would, rocked back on her heels while scratching the back of her neck. "Jack is still getting ready and Harley is at the punch bowl."

The Omega pinched the bridge of his nose "What's the problem this time?"

Lord knows it takes forever to get his son ready, Jackson prefers a certain style for his attire and won't wear anything except that. This style is pirate theme or at least water themed and it can't be flashy or else he'll walk around shirtless.

"He says that he doesn't want to dress up and rather wear his own clothes." Les replied carefully.

Jack watched them interact from close by and there is no mistaking it, that is his daughter. 'Is that why he left? Because he was pregnant?' Jack thought anxiously, feeling his pride take a beating because his Omega couldn't tell him and had to hide the news.

He felt the ring box weigh heavily in his pocket, he picked it out specifically for him. It must have been what Rhys meant by "future wedding". He must have seen the receipt for it or maybe it was the chapel he booked that gave him the wrong idea.

His eyes narrowed and all he saw was red, there his beloved stands not two feet away and damn him will he let him go again. He hurriedly made his way through the crowds of people and grabbed Rhys by his flesh arm before pulling him flush to his chest. He buried his nose into those brown locks and inhaled his sweet scent. "Dammit, Rhys. You really like to make me work for you huh? I've been looking for you everyday for the past fifteen years." He felt a sob bubble in his throat from all the longing he felt for his former PA.

Rhys stood stock still as the Alpha he once loved held him so close with such a tight embrace he was afraid he might break. "Break it up before I barf." Jackson oh so eloquently requested.

Wearing a brown tunic and trousers plus his swampers, Harley stood next to him wearing a black dress with a sweetheart neck line and a slit up one side.

Rhys's jaw dropped "Harley Angela Gallagher what are you wearing?!"

The girl shrugged "Something to catch me a date, there's this hottie I've been wanting to wrap around my finger. She's got a sister too."

Rhys face palmed while Jackson rolled his eyes "Jack, these are your kids." He said with a groan and gestured to the triplets.

"Harley, the eldest, Jackson, the second eldest and Leslie the youngest."

Jack let go of Rhys but kept an arm around his waist, putting on his best smile. "I'm Handsome Jack Lawrence. Your dad and president of Hyperion."

Jackson didn't look amused and said nothing while Harley said hello and Leslie full on tackled him. "Daddy!" She cried out with joy which earned her a hug and being picked by the Hyperion pres himself. She nuzzled her head into his neck, breathing in his scent.

Jack held her tight and looked over at his kids, his beautiful wonderful children that he missed out watching them grow up. He let Les go and heaved Rhys over his shoulder "Sorry, kiddos. Mommy and Daddy need to have a little quality time and a long talk."

Jack took them to his hotel room with a protesting Omega wriggling around on his shoulder and smacking his back. "Jack! I have to give a speech soon!"

He was unceremoniously thrown onto the wide queen sized bed. "Oh you're going to give a speech alright." Jack chuckled in that 'I'm going to kill you and enjoy it' tone before caging Rhys in on the bed with his hands on either side of the Omega's hips. "Mind telling me what happened fifteen years ago?"

His former PA looked away "You hung up on me when I needed you. I was so scared that I didn't know what else to do. Then I remembered that letter I found, saying the date had been set for your wedding and a dress had been picked out for your bride."

Jack chuckled and gently took Rhys chin "Baby, if you talked to me we would have figured things out."

Rhys glared and took his head away "I can't be a good fuck for you while you're married, Jack. Pregnant with triplets and having to tiptoe around your wife and not being able to tell who the father is. I couldn't do it."

Jack leaned in and breathed in Rhys scent before whispering in his ear "That dress." He pressed a kiss to the Omega's bonding site, sending shivers down the other's spine. "That date." He moved till he was able to engulf the site fully into his mouth "It was all for you. I was going to propose after I got back." He began to suck on the sensitive skin, causing Rhys to grab the sheets and spread his legs to accommodate the Alpha between his legs. He bit his lip to stifle a moan when Jack pinched the skin between his teeth and pulled slightly.

"I wanted to make you mine, I picked out the most perfect dress, a perfect planet and top notch security to have our wedding." Jack murmured against his skin "But that is going to have to wait, because I need to punish my Omega." He purred into Rhys ear.

★★★

Rhys panted and whined as Jack held him in his lap and shallowly thrusted his fingers in his ass. Only rubbing just the edges of his prostate and not getting anywhere close to his womb. "Jack, please." He gripped onto the Alpha's lapels and tried to fuck himself on those rough padded digits only to have them ripped away. "Uhuh uh, kitten. This is a punishment after all. I'm going to keep this pace up till you're begging me for my cock." The Hyperion CEO smirked before he rubbed Rhys's entrance with the tip of his calloused finger.

The Omega male whined and whimpered as slick oozed from his teased hole. "Jaaaack!"

The Alpha growled and rubbed his erection against the Omega's oozing hole. "You want this, kitten? You want my cock in your tight hole?" The Hyperion CEO growled into the Atlas man's ear.

#mpreg #jackxrhys #abo dynamics

8 notes · View notes

actuallylorelaigilmore · 4 years

Text

All The Days Ahead, Chapter 8: All Of The Words We Said, We Can't Take Back

Mal x Simon, Firefly. Jayne POV. Also on AO3. Ch 1-7 on my blog.

Jayne makes a listening noise and keeps walking, half of his attention on the people around them. Why any reasonable fella would want to get married in the first place is beyond him. He definitely never expected it of Mal.

A month after Mal is officially cleared from bedrest, Serenity is docked on Persephone while the crew scatters to gather supplies. Mal and Jayne are in the garment district, with its open air market tables and loud overlapping conversations.

It’s not wholly clear to Jayne why the captain ordered him to come along on this errand--he ain’t much for fashion, nor wedding decorations. Mal would be better off with one of the women. His best guess is that Simon’s the one behind it, a way to offer Mal protection when he’s still weak. But he can’t ask, can he? The doc still isn't his biggest fan. So guessin’ is all he has.

“We’re looking for beads first,” Mal tells him. “The prayer kind, though we won’t be doing any prayin’ at my wedding, I’ve already had words with the preacher about that.”

In hindsight--heh, hindsight, that right there’s a pun, Jayne realizes--he probably shoulda known the captain was sly long before Simon came onboard. Mal always did enjoy dressin’ up like womenfolk on the job a little too much.

“How long is this gonna take, anyway?” Jayne asks. “Never feels safe spending too much time on Badger’s planet. Askin’ to get pinched.”

“It’s not Badger’s planet!” Mal retorts. “He only lives here. But I take your point, seeing as he got me shot and all. Once we handle my list, we’ll head back to the ship.”

“Shouldn’t take more’n a few hours,” Mal adds. “Rest of the crew ought to be back by then too--no reason to linger.”

“Good. So, prayer beads. Any particular color?”

“Simon didn’t say.” Mal frowns. “I guess, whatever’s classic under these circumstances.”

“Red and gold then. Or the kind made from wood.”

Mal stops walking to stare at Jayne.

“What?”

“Nothin.’ You just confound expectations at times.”

He’s feelin’ twitchy, an itch between his shoulderblades that usually means they’re being watched. In this crowd, he can’t tell if it’s true. “Just keep yourself focused while we’re strolling, would you? Don’t need nobody gettin’ shot again.”

“Hey,” Mal protests. “Mykan wasn’t my fault--I wasn’t distracted. I was a highly focused professional, scoping out the area just like you and Zoe.”

“Yeah, well, all I know is, Zoe and I didn’t end up shot. Maybe you and the doc should stay off jobs until after your honeymoon,” Jayne suggests. “Too busy grappling with him lately. Never used to get shot.”

“I’ve been shot lots of times!” Mal reconsiders that line of defense. “Not the point. I don’t need to take myself off the job, Jayne. I’m all healed, my mind’s as sharp as ever. Don’t know where you got the idea that I’d be addled anyhow, just ‘cause Simon and I are together.”

“Come on, Mal. Ev’rybody knows goin’ sly can make you soft. Got to watch--”

Jayne isn’t finished with his warning before Mal’s got his hands around his neck. Despite their history, it still surprises Jayne whenever the captain goes for whip-quick violence...probably because he’s more of a pistol duel kind of man. Honorable even when he shouldn’t be.

“Hey! What’d I say?” Jayne chokes out, starting to turn red. Mal’s not actually trying to kill him--the hold he’s got on Jayne is more of a threat than a real attack--but that won’t stop him from passing out if it goes on much longer.

“Do I look soft to you?” Mal asks, his voice fearsome in its restraint.

Passersby aren’t paying them much mind, though Jayne can see a pair of men across the market eyeing them. They look like scalpers, not likely to intervene even if Mal does strangle him.

“No,” Jayne says, trying to shake his head. “Wasn’t what I meant, Mal. You’re takin’ it all wrong.”

“What about Simon?” Mal asks, his anger more evident now. “You’ve been at the end of one of his blades, you moonbrained hwen dan. Think he’s soft too?”

“No. Dammit, Mal, lemme go.”

Jayne shakes off the choking feeling, rubbing his throat as Mal steps back. “Dunno why you’re taking things so personal these days. I was just tryin’ to say you and Simon both oughta be careful. Either of you die, what’ll happen to the rest of us?”

“Well, whatever you think of me, or of Simon, keep it to yourself,” Mal says. “I got no interest in your opinions on my sexual proclivities, ‘specially when they make you sound like a backberth never set foot off the rim.”

“Ain’t like I insulted you,” he protests. “Just fact. You and the doctor are coupled up.”

“That we are. And if you like facts so much, here’s another: you talk like that again about me or Simon, it’ll be your turn for a hilarious gunshot wound.”

Mal rolls his shoulders and stalks off through the crowd, ready to pick up what they came for.

“Really didn’t mean it that way,” Jayne insists as he follows Mal through the crowd. Captain sure was tetchy lately; must be them wedding jitters people talk about.

After a few minutes of silent walking, Jayne puts a hand on Mal’s shoulder. He isn’t surprised when Mal shrugs it off, but it succeeds in getting his attention, which is the goal.

“Behind your left,” Jayne says under his breath, and Mal tenses, starts walking again.

“Table up ahead,” Mal answers, and Jayne understands the shorthand for ‘play at being shoppers and see what happens next.’

He joins Mal at the display of prayer beads, his hand casually resting above his gun. “Well, are these gonna work for you okay, do y’think? I don’t rightly know what a wedding needs, to be honest.”

Mal relaxes as soon as he lays eyes on the men walking toward them. Jayne keeps his hand where it is, though, just in case.

“Renshaw!” Mal reaches out and the two men clap each other on the back, friendly as you please.

The skinny man beside Renshaw looks about as thrilled as Jayne feels at this development, his own hand inside his coat. Jayne nods in his direction and he tips the brim of his hat in return.

“Cain’t remember,” Renshaw says. “You met Stacey before? He’s new to my crew.”

“Don’t reckon I have. Pleasure,” Mal tells the silent man in front of him.

“Same.”

Chatty fella. Jayne clears his throat.

“Right. Renshaw, this is Jayne. He’s on my crew--doubtful you’ve crossed paths before, I know you stick closer to the central planets these days.”

“Jayne.” Renshaw grins, his smile crooked. “You can let go of your gun, I suspect. We’re all friends here.”

“Are we? I ain’t in the market for friends.”

“Jayne’s a girl’s name,” Renshaw’s man says, and Jayne’s hand twitches near his pistol. Maybe it is better if he lets it go for now.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. When my momma brought me out, Stacey was already taken.”

Renshaw decides to ignore them, and turns back to Mal. “What brings you to Persephone on this fine day, Reynolds? Didn’t you get shot on Mykan all recent-like?”

“Weren’t that recent,” he says with a shrug. “I’m up and about now, just doing some trading. Getting tied soon, and there’s all manner of particulars we need for that, as it happens.”

“Well, congratulations!” The leader of the rival crew claps his shoulder again. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Jayne snorts. The man’s wrong twice; Simon ain’t a lady, and he also ain't much lucky, far as Jayne can tell.

“No such lady,” Mal replies, aiming a warning look Jayne’s way. “I’m marrying our crew doctor--he and I have been flying together for years now.”

“You’re kidding.” Renshaw looks between Mal and Jayne for the punchline, laughing when it didn’t come. “The fearsome Malcolm Reynolds, last man standing in Serenity Valley? Spreading on the sly? Well and I thought I’d seen everything the ‘verse had on offer by now.”

“You’re gonna want to find a new joke,” Jayne tells him. “This one ain’t funny.”

“Jayne, leave it,” Mal starts to say, before Renshaw cuts him off.

“Son, you’re gonna want to stop giving me orders before Stacey here puts you in your place.”

“I’m right familiar with my place,” the mercenary says, as Mal looks on. “It’s exactly where I’m standin.’ You both might wanna reconsider your own locations though. You’re about three hundred rotations back in time, ain’t ya?”

“You’re telling me you fly with him, muscle like you?” Renshaw asks. “Knowin’ what he gets up to?”

“‘Course I do. Why wouldn’t I? He pays me.” It has always been that simple for Jayne, even if he sometimes also feels pangs of family and affection and home for the folks on Serenity. “I get paid, I got no problem. I’m here helpin’ him pick out wedding beads, ain’t I?”

“Well, I hope you know,” Renshaw warns, that crooked smile of his a sneer now. “Sly can be catching if you don’t put a stop to it. Next thing you know, it could be you tied to a--”

Mal expects the next word out of Renshaw’s mouth was to be insulting. He doesn’t have to hear it, though, because Jayne’s knuckles knock the words right out of Renshaw’s mouth--along with two teeth.

Stacey reacts immediately, going for Jayne while Mal just sort of stands by, feeling useless under the circumstances. If he takes a punch to the wrong spot, he’ll bleed internally: Simon lectured him on that possibility multiple times before letting him out to shop today.

Jayne doesn’t give him long to mope, though. A gut punch doubles Stacey over, followed by an elbow slicing down to catch him behind his neck. He’s left sprawling across Renshaw, both men unconscious. Jayne cracks his knuckles and lets out a whistle, feeling cheerier after the excuse for a fight.

Not much of a fight, only two men and all, over awfully fast...but still, made Persephone more fun for a minute there.

“Why are you staring?” He asks Mal, once he looks over and sees it.

“After all that kuh wu crazy you were spoutin’ earlier about me and Simon, it’s Renshaw’s words you take offense to? You dropped them both like it was your mama they insulted.”

“You know me, Mal!” Jayne protests. “Words ain’t my speciality. I’m always getting smacked for ‘em.”

“So your reasoning was, you should beat up Renshaw? In my honor?”

“‘Xactly.” Jayne nods. “Not like you could do it, not today. And you shouldn’t have to, anyhow. Get mussed up or bloodied while you trade for your wedding. You gotta look purty for your bridegroom, in’nt that right?”

Mal stares down at the men who are starting to stir, then back at Jayne, who seems as sincere as Jayne ever gets.

“You really do confound expectations,” Mal says. “We should mosey along, I think, before they find their feet again.”

“What about your beads?” Jayne points to the table they were perusing before Renshaw joined them. “Those blue ones are nice.”

They’re painted wood, and the old woman selling them has a sweet smile. Mal decides that if Simon wanted a different color, he should have specified--the blue suits him just fine.

“Yeah, pay for those and let’s go,” he agrees. “We have to find a ribbon next, fancy yellow one. Don’t suppose there’s a yellow ribbon table up ahead, do you?”

“Could be.” Jayne shrugs, handing him the beads and leading the way toward the center of the market. “What do you need a ribbon for, anyhow?”

“Simon’s got all kinds of ideas. I haven’t asked too many questions,” Mal admits, grinning when Jayne glances back. “Between him and Kaylee, I’m just doin’ as I’m told.”

“Does that make you the bride?” Jayne wonders aloud. “I keep meaning to ask.”

“Gonna shoot you,” Mal answers simply, and Jayne waits for him to catch up, so they’re walking side by side again.

“I retract the question.”

“Good.”

“Am I gonna need somethin’ fancy to wear?” Jayne asks. “‘Cause I’ve only got my...non-fancy clothing.”

“If you’re real worried you can ask Simon,” Mal says. “I’m guessing the women will dress up, because they want to. But I for one don’t care what you wear.”

They walk in friendlier silence after that, until Mal stops, aiming a knowing finger at Jayne. “As long as you’re wearing clothes.”

“That happened one time! And I was mighty hungover that day.” It’s not like he harmed nobody. No matter what ‘Nara said about mental pain and suffering.

"Never let nothin' go," Jayne mutters under his breath on their way to a ribbon display, the rainbow of colors including a perfect yellow that Mal folds into his pocket.

“Two more treasure hunts and then we’re back to Serenity,” Mal tells him.

He’s glad to hear it. Jayne suspects the rest of their shopping trip is going to include a lot less punching, so he’d rather get it over with.

As Mal’s friend though, if he is that, it’s his job to be supportive. Right?

So he tacks away from his real feelings and slings an arm over Mal’s shoulders. “Shiny. Just tell me what we’re looking for.”

#mal x simon #firefly #mal x simon fanfic #mal x simon fic #firefly fic #firefly fanfic #all the days ahead #my fic

3 notes · View notes

7-wonders · 5 years

Text

As Above, So Below Ch. 9

Summary: Your average, mundane life as a college student is flipped upside down when the man you thought you knew as your next-door neighbor turns out to be the God of the dead. When Michael lures you down to Hell, everything that you thought you knew about the world is proven wrong.

Word Count: 3183

A/N: This chapter’s extra long to make up for how shitty I’ve been with updating lately. Thanks for sticking around; feedback is always appreciated and my inbox is always open!

“I’m not wearing that.”

“You have to, it’s tradition!”

“Screw tradition, I’m not wearing it!”

You’re in a face-off with Madison, glaring fiercely at the woman while she clutches a corset in her hands. After Desa wasn’t able to convince you to wear it, she had gone to get Madison, which only agitated you more. You’re already nervous about seeing Michael tonight, as well as being in a room with a bunch of legendary gods and goddesses who are so much more worldly than you are. Your nerves are shot, and this is really not helping things right now.

Madison sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Why won’t you wear it?”

“Because it’s a sexist piece of clothing rooted in patriarchal values. They’re used specifically to make a woman ‘aesthetically pleasing,’ which is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” You explain your viewpoint.

“I...really hate that you’re right.” Madison concedes after a moment, causing you to smirk with pride. “Fine, don’t wear it. You’ll look great no matter what.”

Madison is already dressed, wearing a black strapless dress with sleeves that flow down to her elbows and a slit on the side of the fabric that shows off her long legs. Gold leaves accent the dress in just the right way, and the outfit is completed with a dainty diadem on her head. You can only imagine that every other woman who will be attending tonight will look just as ethereal as the woman in front of you.

“I’m not gonna be able to even stand next to you and all the other goddesses.” You chuckle, attempting to make light of your very real fear.

“Why not?”

“Look at you, and then look at me. There’s your answer.” Madison frowns, tossing the corset onto your bed and grabbing your shoulders to drag you towards the mirror.

“Why do you put yourself down so much? You do this whenever I dress you up.”

“I don’t know, it’s hard to not compare myself when I’m surrounded by all these perfect women. Plus, with social media you’ve got Instagram models and Facetune being shown to you everyday. It’s pretty much ingrained in our minds to compare ourselves and see how we can be ‘better.’” You cough, meeting Madison’s eyes through the mirror. “It’s just normal, I guess.”

“Beauty is very much a human concept. Even at the height of Greek civilization, mortals were fighting over what beauty truly was. Do you know what some of the greatest philosophers decided?” You shake your head, and she smiles. “They couldn’t come to a conclusion. Beauty’s subjective, and it’s often true that the most beautiful people carry their beauty within them.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Hush. You don’t know how beautiful you are, both on the outside and the inside. If the Greeks fought a war over Helen of Troy’s beauty, they’d fight ten wars over yours. You have the literal God of the Underworld head over heels for you, and not to mention all of the beings down here who are drawn to your inner beauty. I promise, you belong here. Besides, when you’ve been alive for as long as all of us have, judging people based on the symmetry of their face or how conventionally attractive their features are becomes very blasé and trivial.”

You attempt to desperately blink your tears away, not wanting to ruin the makeup Desa had so carefully helped you to apply earlier. First Michael’s declaration yesterday, and now Madison’s lecture/reminder today, and now you want to collapse into a puddle of tears and hug every person in sight. Madison senses this, and she rolls her eyes before sighing.

“Get over here and hug me.” She loses her balance slightly at the intensity of your hug, but quickly returns it.

“I knew you’d give into my hugs soon enough.” You mutter into her ear, feeling her shoulders shake with laughter.

“Don’t you dare tell anybody how much of a sap you’ve made me become.” She jokingly warns you.

“Your secret’s safe with me, I swear.”

“Alright, we’ve wasted enough time having a heart-to-heart chat, let’s get you dressed.” Madison snaps her fingers, and Desa appears with a dress in her hands.

Minutes later, you’re inspecting yourself in the mirror again, but this time with glee instead of criticism. The two women (your best friends here, if you’re being honest) picked out a dress made out of some flowy fabric--Organza? Chiffon? You wish you would have paid more attention to your grandmother’s attempts to teach you sewing--that falls down your body like water. The neckline is a deep V, almost reaching down to your waist. You’ve never been a fan of the color pink, but the pale pink color compliments you perfectly. Silver flowers wrap around your figure, which you’re sure is a deliberate choice on Madison’s part. Desa’s wrapped the same flowers throughout your hair. You look completely different while also looking the same as always, kind of like-

“A goddess.” Three sets of eyes go towards the door, where Michael now stands and watches you. You note with glee that fashion is, indeed, not lost on Greek gods. He’s wearing a velvet, blood-red jacket over a sharp black dress shirt, black slacks tucked into the red-bottom boots he’s fond of, and a red and black scarf tied around his neck. Red eyeshadow makes his cyan eyes pop even more than you thought was possible.

“Your hair!” You exclaim, choosing to focus on arguably the smallest detail. In your defense, his hair looks nothing like you’ve seen before; in the span of a day, his hair has grown down to his shoulders.

“You don’t like it?” He teases.

“No I do, I like it a lot, it’s just different. A good different, though.” You stutter out, blushing at how dumb you probably look right now.

“And you, my dear, look like a goddess.” Michael, ever the gentleman, kisses the back of your hand after he approaches you.

“See you out there.” Madison smirks, throwing a cheeky wink your way before sauntering out the door.

“Anything else, (Y/N)?” Desa asks.

“No, thank you Desa.” You smile at the handmaiden, who nods before disappearing. Suddenly it’s just you and Michael, which sends butterflies fluttering through your abdomen. Michael grins at you deviously before leaning in to kiss you.

“You should have started with that.” You giggle breathlessly as Michael places his large, ringed hands on your waist.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Less compliments, more kissing.” He makes his point by kissing you again. “I meant what I said, though. You really do look like a goddess.”

“And I meant what I said, too. I really like the hair. You should consider keeping it like this.” You run a hand through his hair, relishing in the silky feeling.

“Hmm, I’ll consider it. For now, we really should be going. It’s not too good for the host and his lovely date to be late.”

“Wait!” You drag Michael to a stop, and he looks at you in confusion. “I forgot shoes.” You say sheepishly, letting go of his hand to grab the pair of (low) heels still sitting at the end of your bed. You shove them on as quickly as possible, holding Michael’s hands for balance so that you don’t fall.

“Are you ready now?” He asks, smiling fondly at you. With your nod, he lets you wrap your hand around his forearm again, leading you to the throne room.

He can sense how nervous you are as you stand in front of the closed doors, waiting for the butlers to open them and formally introduce Michael. Your grip on his arm keeps growing tighter, and you’re nervously shifting your weight back and forth between each foot.

“There’s no reason to be nervous, (Y/N). I’ve got you.” He reassures you.

“Just...don’t let go of me, okay?”

“Never.” You straighten up when you hear the faint voice of a man announcing “the arrival of his Majesty, King Hades, God of the Dead, Lord of the Underworld, accompanied by Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” The doors swing open, and you stifle a gasp.

The throne room is beautifully decorated, looking every bit as rich and extravagant as you imagined a party thrown by Greek gods and goddesses would be. All eyes are on you and Michael as you descend down the grand staircase. You’re smiling, but on the inside you’re desperately repeating to yourself ‘don’t fall, don’t fall.’

“I’ve got you.” He repeats in your ear, hiding a smirk after hearing your terrified thoughts. At the bottom of the staircase, Michael commands all of the attention.

“Dear friends, thank you for joining us here in the Underworld tonight. Please, eat, drink, dance, and be merry.” You assume that this little speech is customary by the bored tone of his voice and the way everyone resumes their conversations the second Michael’s done talking.

“You did good.” You encourage, relaxing now that nobody’s looking at you.

“Funny.” He says dryly, smirking at you.

“I’m serious!” You bump shoulders with him playfully, enjoying the laugh you get from him. His smile quickly morphs into a frown, and you look around while trying to figure out what’s got him down.

“Here comes trouble.” He mutters before forcing a neutral look on his face. A small brunette with doe-eyes approaches, her gold dress trailing behind her. She smiles warmly, but you can see the hesitation in her eyes.

“Michael.” She greets warmly, hugging Michael quickly before pulling away.

“Sister.” He kisses both of her cheeks while you watch in bewilderment. Sister? “(Y/N), this is my sister, Hera.”

“I prefer to go by Violet nowadays.” She smiles at you, hugging you too. “It’s so nice to finally meet you (Y/N). After hearing my brother go on and on about you for months, I was beginning to think he’d never actually make a move.” You giggle as Michael grits his teeth.

“Violet.” He warns, but there’s no malice behind the ‘threat.’

“Ah, I was wondering where my darling wife had ran off too.” Violet stiffens, the atmosphere growing cold when a man with blonde curls (almost like Michael’s, you note) and dark eyes appears and places his hand on Violet’s shoulder. Your eyes widen when you realize that this must be the legendary Zeus.

“Tate.” Michael acknowledges Zeus’ presence with his modern name. Tate smiles coldly, dark eyes fixating on you.

“Is this the object of Michael’s affection?” Michael’s grip tightens protectively on your waist, pulling you closer to his side.

“This is (Y/N).” Tate holds out his arm, and you take his hand and let him kiss the back of it. It doesn’t feel nearly as nice as when Michael does it, and you take your hand back quickly from him.

“(Y/N). I’m Tate, Michael’s brother, brother-in-law, unwilling vessel used in his conception, you know.” You don’t know, but you nod anyways.

“It’s nice to meet you.” It’s a tense stare down between the two men, you and Violet looking at each other in worry.

“You’ll have to excuse us, Tate. As the host, I do have to greet the other guests.” Michael quips.

“Of course. Come, Violet.” Tate grabs Violet harshly, pulling her away as she waves ‘goodbye’ at you. When they’re far enough away, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“That was…”

“Horrible? Vomit-inducing?” Michael fills in.

“Quite the experience.” You finish, not wanting to be as cruel as Michael. “I see why you got so mad at our first supper, when I called him your brother? You handle yourself extremely well around him, though.” You smile at him, watching as the rage leaves his eyes.

“You’re the only person who can manage to calm me down so easily, you know that?” You shrug bashfully.

“One of my special talents, I guess.” Michael cocks his head to the side, listening to the song the band plays.

“Care for a dance?”

“Oh, I don’t know how to dance.” You explain. Michael smirks at you, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry, just follow my lead and you’ll be fine.” Your hand intertwines with his, the other resting on his shoulder while he keeps his on your waist. You stumble a bit, apologizing profusely when you step on his toes, but soon he’s swinging you around the room, grinning as you laugh. You watch the other couples whirl around you, smiling nostalgically.

“What?” Michael questions.

“This just reminds me of a movie I used to watch when I was little. Labyrinth?” You’re not surprised when he shakes his head to let you know he doesn’t understand. “Ah, well, there was a scene where the main characters are at a masquerade ball, and they’re dancing just like this. Just reminded me of home, I guess.”

Michael looks down at you, obviously thinking about something. “I’m not sure of the extent of, or if there even will be, any consequences, but maybe we could go up Above for a visit soon?”

“You’d do that?” You ask joyfully.

“Of course I would, I-” A shriek cuts Michael off as he stops you both. The band’s playing comes to a halt, and the lights flicker as more shrieks fill the room. The doors have been blown wide open, both hanging haphazardly off of the hinges. Guests move towards the back of the throne room, trying desperately to get away from whatever threat has invaded Hell. Michael stands in front of you, so you crane your neck to get a view.

A tall figure stands at the bottom of the stairs, his head brushing against the cavernous ceilings that are at least 10 feet above you. His entire body is coal-black and moves as though it’s made of smoke, raised etchings decorating what must be considered his skin. His eyes are burning embers, and the horns that top his head shine when hit with light. Michael steps forward, shocking you. Your shock only increases when he bows his head.

“Father.” You gasp at his greeting, screams surrounding you. His father? Who is his father? You’ve never really entertained the idea of Michael’s parents. Is this Cronus, the father of the 12 main Olympians that you were taught about during (frequently-wrong) elementary school lessons? Or is this Satan himself? Zoe and Madison appear next to you, each grabbing an arm.

“Take (Y/N) to my chambers, and don’t let her out of your sight until I’m there.” They nod in agreement while you try to fight them off.

“Michael!” You protest.

“Do as I say.” He commands, looking at you with what you realize is fear. You nod, and Madison transmutates the three of you out of the throne room. You yell out in frustration after you’ve safely landed in Michael’s office, Zoe and Madison securing the premises.

“Who the fuck was that?” You question, trying to calm down before you really get angry.

“It’s...difficult to explain, but I’ll try. Basically, the so-called ‘religions’ all got some things right, and some things wrong. Even though Michael is Hades, he’s also Satan’s son. I know that it’s confusing, trust me, I’ve tried to figure this out for thousands of years but I still don’t have it all worked out.” Zoe says.

“So that was Satan?”

“Yep.”

“Is Michael going to be okay?”

“There’s no way to know for sure right now. Satan doesn’t usually show up to these sorts of events; he hasn’t even been seen for the last five centuries. The only thing to do now is wait.”

You’ve always been impatient, whether it be with test scores, appointments, or just being told to wait. You attempt to pass the time by pacing back and forth, but after twenty minutes you realize you can’t keep this up. Switching to perusing Michael’s bookshelves, another two hours pass with no sign of Michael. Zoe and Madison have remained seated on one of the couches, watching you the entire time. At some point in the early hours of the morning, you fall asleep on Michael’s bed, fully clothed and with tears of worry making tracks down your face.

The feeling of somebody touching your feet has you jolting up in a panic, ready for a fight. If there’s one thing you hate more than anything, it’s people touching your feet.

“Hey, it’s just me! Please don’t kick me!” Your eyes adjust to the dimmed lighting, finally seeing Michael crouched down in front of you.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Your half-asleep brain doesn’t even realize what’s going on right now, you’re just mad that someone woke you up.

“Your shoes were still on, I was just trying to take them off for you.” You look around the room, noticing Madison and Zoe are both gone. It takes another moment for you to realize why you fell asleep in Michael’s bedroom before you leap off the bed and into his arms.

“Michael, I was so worried! Are you okay? What happened?” You bombard him with questions. He lifts you up like you weigh nothing, laying down on the bed with you.

“I’m fine, everything’s fine. My father just picked the wrong time to stop by for a visit.”

“‘A visit?’ Madison told me he hadn’t even been seen in five hundred years.” You look at him with a frown. His hair is disheveled, and his outfit is ripped to shreds. There’s blood all over him, but the wounds have already healed. “Jesus, Michael. What did he do to you?” Your hand touches his forehead, stroking the three streaks of blood where he had obviously been scratched.

“We just had a disagreement. He’s trying to convince me to turn my back on Olympus, overthrow the system and basically unleash the apocalypse so that he can rule on Earth. It’s a fight we’ve had off and on for years.” Your mind quickly connects the dots, and you sigh.

“That’s why you needed me out of there.”

“He gave me two choices: send you back Above and ‘hope’ the prophecy works and the end of the world happens, or kill you and set it off that way.” Your blood runs cold at Satan’s ‘options’ that he’s given to his son.

“So, is-”

“I managed to banish him to Tartarus. It’s not much, and it will only hold him for a couple of weeks, but by then Madison should have found the prophecy and we can have a more concrete plan.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can hold me?” It’s a rare moment of vulnerability, but thankfully it’s a request that you can easily handle.

“Do you want to get out of those clothes, get cleaned up or something?” He shakes his head.

“I’m just tired. We can worry about that in the morning.” The battle with his father has obviously shaken him, so you wrap your arms around him and decide to worry about the mess that’s left behind in the morning.

Tag List: @nana15774 @sammythankyou @queencocoakimmie @let-me-try-mom @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @lichellaw @sebastianshoe @pastel-cloudz @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @alexcornerblog @dolceandchalamet @everything-is-awesomesauce @langdonslove @ccodyfern @henrycavillstalkingmustache @readsalot73 @jimmlangdon @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @hplotrfan @omg-hellgirl @gallxntdean

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon x reader #Michael Langdon x you #american horror story #american horror story imagine #American horror story apocalypse #ahs #ahs apocalypse #ahs imagine #hades and persephone au #Michael Langdon au

205 notes · View notes