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mothhball · 2 months

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Positive Reinforcement

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x delusional!Reader (fem)

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, DUB-CON (bc Jon is playing a little hard to get), L-BOMB, fingering, oral sex (both m + f receiving), deepthroating, brief breathplay, mutual body worship, p in v sex, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, overstim, clothed male/naked female, threats of drugging, violence mention, reader is a little unhinged

Summary | You’re convinced he’s the one, but you’ve been causing nothing but trouble for Jonathan. Maybe it’s time to switch up the strategy.

Words | 6.2k

Notes | FILTH. Jon may be ooc, whoops. Honestly, this is very self-indulgent and was a struggle to write lol

Arkham certainly has its charms. From the noisy, dark hallways to the scratchy and shapeless patient uniforms - there’s something for everyone here. As far as you’re concerned, you’re here for no reason. At least no serious reason. You’re a lover and a fighter. Literally just a girl. Even though the GCPD certainly didn’t agree when they arrested you for attempted murder, assault, breaking and entering, and a bunch of other rude accusations.

Your ex broke your heart, so you crashed your car into him in an attempt to get back at him, breaking both his legs in the process. He may never walk again – big deal! A crime of passion, your honor! Revenge for the two years that you’ve wasted on a person, only for him to break up with you once he noticed the tracker sown into the bottom hem of his favorite jacket. Bummer.

But life goes on, and as long as your heart can beat, it can love. And the person who made you believe in romance again is sitting right in front of you in his office, narrowing his eyes as he stares you down over the rim of the coffee cup he’s sipping from. If only you could trade places with an inanimate object. Jonathan Crane in his entirety is worth the stay at Arkham. He’s worth the uncomfortable bed, colorless food and horrible daytime television that’s always running in the recreation room. Who needs freedom when you have love?

Crane was the first to listen to you. The first person to let you speak and philosophize about the nature of your devotion and the way you love people. And he didn’t judge you. At least not out loud.

But now, two months after being admitted to the asylum, he’s grown tired and agitated. Unhealthy attachment and mood-natural delusionships involving someone who wants nothing to do with you. That’s the addition to your diagnosis that Crane is currently rattling off right in front of you, but you’re too busy staring at every detail of his face, trying to manifest his hands on your skin and his tongue down your throat.

“Are you trying to go for a new record in weeks spent in solitary confinement?” Crane sets down the cup to have a free hand to rub his temple with.

The question makes you smile. Oh, he’s always so funny. So charming. But being sentenced to solitude wasn’t the goal you had in mind when you smashed another patient’s face into the cafeteria wall, not easing up until her teeth were scattered around like the shiny pearls of a rich lady’s ripped necklace. Even though you were hosed down by a guard and received a fresh set of clothes, the other woman’s dried blood is still crusted under the nail of your left ring finger. A secret little sign of your devotion. You didn’t do it out of anger or jealousy either. You did it because you knew that Crane would be forced to sit you down for an emergency therapy session. It’s his own fault for reducing your sessions to only once a week.

A playfully coy smile pulls at the corners of your lips, and you lean forward a little, wanting to get a better look at him even though you’ve already perfectly memorized every detail of him after just the first two days of being here.

“She shouldn’t have provoked me. I was defending myself. You understand me. Right, Jonathan?”

You slowly inch your hand across the table, almost making contact with his fingertips until he opts to grab your file instead. It’s a pointed gesture, and you quietly mourn the chance for physical contact with him. Crane clears his throat to bring your focus back to the here and now. And of course, the first thing he does is correct you.

“Whistler?” You furrow your eyebrows. “What does she have to do with this? I thought… I thought you were trying to help me.”

“It’s Dr. Crane for you. And I understand that you have very little self-control.” He pauses for a moment, struggling with a sudden surge of anger before he manages to continue. “I’ll be honest. My patience is wearing thin. You’re a danger to the other inmates, and Dr. Whistler of all people already offered to take you off my hands.”

This revelation makes you perk up suddenly, and there’s a bitter taste in your mouth. He’s thinking of giving you away?

“Yes, emphasis on trying. But as you can see, we’re not getting anywhere, are we? And Whistler mentioned how optimistic she is about your case. If you want my opinion, I think she’s itching to test out some new sedatives we’ve added to the catalog.” Crane adjusts his glasses, and the way he speaks almost makes you think he doesn’t care. But you’re sure he does. Of course he does. He has to. Nevertheless, the mere thought of not seeing him on a regular basis makes anxiety crawl up your spine, and you absently pick at your cuticles until you tear a little too deep, and another line of red pools around your fingernail.

“You can’t do this,” you try to argue, searching your brain for any good reason for him to keep you aside from the fact that you two belong together. You briefly lick your lips, daring to appeal to his pride. “If you hand me off, everyone will know that you failed. They’ll all know that you gave up on me because you couldn’t handle me.”

Crane’s eyes narrow into cold slits, and his grip on your file tightens. Uh-oh. That’s a very ugly expression on your darling doctor. He’s quiet for a moment, silently reigning himself back in. The rage that’s simmering beneath his skin dissipates a little when he has a sudden idea.

Maybe a different approach could work better. Realization sets in, and he almost wants to smack himself for not thinking of this sooner. Evidently, you don't care that much for punishment. Solitary confinement and restriction from activities do little to keep you in check. But how about a different motivation? How about reward?

"Alright, here's what we're going to do. We'll keep up the weekly frequency of solo therapy sessions." He thinks out loud, crossing his arms over his chest and occasionally tapping his fingers on his biceps. You want to voice your protest about not getting more sessions with him, but he continues with this lovely, rumbly tone that he uses whenever he's planning something and getting matter-of-fact with you. It's like catnip for your ears, almost making you melt in your little grippy socks.

"And if I don't hear any complaints about you from the other members of staff, you'll get a reward each time. So, be a good girl for a week and you'll get a treat. Easy, right?"

His eyebrows are raised expectantly as he waits for your reply, and you think about his offer, picking at your sleeve as you weigh out the pros and cons.

"Do I get to pick the reward?" you eventually ask, looking back at him with a glint in your eyes that he immediately recognizes. Crane firmly shakes his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"No. Because I know what you'll choose."

"Then I'm not doing it."

Crane sighs, pulling out his work phone.

"I'll give Whistler a call," he states, concentrating on trying not to smirk at the way your expression falls. Like threatening a child by calling Santa.

"Wait! No, I - ... how about a compromise?" You plead, not missing the parallel either. But if you don't want to settle for coal (or in this case, withdrawal from your man), you'll have to suck it up.

Crane looks up from his phone, thumb hovering over the buttons for another moment before he tucks it back into the pocket of his suit jacket. "A compromise? Doll, we’re not arguing over who does the dishes and brings out the trash. You have no say in this aside from agreeing to either a good or a bad time.”

Damn. Did he have to make it domestic?

“Let me burst your bubble for a moment,” He continues, not allowing you to fantasize over his choice of words for longer than necessary. “You have no power here. No agency, no privileges. You’re not ‘doing’ anything, you’re having things ‘done to’ you. You may think you have me in the palm of your hand, because I’m forced to see you every time you get yourself into trouble, but I could just as well keep you drugged and docile for the rest of your indefinite stay here. So,” he leans forward, resting his palms on the table and clearing his throat.

“No more nonsense. This is your very last warning. If you lash out again, I’ll hand you over to Dr. Whistler, advise her to keep you sedated and move onto other much more interesting and agreeable patients, my reputation be damned.”

The silence that follows his words is deafening, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears as the air suddenly feels thinner. Tears well up in your eyes. Bitter tears of shame and disappointment, and you feel like a petulant child, but it does nothing to stop them from rolling down your face and dripping onto the table below.

Crane stiffens, visibly taken aback by your sudden display of emotion. He thought he’s seen it all from you. The smirks, the winking, the way you bite your lip in an attempt to seduce a man who’s as emotionally available as one of the brick walls making up this very building. Part of him wants to escape the conversation immediately, but it’s his job to at least attempt to help you through your issues, and leaving you in a state of distress is the entire opposite of that.

“Listen,” he starts, almost tentative. “I don’t want to do any of that. Not really. I want to keep working with you. And I believe you’ve made a little progress so far, but you’d be even further along if you’d stop antagonizing everyone for a chance to speak to me.”

“But I need to. You don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

You sniffle, unable to articulate properly. He should know. He should understand from a single second of eye contact. Yet here you are, forced to spell it out for him. Crane’s eyes soften ever so slightly, and he pulls out a pack of pocket tissues, sliding it across the desk so you can dry your tears. His tone is calmer now, almost gentle.

“Why are you doing this? All of this resistance… the altercations with other patients… your life could be so easy. So why?”

“To make you notice me,” you sniffle, gingerly patting your cheeks with one of the paper tissues. Crane’s eyebrows furrow in response.

“You don’t think I would’ve noticed you without all of this mess?” He tilts his head, slightly amused by your melodramatic performance. You scoff at the question, frowning when he actually smirks at you this time.

“No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t notice me if I were a model patient. You wouldn’t spare me a single glance if I was docile like the others… I want you to think about me even when your shift is over.”

Crane shrugs, letting out a sigh through his nose as he does. A corner of his lip twitches, and you can’t tell whether it’s in amusement or disgust. The fact that you tried to manipulate him by being a ‘bad’ patient irritates him, but he has to admit that your strategy worked.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t notice you. You have no idea how difficult and repetitive this job gets… how much the faces start to blur together after a while. You’re not very special at all, if I’m being honest.”

The comment and the monotony in his voice sting, and just for a split second, the mask of sweetness slips to reveal the anger and hurt in your eyes. You quickly manage to reel yourself back in, and you clear your throat as you look away from him. At least he’s being honest with you. The basis of a good and healthy relationship.

“I could… make myself special to you.” A pause.

“Do you think you’re capable of doing that? I mean, so far, you’ve just been causing problems and it’s getting stale. Can you really do something better for me?”

“I can be good… I could show you how I feel for you.” It’s a gamble and you know it. But the possible reward outweighs the risk. At least to your infatuated brain. Crane shifts in his seat, deciding to humor you.

“How do you feel for me? Enlighten me a little bit.”

“I’m in love with you. I love you.” Your sweetheart bristles like a cat, and you feel let down by his reaction. During the countless times you’ve fantasized about this moment in the showers, scrubbing yourself with cheap soap, he was elated by your confession. But the real-life Jonathan Crane just looks at you with mild pity. Pity that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That was… fast. Didn’t even waste a moment to admit it. But I suppose it’s expected from you,” he sighs, shaking his head as he writes something down in your file. You’re quick to defend yourself. This isn’t a joke to you, after all. You’re laying your heart completely bare, ripping apart skin and flesh to expose the bloody, weakly beating thing to his unimpressed eyes.

“I mean it.”

He lets out a low whistle, and his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. For an agonizingly long moment (about 30 seconds), he punishes your honesty with silence before he finally sets his pen down and looks at you.

“Then do something to prove it.” He says it so nonchalantly. As if he’s not really expecting anything at all. But he’s severely underestimating how deep your devotion runs for him. Your chair screeches across the floor as you get up, and Crane looks alarmed for a fleeting moment before you lower yourself to your knees and crawl under his desk until you come up between his thighs. Your sweetheart’s eyes soften, and he reaches down to brush his fingers through your hair almost instinctively.

“I’ll show you…” you murmur softly, running your hands over his thighs and lightly digging your nails into the fabric of his slacks. Crane lets out a barely audible sigh, shifting a little in his seat to part his legs for easier access. So considerate. Your man really is such a darling.

Looking up at him from beneath the table, you make quick work of his belt and zipper before you pull up his shirt that he kept tucked into his pants. Your mouth waters at the sight of his skin, and you lean in to kiss his stomach while your hand moves to palm his cock through his boxers. Crane hisses softly, keeping his eyes locked on your devoted form between his thighs, and a shiver runs down his spine when you pull down his underwear, exposing him to the cool air of his office.

“God… your cock is so beautiful… you don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming of sucking you off…” you murmur, eyes lighting up as you wrap your hand around him. Crane licks his lips, unsure how to feel about the compliment. You’ve been his biggest headache for months now, and yet here you are, sweettalking him while you’re sitting under his desk with your fingers around his dick.

“I bet you taste as sweet as you look.” You giggle, gathering some saliva in your mouth before you let it dribble down onto his tip so you can pump his cock more easily. Crane’s brows furrow, and you smile up at him before licking from his base up to his tip, causing him to twitch against your tongue. You know he’s always pent up, always stressed, and you don’t really have to worry about him seeking release elsewhere since he’s always focused on his work. And, in some abstract way, always focused on you.

Loyalty. Another pillar of an unbreakable bond.

You can feel him hardening within your grasp, and you swear you can hear an almost silent breath of relief when you finally take his cock into your mouth. You start off slow, moaning at the feeling of his length on your tongue, and you continue to caress his thighs and stomach in an effort to worship him like he deserves.

“No teeth, doll.” He smirks down at you, smoothing his thumb over your cheekbone as you continue to suck the precum from his tip. The taste of him makes your mind fog up, and you nod eagerly, pulling away from him for just a moment to answer properly.

“Cross my heart, Jon.” Your mouth is back on him within seconds, and you bob your head up and down, taking him deeper down your throat every time. Crane hisses in response, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“It’s still Dr. Crane to you…” His protest is half-hearted at best, and you witness his composure crumbling in real time as you suck him off like you’re trying to devour him whole. You’re on a mission. A mission to drive him to the brink of insanity like his mere presence does you. Crane huffs out another sharp breath, and his hips twitch forward, generously helping you to breach your throat barrier and causing you to splutter around him. Tears well up in your eyes, but you stay down on his cock, pushing down all the way until the neatly trimmed hair on the base of his length tickles your nose.

“Fuck… You’re so pretty when you gag on it.”

You pull off of him, only managing to swallow half the spit that gathered in your mouth while the rest drips down your chin, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Crane’s hand massages the back of your head encouragingly, and you flash him a bright smile before you go back down at him with a little more vigor.

After a while, you go to catch your breath, but before you can pull away completely, both his hands shoot out to grab your head and push you back down on his cock. Your eyes widen, and you let out a slight noise of protest as he begins to fuck into your throat. Drool dribbles down your chin, soiling the shirt of your patient uniform while your nails dig into Crane’s thighs in an attempt to ground yourself. He clenches his jaw, moaning through his teeth while your throat contracts around him.

“Perfect little cocksucker… so eager to show me your love…” He cuts himself off with a little grunt, and his grip on your head tightens as he moves your skull up and down. “All the way down… yes, keep your tongue out…”

You continue to gag around his length, trying to keep up with the rhythm of his thrusts as he forces his cock down your pharynx, enjoying the way your muscles clench and contract. His soft moans become more urgent, and pride makes your heart swell. He’s making these noises because of you.

“That’s it… good girl. Eyes on me. I want you to look at my face when I cum down your pretty little throat...”

You whine in response, nodding your head as best as you can, and you start to work in tandem with him as he gets close. The moment you feel him pulse on your tongue, he pushes you down all the way again, and his hand reaches around to your face. You catch a dark glint in his eyes when he suddenly pinches your nose shut, constricting your airflow completely as he chokes you on his cock. You struggle against him, but he doesn’t budge as his eyes fall shut and he grunts out more praise. Panic rises in your chest, and your muscles convulse in a desperate attempt to get air into your neglected lungs. And it’s exactly this panic in your eyes that pushes Crane over the edge and he shoots his load directly down your throat, giving you no other option but to swallow the hot ropes of cum that he lazily continues to fuck into your mouth.

Finally, he lets go of your head, and you immediately flinch back to suck in some much-needed air. The both of you are panting, and you keep your watery eyes locked on his satisfied expression while strings of spit still connect your swollen lips to the flushed head of his cock.

“You okay?”

“Yeah...“ you breathe out in reply, trying to swallow the soreness in your throat. Crane’s hand reaches out to you again, caressing your head like a cherished pet, and he chuckles to himself.

“Catch your breath, doll. That was one hell of a way to prove yourself…” He murmurs, reaching across the table to retrieve the pack of pocket tissues and hand it to you. Your fingers are a little shaky as you wipe the mess from your chin and neck, and you slowly return to your chair. Crane’s brows furrow when he watches you retreat, and you blink at him.

Immediately, your thoughts begin to spiral. What are you doing? Sitting back down, that much is evident. Did he want you to stay and keep on sucking him off? Were you supposed to keep the spit on your face intact? Does he – Crane effectively snaps you out of your mental gymnastics routine by brushing his foot against your calf, and you’re immediately focused on the butterflies that fill up your chest.

“What?”

“What are you doing?” He asks, not bothering to elaborate.

“As far as I’m concerned, you behaved very well just now. So, I’d like to keep my word and reward you.”

He points over to the leather couch in the corner of his office, and you find yourself standing before he can even fully extend his arm. Crane follows after you, leading you with his hands on your hips until your knees softly bump against the furniture. He’s pressed up behind you, breathing in the scent of your skin while his hands begin to trail all over your body. You tilt your head back, resting it on his shoulder as his touch slips under your shirt, and you can feel the way his fingers are trembling against your flesh. Crane clicks his tongue as he pinches your nipples, slowly rolling the hardening bud between index and thumb in a way that makes you jolt in his grasp.

“Let me see what I’m working with, doll,” he murmurs, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it aside before the cotton bustier that the asylum provided follows suit. Your first instinct is to shy away, but he grabs your shoulders and spins you around to get a good look at you. His gaze is detached. Clinical. And you can feel yourself shrinking away until he finally decides to open his mouth. “Fucking hell… maybe I should’ve indulged you sooner.”

It isn’t much in terms of a compliment, but to you it might as well be a marriage proposal. Your breath catches in your lungs as Crane leans in, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his hands wander lower to push down your pants and sneak into your underwear. He chuckles when his fingers dip into the mess that has built up between your thighs.

“Did sucking my cock make you this wet already?”

“I mean… it is a pretty cock…” you try to defend your already half-unraveled state, and he lets out a laugh. A genuine one of honest amusement, and the noise makes your heart soar up into the sky.

“Quiet. Lie back on the couch for me, sweetheart.” The new pet name almost makes your body collapse in on itself. Your back meets the cold faux leather, and you let out a quiet hiss of discomfort as you sink a little into the cushions. Crane pulls your pants and underwear off completely, letting them join the already existing pile on the floor before he gets on the couch with you. He grabs your thighs, pulling you a little closer so he can rest your legs over his shoulders while he lies flat between them. His breath ghosts over your pussy, and he spreads your folds open with his thumbs to get a good look at your drooling entrance.

“Pretty… so, so pretty,” he murmurs, kissing up the insides of your thighs before he circles his tongue around your eager hole, savoring your taste with a deep, guttural groan.

You reach out your hand to hold his, but he swats it away, causing you to give his hair a harsh tug when he doesn’t do as you want him to. This, however makes him answer with a rough bite to the meat of your thigh, and you’re almost embarrassed by the wanton noise that slips past your lips. Pain tingles down your spine, and you try to sit up, only for him to push you back down. In a second attempt, you manage to catch his hand and immediately link your fingers together so he can’t escape your clammy, possessive grip. To your absolute delight, he’s not even trying to this time around. You knew he’d come around.

His tongue dances around your dripping entrance yet again, licking a stripe up your pussy that makes your grip on his hand tighten and your toes curl. Finally, finally, he sinks a finger into you, already sliding in to where his digit meets his palm, and he moans along with you when he feels how your pussy flutters around him.

“Jonathan…”

For the first time, he doesn’t correct you. Instead, he chooses to lean in and devour you, eagerly lapping at your juicy cunt as he presses the pad of his fingers against that sweet spot inside of you. He’s insatiable, parting your folds with his tongue and groaning at your taste as you grind your clit against the diligent muscle. And his eyes. Oh, God his eyes. He’s almost crushing you beneath his heated gaze, keeping you pinned while he eats you out like a starved man. Now, it’s Jonathan’s turn to get messy, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest as your saccharine slick coats his chin. He adds another finger into your cunt, pulling away from your clit to bite and suck on your thighs while he stretches you open.

“Fuck – “

“Just another finger, doll. Let yourself go for me…” He murmurs between licks and gentle bites as he returns to your pussy, his glasses fogging up from the heat.

Your hands are still intertwined, even as your back arches and you continue to pant and moan out his name. Even as your breath hitches when he latches back onto that sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he adds a third finger and you finally come on his tongue with a wail that sounds as blissful as it does delirious.

Your brain is clouded by euphoria, and your bite your lip to keep quiet as he continues to pump his fingers inside of you. You can hear the mess he’s made between your thighs. A mix of his saliva and your juices, and Jonathan is not wasting a single drop of it. Pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation, and you only faintly register the little laugh he lets out at your state.

“Christ, I want to kiss that expression off your face… Actually, don’t mind if I do.”

Jonathan leans over you, laughing again when he gets a closer look at your expression. And then months of yearning and dreams of romance become reality when his lips meet yours. Fireworks go off in your head, and you immediately pull him closer, almost causing him to topple over on top of you. It’s messy and overly excited on your part, but you couldn’t care less as your teeth clash a few times and you lick against his tongue and taste yourself on it.

Jonathan pulls back for a moment, despite the vise grip you have on his shoulders, but he calms you by pressing his lips against your brow, whispering like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Easy there… come on, be good.”

You whine in response, but when his thumb brushes over your clit again, your body jolts and you immediately shut up. Jonathan pushes his own pants down further, freeing his leaking cock again and giving himself a few pumps before he pushes his hips forward to coat his length in your slick. Every time the heard of his cock brushes up against you, you let out a soft little noise, and it’s in that moment that Jonathan decides he’d like to hear a lot more of it in the future. He grits his teeth, slowly sinking into your cunt while keeping his eyes fixed on yours.

Once upon a time, you were nothing special. You have an interesting backstory, sure. And your obsession with him does wonders for his ego. But right here, right now, something cracks the stony façade and he silently dares to venture a little further into the dreamworld you’ve built around the two of you. He sees parts of himself in you. The obsessive, volatile behavior. The inability to love in a way that’s considered normal. The desire to possess something or someone in its entirety.

You shiver when he bottoms out inside of you, his hips meeting yours and slightly squishing you into the faux leather cushions of the couch. You’re still tight and sensitive from your previous climax, and Jonathan can feel your pulse in the velvety walls of your pussy that’s clenched around him. Despite your heightened sensitivity, his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing a tight figure eight into it that makes your head spin. His other hand leaves yours, grabbing your jaw instead to keep you from squirming.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he states, rubbing you a little faster and applying more pressure along with it. Your muscles tighten, and your heart hammers in your chest as you stare up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“C… can you – “

“Move?” he finishes for you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Only if you cum again, I’m afraid. It’ll be another reward.”

You sob out a moan, face scrunching up when that familiar pressure begins to build inside of you for a second time. Jonathan keeps his hand on your jaw, watching every twitch and flinch of your expression with a look of genuine fascination.

“God, why would anyone ever leave you…” he murmurs, and his word pierce right into your heart and the black depths of your lonely little soul. “Pretty thing… if you didn’t break his legs, I’d recommend for him to get a cell on the opposite end of the hall…”

Your breath hitches as he continues to rub your clit and softly speak to you. “Insanity, I tell you… abandoning such a cute toy... It’s beyond me.” He lets out a soft groan when you tighten around his cock. “That’s it… thaaat’s it.”

You reach the edge again, clenching your eyes shut as you come a second time. Jonathan captures your lips with his own yet again, and while you’re stuck on cloud nine, he pulls his cock out all the way only to slam back inside with an intensity that pushes the air from your lungs. You cry into his mouth as he picks up a consistent, slow rhythm of deep thrusts that make your eyes clench shut. Jonathan releases you from the kiss and gives your jaw a little warning squeeze, wanting your eyes to stay on his while he’s rearranging your anatomy with his cock.

“There we go… stretched open so well.”

You squirm back on your elbows, looking up at him with dilated pupils and burning cheeks, but he grabs your waist and pulls you back right to the base of his cock. A truly sinful noise spills from your lips and for a moment you don't even register that it came from you.

Crane chuckles as he starts to roll his hips again, his right hand hovering dangerously close to your poor, abused clit again. A silent threat almost. Then again, he's quite literally threatening you with a good time.

"S'too much...," you groan out, your body rocking every time he spears you open with his girth.

"Shh... no, no.." he tuts, tightening his grip to prevent you from escaping. "You're gonna stay right here and take it. Stay right. Fucking. Here."

Every word he speaks is empathized by a sharp thrust into your drooling cunt, causing you to howl in pleasure and claw at his back. Every nerve in your body is on fire, drowning you in sweet, sweet agony.

"You wanted this, right? For months you've been begging. And now it's suddenly too much?"

You can only nod, babbling some incoherent nonsense in response. Crane lets out a condescending laugh which quickly twists into a moan when you clench around his cock. No matter how much he tries to pretend, he's just as close as you are.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, clinging to you like you're a lifeboat in a storm as he keeps on thrusting into your slick heat.

"So good for me... God, you're so beautiful when you're sweet and obedient... accepting your reward like a good little patient."

You look up at him, trying to focus on his flushed face even though your eyes are rolling back in your head. Crane leans down to capture your mouth in another heated kiss, nipping at your lips and tasting your tongue while he moans down your throat.

The rhythm of his hips stutters when he pulls away to press his face into the crook of your neck, and suck and bite at your skin in a desperate attempt to leave traces of himself.

“Are you going to cum again?” He groans into your skin, flattening his tongue against your pulse.

“N… no…” you whine

“No? This –“ He’s cut off by a moan of his own, and it takes a moment for him to pull himself together to finish his sentence. “This is your reward, doll… We’re going to have to work on – fffuck – on gratitude…”

“I can’t...! Please… please…” you beg, but you’re not sure what you’re even begging for. Certainly not for him to stop.

“You can’t? Well… you’re going to.” His thrusts begin to get faster and more erratic as he tries to fuck into you as deeply as possible “Do it for me, hm? Just for me…”

“No- fuck, please! Jonathan -!!” Tears well up in your eyes from the delicious pain, and you actually scream when he starts to rub your clit again. Colors explode behind your closed eyelids. “Please, please, please- “

“I know you can do it… one more time, doll… Just one more time…”

And you finally do as you’re told, cumming around his cock with an intensity that feels as if someone punched you in the gut. Your brain short-circuits, and you’re not even making noises anymore as he fucks you through your climax like you’re a toy that was handmade for his pleasure.

“Fuuuck – Christ, fuck -“ Jonathan’s voice completely lacks the air of authority and superiority that you are so used to when he whimpers into your neck, his hands tightening around you. It feels like you’re wrapped in cotton, and you can only hear him faintly due to the volume of your pulse that’s hammering in your ears. Finally, his hips still, and he sinks down on top of you as he finishes inside of your fluttering cunt. Rational thought is absent in this moment, and you’re absolutely certain that this is what paradise must feel like. Connected to the one you love so dearly. Overwhelmed by pleasure.

For a long while, the office is silent aside from the rugged breathing that’s coming from both of you, and you bask in his warmth, absolutely content to stay like this for the rest of time. Jonathan clears his dry throat, lifting himself up onto his elbows as he looks down at you, and you’re struck by overwhelming affection once again.

“I love you…”

“Shut up…” But there’s no bite to it. He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, and for a moment, there’s a very real glimpse of fondness in his eyes. Crane stays silent, taking in your features like it’s the first time he sees you properly, and his hand comes up to gingerly trace over your cheekbone and eyebrow before he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead. Then finally, he lets out a soft breath before he murmurs gently, intimately.

“Looks like I’ll have to come up with more rewards in the future.”

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x y/n #smut #.moth writes

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 months

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CM Office Party Fics 🎉

Hey everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who participated. I am so happy to share everyone’s hard work. If you have a oneshot or masterlist you’d like me to add, please send me a message - new additions are always welcome.

SFW Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Inexperienced by me: Virgin!Reader has a secret no one expected, least of all Spencer. She’s a virgin… in every way.

Dancing with the Doctor by @smalltownbeautyqueen: After hearing the BAU's prom stories, Garcia decides to throw her own BAU prom.

Gift Exchange by @ssahopelessly: It’s time for the Secret Santa gift exchange at the BAU.

Secret Santa by @c-m-stuff: Reader and Spencer are together for Secret Santa.

Better for You by @incognit0slut: Spencer spends the change of year with a new resolution as he starts looking at his rival differently.

Clue by @pathologicalreid: A fic in which Penelope hosts a NYE party with a murder mystery theme.

Mistletoe's for Two by @andiebeaword: At the annual Christmas party, Spencer gets caught under the mistletoe by the woman he didn’t want to kiss.

More ratings and pairings below!

NSFW (18+) Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Prom Night by @foxy-eva: After everyone shared their sad (or non-existent) prom stories, Penelope decided to host a BAU Prom, giving Spencer the perfect excuse to finally ask out Reader.

Funhouse Mirror by me: SSA Reader promised Spencer he’d be surprised by her costume of the Doctor for the Halloween Party. He definitely was.

Kiss ’n Tell by me: Reader gets drunk on a night out with the girls and accidentally mimics her boyfriend’s habit of oversharing.

Unhappy Holidays by @reiderwriter: Reader runs into Spencer at holiday celebrations four years in a row, including this NYE.

Always Bet on Black by @reidmotif: Reader realizes she has an advantage at the Bureau's Casino Night, when Spencer can't seem to take his eyes off her and her dress.

Never Have I Ever by me: After a case involving kink culture, Spencer is assigned to judge the girls’ game of Never Have I Ever. Later, him and Reader compare scores.

Other/Fem!Reader (SFW)

Somewhere I Belong by @0and0its0doctor0: (Hotch) Hotch has a little liquid courage and breaks the rules.

When Snorter Does the Unexpected by @alluring-andrayav: (Derek) It's Derek's birthday, and he receives an unexpected gift.

Other Pairings & Gen Fic (SFW)

All is Bright by @masterwords: (Hotchgan) After a long series of failed dates, Hotch and Morgan finally come to their senses thanks to some well-placed mistletoe.

Talk of the Town by @/masterwords: (Hotchgan) Hotch has an invite to a Christmas party at the White House and he's asking Derek to be his plus one.

October by @gaelic-symphony: (Temily) The couple spends Halloween together.

November by @/gaelic-symphony: (Temily) The couple spends Thanksgiving together.

So Just Keep Kissing Me Under the Mistletoe [AO3] by @starzzyeyed : (Hotchreid) Spencer's dreading the BAU's christmas party for many reasons; not least because it means spending time off duty with his boss.

Happy Hotch Day by @codename-mom: (Platonic) Penelope wants to cheer her boss up as he still suffers from what Foyet did to him. The team prepares a surprise for him.

It's a Piece of Cake by @/codename-mom: (Platonic) Jack is turning six and Penelope wants to do something for the occasion.

The Sweater Case by @/codename-mom: (Platonic) The FBI organizes a gala with all the agency directors in the country. Hotch doesn't want to go.

Happy Reading!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds challenge #criminal minds women #criminal minds fanfic #temily #hotchgan #hotchreid #heid #criminal minds gen fic #gen fic #cm writing challenge #fanfic rec #fic recs

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seresinhangmanjake · 6 months

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The One I Want: Part 2

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Warnings: Judgment related to weight. Cursing. Fluff. Angst. Eventual smut (alluded to/or other). Self-esteem issues.

Words: 2010

---

He shakes his head, like clearing the fog from his brain, and steps forward. “I’m Jake,” he says, reaching his hand out toward you.

It’s done in such a casually confident manner that it dares you to take a step back, out of his reach and far from his influence. You take his hand anyway.

His palm against yours creates a slight buzzing sensation at your fingertips making you pull your hand away and tighten it into a fist before tucking it behind your back. “That makes more sense than the pretty brunette.”

“Oh, don’t flatter her. She’s not that great,” he says. There’s a light chuckle as he slips his hands into his front pockets. On any other man, you’d acknowledge the hint of nerves accompanying the action, but with this man in particular you brush it off. There is no way this man has ever been nervous a day in his life. “I’m surprised you’re up. Are you okay with your room?”

You glance down at the suitcase not far from where you stand. “I didn’t look for it. Seemed like snooping.”

“Oh, shit. That’s my fault.” Hand flying out of his pocket, he runs it down his face again. He blows out a breath that feels like some form of self-scolding for letting himself neglect you, then bends down to wrap his fingers around the handle of your suitcase. “You can come with me.”

The apartment, while nice, isn’t overly large. The door to what you learn is your room can be seen from your first few steps through the front entryway, but still, you’re glad you didn’t peek on your own. You could’ve found yourself face-to-face with his private space and unable to avoid developing opinions of him based on the first-glance contents of his room.

With a turn and a push, Jake opens your door and stands back against one side of the frame so you can enter. Side-stepping past him, though, is a bit of a squeeze and you can’t help the way your breasts brush across his chest. You don’t miss his flinch and the sharp intake of air through his nose.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

Whether or not he heard you goes unknown as he sets your suitcase down once you’re inside the room and begins his mini tour. “Um, bed,” comes out a little gritty. He points to the largest piece of furniture in the room like you’re a two-year-old learning the names of basic household items. With a cough to clear his throat, he continues. “That door over there is the closet,” he points some more. “And that one’s the bathroom. It’s small, but I hope it’ll be alright for you.”

There’s a pang in your stomach from his last two words. For you. An unnecessary addition with so much power. Power you refuse to let yourself dwell on.

“It’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Right, well I’ll, uh–” Those eyes do their scanning of you again. Lips, breasts, hips. Blink and you would’ve missed it. “I’ll let you get some sleep,” he says. "It's nice to meet you."

You would say the same, but he’s gone before you get the chance. Shutting the door behind him, you toss your suitcase onto the bed and begin to unpack.

—

The funny thing about these towns—while each one is different from another in appearance and people, they always reveal themselves to share a core component. Your willingness to stay put, and for how long, lies with this component. It is a matter of how intense this component—this judgment—is, and whether or not it infects enough around you to transform everything into a reminder of why you do not belong. While many things have the potential to prove you right or wrong as far as the degree to which you might be judged, what remains a constant disappointment is your attempts to obtain a job.

It doesn’t matter where you look. You get the same once-over, the same raised brow, the same unspoken questions lingering in the air. Are you lost? Did you stumble through the wrong door?

In one day you’ve been turned down by three jobs with ‘help wanted’ signs stuck on the inside of their building’s front window. What’s worse is that, in following typical company policy, they don’t shoo you away at the door. They take your resume, they sit you down, ask you a host of questions, and eventually declare you’re not right for the position.

A restaurant manager did not see you fit for a waitress. Neither did a cafe owner find you capable as a barista. The most painful, however, was also the riskiest. The head of the sales floor at the lingerie boutique who seemed to think women of a certain size aren’t in need of lacy fabrics that accentuate their best bits and pieces because surely they don’t have sex.

That was the one that did you in for the day and now has you moseying back to the apartment.

You walk through the door and shed yourself of jacket, purse, and shoes, likely looking as exhausted as your new roommate did when you first laid eyes on him the night before. You knew you recognized something in the weariness of his eyes. While unexpected, last night Jake Seresin was tired because someone—or many someones—had worn him out.

“Hi.”

You jolt upright, head instinctually turning toward the voice. You’re not used to sharing your space, and obviously so since Jake immediately raises his hands in silent apology for startling you.

“Hi,” you reply, the word riding on the sigh that passes through your lips.

With as much as you can muster for him, you offer a smile before aiming for your bedroom. But you don’t get far.

“What have you been up to all day?” he asks, halting you.

He’s not going to let you go, you realize, not without giving him something in return. Though, seeing as he’s your new roommate who took you in on short notice and charges you pennies to stay, you figure you can oblige.

He’s sitting at the island in the kitchen, now with a beer in one hand and his phone in the other. His thumb taps away at the screen, but when you near him he quickly sets it down to offer you his full attention. It’s then that you notice his missing shirt. Your mind must have filled in that blank. You’d assumed some sort of tank top was hidden by the angle at which he sat when you entered the apartment; that the fabric’s color was not so different from the tone of his skin. Looking at him in his bareness now, you can’t ignore how ridiculous that thought was.

You also can’t ignore him; sitting there without shame, practically taunting you to run your eyes over every ridge and valley of his sculpted form. And it is sculpted. Artwork.

But you don’t allow yourself the luxury. Instead, you answer, “Looking for a job.”

Jake sits a little straighter. “I can probably help with that,” he says. “I’ve got a friend who owns a bar down the street, and–”

“No!” you snap. The hope that it wasn’t as harsh as it sounded is snuffed out by the slight widening of his eyes. “Thank you,” is softer, “but no bars.”

He watches you a moment longer before he nods and repeats, “No bars. Got it.” Another moment of silence fills the room until he breaks it. “I’ll ask around.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out.” You wave away the thought and shake your head, aiming to get off the topic. Solidifying that is your immediate shift onto him. He seems like a guy who probably enjoys talking about himself, anyway. “So, you don’t fly on the weekend?”

“Not unless I have to.”

“Have people stopped traveling on Saturdays?”

Blond brows pinch as he twists the beer bottle in absent-minded circles with his fingertips. “What?”

Crossing your arms, you step further into the kitchen until your stomach is resting against the edge of the island. “Your friend said you’re a pilot. I just figured you’d be working a lot.”

Jake’s face doesn’t change; still the epitome of confusion, and you don’t know how to fill the painfully long beats while he examines you. Why you let him examine you must be a slip of the conscious mind, but you keep still. Then his face settles. He takes a sip of his beer, sets it down, and, instead of simply looking at you, stares hard into your eyes.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Wh–” you pause, readjusting your stance. “What makes you think that?”

“Anyone who says ‘pilot’ in this town—or frankly, even close by—assumes Navy, not airline,” he says. If he’s insulted, it doesn’t show. “I’m far from some Delta guy.”

Internally you curse. That err in knowledge peels back a layer of your paint, inviting curiosity and questions. And by the gleam in Jake’s eye, you’re sure you’re going to get plenty. “You’re in the Navy.”

“I am,” he confirms with a single nod. “And most people here have ties to it in some way. But not you, it seems.”

You fidget in the gap between his statements.

“So, where exactly did you come from,” he continues, a wry smile stretching his lips, “And how did you end up here of all places?”

When you meet his stare, you don’t care for the sparkle peeking through. “I drove.”

His head throws back in laughter. “That’s all I get?”

“That’s all you need,” you stress. It’s his own fault for not asking those questions following your email answering his ad. He had an opportunity. He didn’t take it. That’s not your problem. And the longer you stand here, clearly providing him with entertainment, you're once again struck with the desperation to get his attention off of you.

Without much to grasp, you go for the obvious. You allow your eyes to trail downwards and morph your features into a forced grimace. “Don’t you wear clothes?”

“Oh.” Looking down at himself, a gulp bulges his throat. “My bad. It’s been a while since I’ve had to wear a shirt around the place.” Is that disappointment in his tone? Maybe. Who in the world wouldn’t be insulted at the request to put on more clothes instead of removing an additional article? You certainly have been, so who is to say Jake Seresin—who undoubtedly has never faced such a request—wouldn’t feel the same?

To your surprise, he hops up immediately and rounds the island for his room; a move you would appreciate much more if it didn’t reveal the gray sweatpants settled low on his hips. There’s a defined V and a line of hair that disappears below the waistband. You hate that V. You hate that dusting of hair, blonder against his tan skin. Men with Vs and an irritatingly perfect amount of hair there are trouble. Each and every one of them.

“I’ll go get that shirt. Don’t go anywhere.”

For whatever reason—one you’re unwilling to dissect—you do as he asks. But then a light flashes in your peripheral vision. The screen of his phone in response to a new message.

You don’t want to look, not really, but you can’t help yourself. Years of people whispering behind your back, sneaking glances, chuckling, has planted the evergrowing seed of paranoia. Inching closer to the phone, you tap the rectangular block on his screen that reads Nat. Though the phone is locked, the notification expands to reveal the full message.

See, Paranoid is an interesting label. It accuses you of misunderstanding, of being too suspicious, too anxious, or even crazy; and you won’t deny you’ve probably been wrong before, assuming people are talking about you who haven’t spared you a thought. But sometimes, that label is unfair. Sometimes—often, in fact—you are right.

And when you read ‘Not what you expected, is she?’ followed by a tiny smirking face, you know this is one of those times.

---

A/N: I hope you liked it! If there are typos blame that on my anxiety. I've got a life-defining procedure tomorrow so wish me luck

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin x y/n #tgm #tgm fic #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin angst #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fanfiction

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janearts · 9 months

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ASDLKFJADKJ I love how you two immediately jumped to 'ok but like... is he #4 material?' (For those wondering, "What The Hell Is A #4?", the answer is linked here for reference.)

(The way to a woman's heart is through her favourite animal, obviously.)

Halsin is very much Roisia's type physically—aka large and in charge—and he has character traits that she would be attracted to: he's kind and compassionate, strong-willed and decisive, gentle and slow to anger, and in possession of a wry sense of humour and a keen intellect. So, yes, in that regard, Halsin definitely stands next to Wyll on the "suitable suitor to bring home" list. Top tier. Well done.

Additional rambling thoughts below the cut.

The trouble with Roisia when it comes to matters of the heart is that she unwittingly looks at a person, thinks she knows their true desires, can play out their combined future in her head, and judge them as compatible or incompatible without questioning her basic assumptions about that person. So, for example, Roisia would in many ways find Halsin an ideal romantic partner. And then, she would get into her own head. Like so:

Halsin is an archdruid. An elf accustomed to leading a notoriously outdoorsy lifestyle in a grove. Roisia is going to someday inherit an entire funerary business and wants to stay in Baldur's Gate, known for being not-at-all grove-like. Surely Mr. Outdoorsman will feel cooped up and miserable in a city if he thought the Grove was too comfortable for his tastes. Incompatible!

Halsin is all about the Natural Order of Things. Balance. Guess who disrupts said natural order when she takes dead things and reanimates them? Roisia. Roisia does. So they're at opposite ends of an ideological spectrum. Incompatible!

He's an elf; she's a human. They are on two different timelines as regards their lifespan. Unless Roisia can guarantee her own extended lifespan in a way that preserves the flesh on her bones in addition to her bones, she wants to grow with her #4 and not outpace her #4. Incompatible!

Again, these are assumptions that Roisia would make about Halsin, and I think she would ultimately write him off as a potential #4 more out of fear of some future rejection down the line than of Halsin necessarily explicitly confirming any of these assumptions to be true OR as relationship dealbreakers if they were. I want to shout out to @gracelessrogue for their tags:

It would not occur to Roisia that she could bond with a druid and a healer over life and death. If she would only think to challenge her own baseline assumptions about what she thinks she knows about the people she's travelling with, I think she would see the ways in which she could nurture long-term romantic connections with one or multiple of our possible companions.

Because, as it is, I think the larger issue is that Roisia would write off not just Halsin, but all the current known companions as not being a good fit for her #4. I don't think she would look at any of them and say: 'This person would stay with me in the city of Baldur's Gate and be totally, completely comfortable and content in a house with bodies in the basement, my skeleton father roaming the halls, and a graveyard right out back.'

Granted, it's still only Act 1/EA, but that's just a real bummer.

#replies #roksikever #direvampire #BG3 Roisia #Halsin #cw: arachnophobia #cw: spiders #long post

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kissforyouu · 8 months

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𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙳𝙸𝙶𝙰𝙽 . 𝚓𝚓𝚔

pairing : jungkook x reader

genre : college boy!jungkook , fwb , so much fluff , situationship , confusing relationship

warning : angst , strong language , smoking , masturbation , use of weed and drugs , getting high , lots of kisses🤭 , oral sex ( f recieving ) , doggy , unprotected sex , situationships. (trigger warning😓)

Inspired by Cardigan - Taylor Swift

unedited.

> read pt. 1 here

It's been about three weeks since Jungkook had left my door. I try, but I still can't make up my mind with the fact that it's all over. It's even harder, because Jungkook was always apart of my daily routine. We'd go get our groceries together, drop eachother by our respective classes, study together, hangout and so much more. It's not just the fucking, or the kissing, he was also my best friend. Losing my bestfriend was even worse. Sometimes I'd wonder how it would've been if we never had sex. Would we still be friends? Best friends? Would it have been better? It would have been better, I think. Maybe. Or maybe not. I don't fucking know.

Or maybe we'd just be strangers and I would've never gotten to experience this love from him? Or maybe—it wasn't even love. Well, obviously, it wasn't. He made it clear. Very clear.

Although it's been a week, Jungkook has never tried to contact me. It hurts, but whatever. Clearly he's enjoying his time though, judging by his instagram stories. Party after party. I always see him either drinking or going out with his friends on social media. Okay. I might be stalking him on social media. But hey, it's not exactly stalking when the information is public and accessible to anyone, right? So, I'm not stalking. I'm only making use of my rights as someone using social media.

It's whatever. Jungkook's whatever. I'll move on. Of course, I will. It's nothing a bit of journaling and music can't fix, right? Yeah.

I hum to my music, continuing to write on my journal. This was my way of letting all my feelings out. I'd journal, write and doodle about it. It was calm, and it also helped me open up and learn more about myself. I liked it.

I continued to write...

I still want him. I want him so so much. I really hate to admit that, but I do. I don't know what's gotten over me. I have to make up my mind, I really really do. Jungkook proved to me that I was nothing but some fuck, but why can't I think the same? It's slowly driving me insane. In addition to that, I really really really really fucking hate the fact that I'd go back to him in a heartbeat if I could.

I let out a sigh, closing the journal. This is what I've been doing for the past three weeks. It's stupid, really, we weren't even fucking dating! I keep thinking about that, and it's driving me crazy. Whatever. I placed my journal and headphones back on my table, then getting back on my bed. Covering myself with my soft pink sheets, I made myself comfortable enough to fall asleep.

I hated this so much.

Everywhere I looked, it always reminded me of Jungkook. I hated how every corner of my room had some sort of memory attached to him. Whether it was just him holding one of my belongings, standing in a specific area, or him just doing something—it always reminded me of him.

The worst was my bed. Everytime I got on it, I just couldn't help but think of all the things we did on it. I couldn't help but think of the places his hands touched me, the feeling of his lips on my skin, or the feeling of his cock going in and out of me. I hated this because sometimes—sometimes! Just sometimes I'd feel myself getting hot down there.

I hate to admit this but—

"Mm..." a whimper leaves my mouth at the feeling of my fingers pressing onto my clothed clit. All that thinking got me wet. I slowly drag my fingers up and down, caressing my folds. I imagine it's his fingers, Jungkook's, teasing my folds slowly.

What would he do right now? He'd subtly touch me everywhere to get me soaking wet.

My other hand reaches down to my left breast, rubbing my nipple through the material. A few seconds later, the material of my top was now discarded on the bed. I continue to rub my nipple slowly, just the way he would. My other hand was caressing my thighs slowly, letting my fingertips subtly touch the surface of my skin. I gather a good amount of spit in my mouth, then bringing my fingers to my lips, then my nipples. I spread the liquid all around my nipple, flicking it too.

A heavy breath is heard, my fingers creeping inside my panties this time. It was a new sensation. I never masturbated. I didn't need to. I had Jungkook.

A small whimper echoes within my mouth as my fingers come in contact with my folds, spreading the arousal around. Shit, I was so wet. Not as much I was whenever I was around him though. I gather some of the arousal, rubbing my clit with it next. I moan, continuing to rub myself. It felt awfully good. I imagine it's him. His fingers teasing and rubbing my clit while his face was squished in between my tits. That's how it'd usually go.

An embarrassingly whiny moan slips past my mouth at my thoughts, fuck I want him so bad. I continue to rub myself faster, my back now arched a little. I rub my bud in the motion of an 8, hoping for a release. It feels good, but not that good.

I then run my middle and ring fingers up and down my folds. I imagine it's his tongue, sliding up and down on me as he savours the taste. "So good..." I hum. I retreat my fingers back to my clit, rubbing it again. About a minute later of continuous rubbing, heavy breaths and small whines, I slowly feel my high approaching. I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining it's him, as my body shudders.

I don't rub myself further, stopping myself right there. I was now sensitive down there. I didn't cum. Fuck, this is annoying.

Groaning, my body sits back up on the bed. I put back all my clothes on, pee and get right back to bed. This was unsuccessful and very annoying. Embarrassing, too. What have I done? Fuck, really, Y/n? Over Jungkook. Yes, Over Jungkook.

Okay, just sleep it off. I tell myself, trying to convince myself that what I had done just now was totally not embarrassing.

I groan at the sound of my annoying alarm beeping on my nightstand. "Fuck you", I turn the alarm off, groaning once more as I roll off the bed. I grab my phone, my eyes still blurry, and then— FUCK. IT WAS 12PM. MY CLASSES START AT 11AM. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. I rise up from the bed, running to my bathroom. I have to make this very quick. I grab the toothbrush and get in the shower, washing my body while brushing my teeth. 5 minutes later, I run out of the bathroom to open my closet. I throw a pair of jeans and a hoodie before quickly putting them. I don't bother to style my hair or to eat, I just grab my bag and laptop before running out of my dorm. Mina, my roommate, didn't even wake me up. Where even is she? I didn't see her coming back home yesterday? Whatever.

I speed walk to my class that's already started one hour ago. Shit, hopefully the teacher doesn't give me a bad grade or note this down. I had a record of being one of the top 10 students in each class I took. I wouldn't want to drop it because of something so careless and small.

I hesitantly walk inside the door, my foot taking small nervous steps. The teacher looks at me, her eyebrow raising up to a confused look on her face. "Y/n, you're late" She taps her pointer finger on her chin repeatedly.

Bringing my lip in between my teeth, I nod my head in return. "Uh, I'm so sorry, Ms. Kim"

"Any particular reason you got late, Y/n?" She asks.

Oh yeah, I miss my ex - ex best friend - ex talking stage - ex fuck buddy— or whatever, and then I rubbed one out for him and passed out on the bed right after.

"Um, just overslept"

"Ah, pity. As a punishment, stay after class and help out the librarian please. New stack of books incoming!"

I press my lips into a thin line, nodding. It's not like I have another choice.

"Yes, madam."

She giggles in return, then directs me to my seat.

Another hour has passed, the bell has rung. After class. A groan echoes out of me as I rise up from my seat, clutching onto my bag. My friend looks at me, then giggles before patting my shoulder twice in hopes of comforting me a little. She leaves the room.

"Y/n, I hope I see you tomorrow on time. You're a good student, don't lose that reputation." Ms. Kim flashes a bland smile as she exits the classroom. Shrugging, I walk out of the classroom as well, heading to the library.

"Hi, Ms. Kent! I wave at the librarian.

"Y/n, isn't it? Ms. Kim informed me about you." She responds as she adjusts her glasses.

I nod my head back at her, my hands holding on to eachother at the back.

"Great! You can help me by taking out that stack of books and putting them inside this box" She hands me a big cardboard box.

I take it as I walk to the book shelf she pointed at. I turn around to look at the librarian, desperately hoping that she'd come help me out. But no, nevemind. She was on her chair, legs resting on top of her table as she took a nap. Okay, fine, take your rest. She probably deserves it, anyway.

I turn back, my hands now on my hips. "Good luck, y/n" my eyes scan the big shelf.

I start by taking out the books at the lowest layer, then gradually making my way to the top. "Hmm..." I hum, looking around the library for a tool. In order to reach the top, I needed something to get on. As I scan the room, my eyes land on the small tool in a corner. "Ah!"

Getting on the stool, my spread out my arms in order to balance myself. I grab a few books, then slowly lowering myself down to the box to drop the books. It's a bit of a risky task. I could break a limb. "Good", words of relief leave my mouth. I repeat the process, slowly and watching each of my steps.

I bend down to drop another book then lift myself back up, my feet doing a 60° degree again to align myself perfectly in front of the shelf. I grab one of the last few books on the shelf, turning around to drop it into the box. Uh, oh. There we go. I fall to the ground with a yelp. I lost my balance. Groaning, I close my eyes. Maybe I'll just lay here for a few minutes till the pain goes away. It really hurts though, I rub my hip and waist area. I'll apply some balm when I get back to my dorm.

"Y/n?"

I want to drown myself in a river.

I know that voice better than anyone else's. What the fuck is he doing here.

In the other hand, it felt really nice hearing my name coming out of his mouth. I missed his voice.

I gulp at the feeling of two fingers patting my shoulder. I don't want to open my eyes because I know I'll come eye to eye with the person I seriously do not wanting to be talking to right now. But I do it anyway.

"Y-you good?" He stutters.

I nod, slowly raising myself up. I flinch, wincing at the sudden jolt of pain on my lower back. My hand grips onto the closest shelf as I slowly lift myself back up on my feet. Jungkook offers me his hand for support, but I deny it. I just want to walk away.

"Y/n—

I walk past him with the now full cardboard box, ignoring the stabbing pain I'm feeling. Lifting this is so hard, fuck, especially with my now broken back. Broken is probably an exaggeration, but whatever.

I place the box in the small room right next to the library that's filled with stacks of books and other material. I'm done!

I go back inside the library to grab my bag and other items. As I put my pair of glasses inside the bag, I feel the soft honey-like voice from before say my name again.

"Y/n" I'm done.

Ignoring him would be too immature and would cause even more problems. So it's better to say something, right? Totally not because I want to talk with him, maybe, kind of.

"Jungkook." I gulp.

"Let me talk to you." Oh.

"About?"

"Us" Oh.

"There's nothing to talk about us, Jungkook."

"Yes, there is."

"No, there isn't. You made it clear."

"Jesus, Y/n. Can we move on from that, please?"

I scoff. "Fuck, no."

His hand immediately catches my wrist just when I try to walk away.

"Please, let me make it up to you—

"Jungkook. No."

I make it very clear to him that I don't want anything with him anymore. Maybe I do. But maybe I'm scared to get hurt again. Doesn't matter.

I pull my wrist away from his grip. I don't look back but walk straight out of the library.

If you wanted to talk to me and make things right, you should've done it two weeks ago.

Stepping into the safe space of my dorm, I sigh, plopping myself on the bean bag. My fingers go through my hair, softly caressing it and massaging my scalp. Shamelessly, my mind drifts away to the moment where Jungkook's fingers were tangled in betweens my locks, massaging my scalp and stroking my head. Or the times where he would fist my hair, using it to guide my head up and down while I choked on his dick. Unconsciously, my thighs rub against eachother just a little to bring me back to my senses. I look around my room, cheeks flushed and embarrassed. I can't be doing this again, god no.

Deciding to make myself a cup of ramen, I make my way to my little kitchen. I add boiling water to the cup, waiting for the noodles to be ready. Now back on my sofa with my noodles, I was so so ready to dig those chopsticks in and take a bite on my noodles. But my phone suddenly dings, the screen showing a message. It was Jungkook. What, Jungkook? Why's he messaging me? Oh fuck, was it about early? I gulp, reaching down to the coffee table to grab my phone.

jungoogie💌: haiiiii😆😁😁

jungoogie💌: Y/NNNNN!!!! ansehwr mem

My eyebrow slightly raises at the texts, noticing how messy and chaotic they were. Is he was drunk? I began typing my reply.

No, what.

I immediately press the call option then and there after reading the message of him saying he was going to take another gummy. What was wrong with him?

The call answered fast, the first thing I hear being him giggling.

"Y/nnnn?"

My name is heard in a slurred speech, a set of small giggles being heard once again after.

"Jungkook? Where are you?"

He hums into the phone, then small wet kissy noises being heard after. Is he kissing his phone?

"Miss you...so much..."

My heart warms up at his words. I know I shouldn't let it affect me, but I felt the same. It's been weeks since I had last seen Jungkook, and I've wanted nothing more than to be in his arms and hold. I clear my voice a bit before speaking again.

"I miss you too. Can you tell me where you are, please?"

I need to make sure where he is. Back before I met him, he used to go around the street and get high for fun with Yugyeom. I stopped him later on. But he's back at it again, I guess.

"You do?!" His voice suddenly escalates from tired and slurred to hype pitched and excited. He is being so adorable right now.

"Baby, I...miss you too!" Jungkook groans, then a small thud is heard. I hear Jungkook sigh, sounding very relaxed and calm.

"Mm, are you in your dorm?"

Jungkook hums in confirmation. And just at that, I get up from my bed before walking out the door. I cannot let him get even more high. Even more so, who knows what else he'll do in there.

"Jungkook, keep talking"

"Can I sing?"

"Yeah"

"Vintage tee, brand new phone, high heels on..."

He knew I liked that song. He's doing this on purpose. As he continues to serenade me, I slowly make my way upto his dorm. We weren't allowed to be here. One of the rules in our university was that no one of the opposite gender should be seen at another's dorm. That's a rule me and Jungkook had broken way before. He was always there in my dorm. I'm surprised he was never caught.

Too lost in Jungkook's voice, I forget that I was already near his dorm. Snapping back to reality, I hesitantly ask Jungkook to stop singing.

"Kook, open your door. I'm there."

I'm sure of this, right? Yeah, yeah I am.

"Oh?" His singing stops, his voice switching to a more confused tone. Next, I hear small sounds, then thuds on the floor as they got closer and closer.

The door shoots open in a hurried manner, his eyes falling onto mine. But his eyes are not the thing I'm looking at, it's the weed roll in his hand. I look back at him, my eyebrows now furrowed.

"Baby—"

"When did you start smoking again?" I cross my arms against my chest.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, bringing the blunt upto his mouth to inhale some.

"A few days after we stopped talking" He admits. He looks guilty, but I try to ignore it. I was still mad at him. For everything. In addition, about this too.

Jungkook angles his body to the side, making space for me to walk in. I walk past his body towards his room.

Once I enter, I let out a small gasp at the state of his room. It was so fucking messy. Clothes here and there on the floor, his books scattered across his table alongside empty cans of frizzy drinks and empty ramen cups, bed fully messy and sheets on the floor included.

"What the fuck happened here?" I ask, concern flowing through me.

I feel his hand snake around my waist, cold fingertips giving me chills as they traced my belly. My body instinctively leans back into his, my back pressed against his chest. Jungkook's sighs into my neck, the tip of his nose caressing my collarbones.

"Missed you..." He was holding me so tight that I almost couldn't breathe. He was holding me so tight as if it's the last time he'll ever be able to do so.

I don't say anything else while I lead the both of us to the top of his bed. Jungkook doesn't allow me to move much, caging me in between his body and the bed right away. I lay flat as his body settles in between my legs. I run my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp.

Jungkook takes one look at me, then another inhale from his weed roll. I forget he even had it.

He blows the smoke away, eyes still on mine, staring into the deep the corners of my eyes. Suddenly, I start coughing, my hand on my chest as I tried to calm down my breathing. The smoke was making me cough.

Jungkook sits on the bed, alerted as he starts to mutter sorrys over and over.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry, baby"

His hand rubs up and down my back in a soothing manner in an attempt to calm me down. It works, of course. My breathing slows down to my normal pace. Jungkook looks at his blunt, getting up from the bed before taking one last inhale then throwing it in the bin.

He groans, now inside his bathroom. I hear the sound of the water running down.

The light is turned off again as Jungkook exits the bathroom. He looks at me sitting on his bed. This time he notices the outline of my breasts, clearly visible from the thin material of the shirt I was wearing. His eyes trail down my body, from the outline of my breasts to my nipples, then my waist.

"No bra?" Jungkook breaks the silence.

I shook my head, pushing my shoulders back so I could lean against the headboard. And also that my tits were even more visible to him, but I don't want to admit to it. I watch Jungkook's eyes shift from my face to my tits. He walks towards the bed and gets on it.

Sitting on the bed right in front of me, Jungkook sighs, gripping onto my thigh before pulling me towards him so that I'm laying flat on the bed.

We lock our eyes together, our breathing suddenly syncing in as Jungkook hooks onto the edge of my shirt. He looks at me, for approval.

Fuck, how could I not? I've been wanting to feel him so bad.

I nod, gulping.

He raises the shirt upwards, exposing my tummy. Jungkook leans down to place a few kisses all over it. He continues to kiss my tummy in circles, causing me to let out a few giggles at the ticklish feeling here and there. And each time I did, he would raise up his head to look at me, his eyes big and sparkling.

Jungkook moves the shirt more upwards, my tits now out and bare as the end of the shirt laid right over them.

His hands immediately fly to cup my breasts, holding them. He sighs.

"So warm..."

Jungkook crawls further, so that his head is laying on my breasts. He nuzzles himself deeper, cheek pressed against my chest and hands groping my breasts. I watch him attentively, finding this moment comforting.

He slowly turns around to look at me, and this time, I notice how his eyes are half lidded, reddish with veins visible. It's from all that weed and gummies. Jungkook says nothing though, he just looks at me in awe, but also guilt.

I glide my thumb over his cheekbone, stroking it. Jungkook leans in to my touch, then colliding his lips and my palm, small smooch noises being heard after.

This is nice. I want to have this everyday.

He proceeds kiss my fingers, trailing them up wrists to my arms, then collarbone, my throat and upto my face. I close my eyes, focusing on the feeling of his soft thin lips on me and the small smooch sounds they create. Right then, he kisses both of my closed eyelids, then nose, cheeks, chin. The only area left were my lips. My eyes open to look at him.

His breath was fanning against my lips. We were inches away from kissing.

Jungkook cracks up a small giggle,

"I think you sobered me up a little."

He pulls away to sit up on the bed again.

No, kiss me. I want you to kiss me.

I clutch onto his shirt, pulling him back to me. Jungkook was surprised, his hand gripping onto my arm for support. I lean in to peck his lips once. I pull away, my lashes batting as I stare at him.

Jungkook looked shocked. He shouldn't be, I just let him kiss me all over. His expressions change, turning into a more soft and relaxed look on his face. His big eyes stare back at me as he leans in, going for another kiss.

The kiss feels passionate, deep and so — real. It feel real.

Jungkook's eyebrows furrow, head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss more. Our lips move against eachother so perfectly. The kiss wasn't rough, neither was is soft. It was perfect, filled with longing and love.

He settles his legs down next to my thighs, caging my body. I grab his hand, holding it with both my hands to my heart. I'm sure he could feel how fast my heart was beating. He whimpers, sending vibrations through my mouth. The kiss was getting sloppy and air was running out. But we continued kissing. I missed his lips so much. His soft lips against mine, moving in a synchronised rhythm. Even our breathing was synchronised.

After one final smooch, I pull away with a gasp in a serious need of air. My head arches onto the pillow, hair messy and arm thrown over my head as I catched breath.

I lower my eyes down to look at Jungkook, who was looking at me as if I was the only thing that mattered to him. If I could, I'd hit replay and live this moment over and over again.

He cups my face, squishing my cheeks while he left small pecks all over my upper and lower lip. My lips turn into an uncontrollable smile, so big and bright. He continued to peck my lips, teeth even, then my cheeks.

I don't know what is making him do this, is it the weed and gummies he took earlier or is it actually him.

"Mmmm..." I whine once he pulls away.

There is so much tension in the room right now. But nothing sexual, I don't want to fuck him right now. Maybe later. But not now.

Everything we did right now obviously meant we had to talk about it later. Especially about Jungkook's behaviour. The drugs, the weed, the messy room, calling me. Everything. Would I go back to him after this? Yeah.

There is an awkward silence again, and Jungkook looks like he wants to say something so bad. I can say that because he keep tugging onto his lower lip with his teeth, nibbling on it constantly. For a moment, he opens his mouth, ready to say something but closes it again. My eyebrow raises. Patting Jungkook's cheek,

"Say it." I tell him.

"I love you."

Jungkook whispers, audible enough for me to hear. Audible enough to send me into euphoria. Audible enough to make me fucking forget everything for a moment.

I don't say anything back for a few seconds. Jungkook looks relaxed and relieved, maybe glad that he finally said it. Before I could say anything back, he covers my mouth with his hand.

"Don't say anything, please. I don't want to hear it yet. Let's just go to sleep and talk in the morning."

Jungkook lays down on the bed right next to me, his arm wrapping around my waist. His big eyes sparkle, looking directly into mine.

I don't say anything back just like he wants, but I wrap my arms around his torso, pulling him closer to me. I don't know whether it was the weather or something else, but Jungkook felt so warm. The atmosphere around us as well. Everything felt warm and comfortable. Nuzzling my face further into his chest, I hum, comfortable as fuck. My heart skips a beat once I feel his fingers on my head. He run them through my hair, massaging my scalp and patting my head. Fuck, I missed this so much.

I soothe into his touch, my body weight now entirely on him. As my eyes get even more drowsy, I let myself fall asleep in his embrace.

Before even realising, the morning had come already. What did make us realise that was Jungkook's alarm going off.

Jungkook groans, rolling over to the other side to turn his alarm off. When he turns around, he finds my back facing him fully. I had shifted while sleeping. Jungkook giggles, his arm pulling me back to him as my back collides with his hard chest. He thinks of going back to sleep again, but too late, the alarm had already woken me up. Just when Jungkook presses his head onto my shoulder, I pull his hair away so that his head is back on the pillow.

"I'm awake"

"Don't care" Jungkook murmers.

"Jungkook"

"Fucking hell..." He groans.

He rubs his eyes open. Jungkook yawns again, then going back to lay his head on my back.

"My head hurts" he sighs.

"Probably because of the things you did last night. Maybe I could give you a massage?"

Jungkook's eyes lit up at the suggestion. Eagerly, he nods his head already sitting up on the bed.

"Take your shirt off and lay on your stomach"

Jungkook can't help but crack up a small laugh at my comment while I tilt my head to the side, clearly confused.

"What?"

"Nothing" He grins.

"No, say it"

—"Say it." - "I love you" —

"It's just that it's usually me who says it you know, cause, when we have sex..." he giggles again.

I look at him, grinning back. Grabbing the pillow, I hit his back with it. Jungkook pokes his tongue, looking at the outline of my nipples through my shirt when I stretch my arms up to hit him. He snorts at the hit, then taking his shirt off before throwing it on the ground.

I get on top of his back once he lays down.

I take my time to admire his naked back, sculptured to perfect. It was so perfect and built. You could tell that he worked out just by the side of his back.

I begin with his shoulders, gently massaging them to ease the tension out. He hums as I continue massage his shoulders now increasing the pressure. I move down to his arms, squeezing them and sort of punching them to relax them. Jungkook's eyebrows raise up,eyes closed as he nods his head in approval. I then press onto his bones, circling them from time to time as I switch in between squeezing his muscles to massaging his bones.

I loved the feel of his muscles. Touching them felt so nice. I loved it when I felt him relax at the pleasure of my hands massaging him. I take a moment to admire his back again, running my hand up and down his back. Unknowingly, my nails begin to scratch his back. He lets out a long moan at the soothing feeling.

I giggle, leaning down to press a small kiss behind his neck. I get no reaction back from him, so I continue to trail kisses down his back. Jungkook shifts a little in his position, groaning a little.

"Jungkook, turn around" I whisper.

I get off of him for a brief moment so that Jungkook could lay on his back before getting back on top of him again. Now that my clothed pussy was pressed onto his growing buldge, I grip onto his shoulders to massage him more. He moans at the feeling, head thrown back.

"Here, baby?"

His eyebrow is raised because of the tone of my voice—flirty— and the nickname I used on him. I never called him baby. Ever.

"What's up with you?" He asks.

I immediately give in not being to control myself more, I dive in for a kiss. Jungkook understands how I'm feeling, smirking into the kiss while his hands sneakily slide up my legs and inside my shorts. He palms my ass cheeks, rubbing his palm over them. My arms lay on around his head, caging it, as both our mouths working on eachother's. My tongue licks his lower lip, a smile forming on my lips slowly. I feel his hands leave the inside of my shorts to slap both my cheeks, a cocky laugh coming from him next. Jungkook then hooks onto the waistband of my shorts, pulling them down upto my ankles. My ass was now bare and out.

I go back in for a kiss, arching my back as well. I whimper into the kiss once Jungkook sneaks his way into my mouth with his tongue, at the same time — his fingers touching my pussy. I could imagine his smirk right now. Fuck. I feel the tip of his fingers teasingly tracing along my folds teasingly. To spite me up even more, he inserts the very tip of his fingers in, but nothing more. I grunt, trying to grind myself back on his fingers. I was begging for some friction. Jungkook's fingers leave my pussy, only to be back with a small slap on it.

I groan into his mouth, letting him take over me with his godly tongue. His middle finger touches my bud, pressing onto it while my pussy clenches on absolutely nothing. It was so fucking embarrassing but I was dripping wet for him.

Jungkook pulls out of the kiss, now beginning to trail kisses all over my neck. He starts with the side of my neck, then down to my collarbone and back up on my neck again. He nibbles on a spot near my throat, biting it here and there to create a hickey. Jungkook licks over the small purple bruise forming, to then kiss it over and over again. He begins to repeat the process all over on several areas on my neck and collarbones. Meanwhile, I melt onto his touches, just letting him continue kissing and biting me all over. But while being too caught on the moment, I feel his fingers begin to slowly rub my bud. A long moan leaves me as my back arches even more. I'm pretty sure I looked like a fucking cat who was stretching.

"Turn around. Want this pretty pussy on my face" He pats my bud.

Shit, I was so turned on.

Immediately, I turn around, my ass now in front of Jungkook's face. I feel his hands on my cheeks, squeezing them and feeling them all over as he slaps it a few times.

"Sit on my face"

I felt myself clench around nothing.

I turn my upper body around to make sure I won't hurt him, I slowly lift my thighs up to sit on his face. I wasn't exactly putting my whole body weight onto him, more like hovering over him.

"Sit" He commands.

"No, you'll be crushed and my thighs are too big. This is good enough"

I hear him sigh. Next thing I know I feel his hands on my thighs, bringing me down so that my ass was entirely on his face and thighs around his neck and shoulder. My entire body weight was on him.

"I'm not dying, see?" He scoffs.

I whine in defeat, nodding to his words.

Jungkook begins by swiping his tongue up for a long stripe on my pussy, then going in again. He repeats the process, but much rougher, with his nose pressing onto my flesh. Meanwhile, his hands rub and squeeze my thighs, delivering a few slaps here and there. I lean forward a little balance myself out, but suddenly jolt at the feeling of his tongue entering my pussy.

"Shit!" I moan.

Gripping onto his shoulders for support, my back arched and pussy on his face. His face was smothered all over my dripping cunt.

"Baby, you're so wet. This pussy must've missed me, huh?" I feel his thumb dipping in to gather arousal. Jungkook sucks on his thumb, pulling it out again to enter two fingers in my hole at once.

"Fuck!" I wasn't even stretched out to begin with.

He kisses my clit, lips softly sucking on it while his fingers went in and out of me slowly. So slow, that it felt like he was just caressing my wet folds. His teeth gently tucks on my clit to pull on it a little, earning a long moan from me return. He sighs into my pussy, groaning right after, sending vibrations through me adding even more pleasure.

Shit, this was heaven.

He was so mindful with what he was doing. He knew where to touch me, where to kiss, how to tease me and make me like it. He knew my body so fucking well, better than I ever could.

Jungkook pulls out both of his fingers to replace them with his tongue. I feel his tongue swiping through my folds, gulping down all of my juices. His room was filled with nothing but my filthy moans and his slurping noises.

His tongue enters my gaping hole, making my eyes roll back in pleasure. Shit. He saves me no mercy, trusting his tongue in and out of my pussy. Fuck, I was so turned on. I could feel my slick dripping down to his face, smothering it all over.

Panting, I close my eyes just to open them a few seconds later, my eyes immediately landing on the fat dent in his pants. His cock was prominent and big, standing tall even in his quite tight pants. I want to have it. I look beneath me at the man who was currently eating me out like a starved man, biting my lip at the erotic sight.

I groan a little, moving my hips at the same pace as his tongue.

"Jungkook, I want you in my mouth!" I cry out.

He doesn't respond, continuing to eat me out. His finger was now pressed onto my bud, circling it. I whine, desperately wanting a response from him.

Still no response. I then grip onto his shoulders with my hands, leaning forward. I crawl my way over his body, my face right in front of his cock now. I hear Jungkook groan at the lack of my pussy on his face. I turn my upper body around to look at him, giggling at him. Sticking my tongue out playfully, I turn back around only to get dragged back to Jungkook by his arm.

My back collides with his chest, a series of giggles and laughs leaving us. I throw my head back, still laughing, as Jungkook holds both my hands tightly to my chest while not letting go.

He presses his cheek onto my neck, whispering things.

"You want me dick? Yeah, you're gonna get it"

He easily turns my body around so that I was laying on my stomach again. Jungkook now gets on the bed, on top of me as both his thighs are caging mine. He pats my ass cheeks with both his hands while I got myself back up so that my ass was displayed to him clearly with easy access (doggy style). Jungkook releases his breaths, fondling with my ass cheeks, slapping it a few times.

"I could do this all day everyday" He comments.

"Jungkook, I missed you" my voice cracks.

He scoffs. "You missed me or you missed this dick?" He slaps my cheeks again.

I whine, sighing afterwards.

"Both" Jungkook laughs, almost mockingly.

"Wonder how you got yourself off without me, hm? Did you use your hands? Were you even able to make yourself cum?"

I could feel that cocky smirk behind me.

"S-shut up, just fuck me" I could feel the heat in my cheeks growing more each second.

"Did you cum?"

"No"

Jungkook hums, fingers inching towards my pussy.

"You want me to touch you here and make you cum?" His fingers circle my wet clit.

"Mmm-hm" my voice sounds more relaxed, but desperate.

"Here? Touch you like this, baby?" He then pinches my clit and twists it, earning a whiny whimper from me. I was so fucking wet and each touch he gives me got me dripping even more. After, I feel his hand palming my pussy, juices smothering all over his hand while he rubbed my clit painfully slowly.

A long whine leaves me, back arching even more. Fuck.

"Jungkook, p—please... please"

I was a big fucking mess and Jungkook loved it so much.

"No more, please... Just fuck me, mm!"

My hair was messy and all over, head buried into the pillow while Jungkook's hand worked slowly on my pussy. He lets out a little laugh, stopping his movement on me. I don't feel his hand on me no longer, but not even a second later, I gasp at the feeling of the tip of his cock pressed onto my folds.

"Shit, Jungkook" I cuss.

"You're on birth control?"

"Mhm"

We were too fucking horny to even care at this point.

He glides the tip along my folds, coating it nicely with my slick. I hear him pumping himself a few times — not that he wasn't hard enough, fuck his cock was standing so fucking tall — but to bet my slick all over. He aligns himself with my hole once again, patting my ass afterwards.

"You ready?"

"Just put it in!"

He thrusts himself in rough, a big wet noise echoing through the room.

"Fucking hell, baby, you're dripping"

Jungkook begins from just grinding his cock into me while being inside, then gradually increasing his pace. He then stops for a moment to pull his cock out for a second to slam it back in a rough pace. He never stops, repeating the same process over. The sound of his thighs clapping into the back of my thighs echoes through his room alongside the wet mushy noises my pussy made.

"S—shit, so good, taking this cock so well, baby"

He repeatedly slaps both my ass cheeks mid process, enjoying this moment to the max. My whole upper body had collapsed to the bed already, and it was the pillow that Jungkook placed under my stomach that was holding me up.

I was this close to passing out. My mouth was open, saliva spilling to the pillow while he continues to drill into my pussy.

Jungkook leans forward to press his chest onto my back, hands enveloping my breasts to flick and pinch my nipples.

He circles his hips in circular motions, just to pull out and slam back again inside.

I was such a moaning mess.

"Mm, mm, mm! Y-you fuck me so well!" I scream out.

"Oh, baby" He groans.

I feel myself clenching around him repeatedly, about to cum.

"J–jungkook, cumming!"

His thrusts slow down a little but he picks it back up, slopping but fast as he fucks me through my high. I feel my pussy clenching around him tightly, making the man behind me cuss and moan as I finally released all over his cock. Panting, I moan into the pillow as Jungkook kept going on.

His lips leave a few kisses on my back, his thrusts getting sloppier as he went on.

He lets out a long moan, finally releasing myself in my pussy.

"Shit, shit, shit—" a series of moans and cusses leave his mouth.

We both lay there, breathing synchronised and fast. Jungkook then slowly lifts himself off of my body, slipping himself out.

"You look fucked out, baby" He laughs.

"Of course, I would be. You just fucked me rough and I'm stuffed with your cum" I respond.

He puckers his lips, leaning down to place small kisses all over my face.

"Ah, my babyyy. Tired?" I could tell he was teasing me from the little baby voice he's using on me.

I turn my head to the other side, a smile forming on my face, completely forgetting about the fact that I was filled with his cum to the brim.

I feel his hand on my head, fingers twirling my curls at the end. He then holds my chin, gently, moving my face so that I'd face him.

His nose scrunched, Jungkook smiles wide before leaning down to place a soft peck on my puckered lips.

"Cute" He mumbles, and I swear my heart just did a flip.

"Let's get you cleaned"

We both were now on his bed again, cuddled up against eachother after a nice shower together. Both our classes start around 2pm, thankfully, and it was about 9am right now so we had a plenty of time left to just be in eachother's presence. I still had so many questions to ask Jungkook regarding yesterday. But not right now, I wanted to enjoy this moment.

I was currently laying in his arms, my head resting on his hard chest and both arms securely wrapped around my body while we watched whatever show that was on the TV. From time to time, he would lean forward to press a kiss onto my body or just talk about the show we were watching.

"I honestly don't like her character. She's so...ugh" I comment on the TV show, my face scrunch up in disgust.

Jungkook just hums, hand massaging my scalp. He seemed to be out of space a little. Deep in thought. Wonder what he was thinking about. Eh, I could think of a few possibilities.

"Jungkook?" I pat his cheek.

He hums in response, glancing at me.

"You good?"

"Mm, just — ah, yesterday, you know. I'm sorry, baby"

Awwwww.

"No, it's okay. I'm sorry about earlier, though"

"Baby, there is nothing for you to be sorry for, okay? In that case, it's me who should say sorry for anything. I really did care about you right from the start it's just that...I didn't want to admit it, you know? I didn't know whether I was ready for a relationship or not. I know in that way, I was leading you on and I'm sorry for that. But I truly did enjoy and care for you from the bottom of my heart. I just kept trying to convince myself that I didn't want anything else from you..."

I listen silently. He continues...

"...And also, I'm sorry about the café. But we weren't anything to begin with. You were the only girl I talked with throughout the whole time I was sort of seeing you. But after the incident, I started to realise how much of a fucking douche I was to you. But the more realising I did, the more I realised how much I actually cared about you. And that's when I started taking all the gummies and weed again because I needed something to get my frustration off on. But I also worked hard to stop using them because of you. That's when I realised I was in love with you. I was so fucking in love with you that I started to dig up old unhealthy coping mechanisms to cope again which I stopped doing solely because you told me to do so. I felt back because I felt as if I was betraying you but I had already betrayed you so what was the point, I thought. I tried to go to parties to find girls to release my stress but non of them were you so I'd end up disgusted and leave. I'm so fucking sorry, I became a mess"

He stops talking, releasing a sigh. We stay in silence for about 10 seconds before I break it.

"Jungkook, it's alright. I'm glad you told me and everything is fine now, hm? Thank you for telling me. I understand your side and I also forgive you. I'll help you clean your room. I'll help you with everything. And I can't give you an answer for your confession right now, okay? But we can definitely go on a date" I smile, tilting my head to the side.

Jungkook squeals out of happiness, pulling me into his embrace.

"Thank you so much, baby. Take all your time and thank you so much." He responds, the shaking of his voice from earlier now nowhere to be heard.

He leans down to place a kiss on the top of my head, pulling me closer into his embrace while we continued to watch TV.

Maybe this is for the best. This feels right. And I want this. Yeah.

"I like this" I say

"I like you"

I know you'd miss me once the thrill expired, and you'd be standing in my front porch light. And I knew you'd come back to me.

a/n : hii sorry this took a while to post 😭🙏🏽 i been busyyyy. thank you soo much for reading and hope you liked it :)

#Spotify #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x y/n #smut #fanfiction #bts jk #bts smut #fanfic

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brooooswriting · 1 month

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could you write Leighton Murray having big panics attacks.

She has a lots of problems on top of being terrified of coming out so one day when she's in maths or something. She feels disconnected from herself and goes into a panic attack ♡

Hurt comfort angst

I got you

You didn’t know Leighton all too well, you were in the same math class and shared some other classes. In addition to that, you knew Kimberly from Econ which meant that you saw her every now and then. At some point you had to do some assignment together in math and ever since then you’ve been sitting next to each other. But believe it or not, Leighton wasn’t really someone who talked a lot about her private life. Plus she was actually a really good student, always on top of everything, following the lecture, and she solved most problems Before Most of the others even understood the question.

That was exactly why you were so confused when the blonde came in late, dark bags under her eyes and she was clearly unfocused. Your Supposition was Confirmed when the prof called her out but she only stared ahead. You felt her leg shake against yours and you could see her eyes stare ahead. As someone who could also deal with being anxious you knew these symptoms. While you knew how hard it could be to do anything during those moments you didn’t want her to loose her high standards in this class. So you carefully slid your iPad towards her and pinched her side. She jumped slightly, her head slowly turning to you before you Inconspicuously pointed to the solution.

“That’s right Leighton” the prof ignored the woman’s weird behavior. You guessed that it was since she was normally on top of the class.

“You good?” You asked the blonde as her leg shook harder but you didn’t get an answer. Your eyes switched between the clock and the girl as you tried to figure out what to do. There was class for another half an hour and pulling her out would be weird but you knew how bad these things could get. When you felt her breath speed up you started to panic too. You searched through your bag to find anything that might help.

To your surprise you even found two things that could help. You pulled out your ice cold water and pressed it to her leg which slowly pulled her back before taking out two tissues and scrunching them up against your nose. Your head went back up and your hand shot up. “Yes Mrs. Y/l/n?”

“I’m sorry my nose is bleeding, may I go to the restrooms?” You asked, your other hand still pushing the bottle against Leightons leg. When the prof nodded you added, “Is it okay if Mrs. Murray joins me? I may need another hand” he again nodded and you grabbed the blondes hand to pull her out of the room. Once the door closed you made sure to get her to fresh air behind the building. It was rather secluded so nobody would see her.

“Can you breathe for me Leighton? You’re going into a panic attack darling” you took her hand and placed it on your chest so she could feel you breathe and copy it. It worked a bit as she started to calm down. “Is it okay if I hug you?” You questioned gently, making sure to give her the space to deny.

As soon as she gave you the okay you hugged her. She relaxed into you, her breath slowing down and her leg stopped shaking. “Do you wanna talk about what scared you that bad?” Your voice was soft, something that Leighton always appreciated about you.

“I don’t know” she hesitated, life was being really hard on her at the moment and even though she was pretty sure that you weren’t going to judge she wasn’t sure if she wanted to risk it. You stayed silent, your hand rubbing over her arm to signal her that you were there for her. “I… I am gay” she just busted out, avoiding any eye contact she could have with you.

Which was bad cause she didn't see the smile forming on your lips. Truth be told, you already had a guess that she was as you saw her check you out several times but you didn't know anything for sure. And as someone who was gay themself you knew how hard coming out could be. “Leighton, that is great. Is this what stressed you out so badly?” you asked, looking down at her.

“Yes… and no. It's also Nico who cheated on Maya his long-time girlfriend with Kimberly and broke both their hearts and my stupid community service at the women's center and the whole Kappa thing. It's just I always thought college life was this easy and chill life but it's kinda crushing me at the moment” she explained as she played with the rings on her hand. You chuckled lightly when she was done explaining which made her glare at you.

“Maybe college life isn't easy because you let everybody else decide over your life,” you said, keeping your advice short hoping that she'd explain it to herself but the look she gave you was a clear no. “Why is the thing with Nico stressing you out?”

“Because he hurt Kimberly… and everybody tells me that that was really bad of him and shit but like, I'm not him. I can't do anything about it” She sighed and her shoulders slumped even further.

“Exactly. You can't do anything about it; you didn't know. So don't let that stress you out; instead, focus on helping Kimberly and Maya” She gave you a nod, and you could see that she was still thinking about what you just said. “So why kappa?” you continued.

“Well, my mom was in it, and it is obviously the first step to a particular lifestyle. It's necessary, and I don't want to disappoint my mom.” you nodded along as she talked, acting as if you understood the whole kappa and lifestyle thing.

“Leighton, kappa should be happy to have someone like you. Someone as lovely and caring is hard to find, and if you're just yourself, I can't think of a reason why they wouldn't take you. But if, for some absurd reason, they don't want you, your mom wouldn't be disappointed or mad. She'd love you the same,” you reassured her. The blonde didn't immediately answer; instead, she just stared at her shoes; it was evident that she was dissociating again. You took the cold water bottle out of your bag again, but this time, you opened it and carefully put it in her hand, urging her to drink something as tears brimmed her eyes.

Once she was back with you, you decided just to cut the topic that was probably scarring her the most. “And what makes you so scared to come out?” you questioned, shaking your head when she tried to give you back the bottle.

“I… I like myself. I don't want it to change how people see me and how I act. People will immediately treat me differently and I don't want that!” she explained and you understood where she was coming from. Being treated differently was also what used to scare you.

“I get that. I used to feel the same way, but I realized it can only affect my image and how people see me if I let it. I came out by making out with a girl at a frat party, and from then on, I was incredibly persistent in acting the same. If people wanted to talk about my sexuality, we could, but I made sure that we did it once, and then the topic was done. And you have such a great personality and style that I don't think this could change you.” You grinned at her and nudged her shoulder with yours making her smile at you

“Thank you, you're good at this, and you're so much more understanding than…” she hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should tell you that she's been seeing someone. “Than Alicia” she finished, watching your eyebrows raise and your face fall a bit.

“Alicia, like women's center Alicia?” you asked, nodding when she gave you a yes. “That's... Unexpected.” You had to keep your face in check as your heart broke over the fact that she had a girlfriend.

“Yeah, I know. And for someone who works at a women's center, she's really bad at this, she keeps trying to get me to come out” the blonde asked as she turned to you. Your face turned into an annoyed and angry one at what she just said.

“Don't ever let anyone pressure you into coming out. That's literally the worst thing one can do, and I hope she knows that. You come out when you are ready, not when she wants you to, okay?” you had your hands on her shoulders, ensuring she was listening to you.

“ But if it really hurts her when I'm closeted?”

“Then she shouldn't have committed to this relationship, Leighton. You deserve someone who supports and loves you unconditionally, and honestly, I don't think that Alicia is that person. But I'm here for you if you believe she is.” This time, you avoided eye contact, missing the blonde's heart eyes. She just leaned back into you until you could see her eyes close due to exhaustion.

You smiled slightly before nudging her. “Come on, I'll walk you back to your dorm. You should rest a bit. Panic attacks can be quiet exhausting.” you pulled her up by her hand and grabbed her bag. You took the emptiest road back to her dorm as she looked less styled than usual and you didn't want any rumors.

“Thank you for everything, y/n,” Leighton said as she leaned against the doorway. She didn't want to part ways, but she was too tired to ask you to come inside. The smile you sent her made her heart flutter a bit shocking herself.

“No problem. Here, give me your phone.” She handed you her phone and you quickly typed in your number, saving yourself with a 💕 behind it. You couldn’t wait for Alicia to see your name in her girls phone. “Now go to sleep okay? Text me when you’re awake so I can check up on you” you hugged her and put her bag down in the living room before exiting.

You couldn’t wait for the next couple of days to unfold, getting the girl of your dreams and finally getting back at someone who clearly deserved it.

#reader insert #brooooswriting #leighton murray x reader #tslocg x reader #renee rapp x reader

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elithemiar-blog · 2 years

Text

Danny gets invited into a robotics/mechanics club after he mumbled out the basic idea of his parent's latest invention just by looking at it, the name did help.

He doesn't have much of a choice to recognize what an invention can do based off of its look for his safety.

So mechanics and engineering he just starts picking up from his parents through association.

At some point, he has to modify one because it hurts both humans and ghosts.

His parents are so caught up on the fact that it hurts ghosts as intended that they completely miss that it hurts humans too, severely.

Danny, and Tucker when needed, start modifying the weapons for people's safety. Which Danny gets really good at and starts taking his parent's blueprints and building safer, and mostly better, inventions.

So, when this new classmate overhears the trio discussing on how to fix it. They think Danny would be a great addition to the club, and when they bring it up at their next meeting, everyone else either doesn't believe them or is joking.

Due to gossip and high school hierarchy (by Casper standards), Danny is a freak, loser, and stupid.

This classmate brings Danny's intelligence to himself and tries to urge this kid to come to the club one day after school.

Danny downgrades his own intelligence on engineering that the classmate is befuddled, until being at Casper for longer they understand on why this is.

A school event has this classmate trying to strike high praise on Danny, but even his parents kind of bat him aside to talk about ghosts.

People start gossiping that this classmate has a crush on Danny.

Eventually, they do get Danny to a club and the rest of the members kind of call him out on his crush, in front of Danny. However, he does prove himself and the club agrees to invite him to some kind of multi-school engineering showcase, and they do need one other person to make a full team.

He really doesn’t want to go. Somehow his parents are pushing him to go. At some point, somehow, he's being required to go.

Maybe Tucker and Sam urge him to go, who already noticed Danny's talent. He still doesn't want to leave Amity, but with his friends pushing him to have fun he's more willing to think about it.

Maybe the trip becomes a 50/50 extra credit opportunity on his math and science grades, which he needs.

Marvel: Tony, Peter, and/or Banner are at this event to find future employees or award scholarships.

DC: Bruce and/or Tim are at this event (maybe another as well), to also find future employees or award scholarships.

Maybe there's some kind of lead revealed during this event that helps a case.

They find Danny being isolated by the club except for the classmate and they're curious on why.

The classmate is giving high praises, gifting information that Danny doesn't want revealed, to these people who will actually listen.

This team gets challenged to build something different.

The classmate turns to Danny to help out and he gets invited by the rest, but he doesn't get a say...

Danny sees something wrong and tries to say something, but no one let's him get a word in..

When the build gets judged, it doesn't work. Danny with random parts in hand, fixes it on the spot adding a little touch that makes it work and then some.

He gets high compliments from these very smart people, but he brushes them aside. Not realizing what he did, he'd just really wants to get back to Amity.

While the event is still going on, he gets pulled aside to look over a project or design and he can tell what needs fixed or how to reroute power better (purposeful mistakes meant to challenge him).

Here he is, at an event for school, being given complements and not really noticing.

These people very curious on who this kid is goes searching. Maybe the club kids tell the not-paying-attention-club-advisor that he did nothing.

Maybe the one doing the complimenting calls the school and, petty tattles on the club, gives full praise and offers a scholarship.

Someone can be so focused on either working on what they want to do or what they have to do (in Danny's case), that talent found isn't recognized even if highly complimented by an expert.

The mental image of Tim inviting Danny to the manor to help out with a WE project, and Tim is trying to get him to recognize his own talent. Bonus points if its vigilante associated (like Nightwing's eskrima sticks malfunctioning and sleep deprived Tim can't figure it out). Bonus points if the rest of the family are there over seeing.

Maybe he can't be an astronaut anymore cause he doesn’t fit certain requirements. Maybe he can still work for NASA despite his grades, he fixes a missed problem that would've made the rocket launch unsuccessful, and it was a last-minute change.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom #danny downplaying his intelligence #environmental conditioning that he's not as smart as the rest of the family #he's far too caught up on protecting amity #and his love of astronomy #to notice his talent with engineering #tucker gets involved specifically to lower the strength of the ectosignature tracking #Shout out to the entire four years working on one goal and not exploring the creativity that is my mind #My family and I have no knowledge of where it comes from still #Weapon designs people still want made #Stories that people are telling me to finish and publish #Four years of regret that's still being worked on #dp x marvel

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nqmonarch · 2 months

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Genuinely wanna hear more regarding the No Wish SAHSRAU (Is that how it's spelled?) especially with all the new events that's happened.

Including the Dr Ratio that slid into our DMs.

First, apologies for the wait I took a while doing this request and then also decided not to post anything during the Palestine strike period because free Palestine.

And man, I don't know how it's spelled. I'd assume that's right it's so long though. Also YES Dr. Ratio sliding into our DMs except bro waltzes in and calls us an idiot ;-;

But first! Let's catch up with some of the current crew who is currently in Penacony!

Warning Penacony Spoilers

For the Trailblazer Penacony's been rough... Shortly after the death of their new closest friend, they'd been coerced into talking with Aventurine, and now had to make a decision without consulting any of the Astral Express beforehand. Sure, they were a seasoned adventurer with two missions under their belt but they still have no idea about their past or if they could trust such sketchy people.

"Aventurine, that little rat..." Their ears perked up when they suddenly heard the voice of this presumed Aeon. "I want to knock my fist against his forehead and see if there's a brain in there." The Trailblazer wouldn't try that.

But if you were acting like this maybe Aventurine and Black Swan could be trusted. The Trailblazer forced themselves to relax and tried to show confidence in their eyes. They could do this. It was good you were still by their side in the dreamscape, otherwise... what would they do?

Herta has found it's more difficult to communicate with you than the Aeons. While the Aeons simply didn't want to communicate it was as if there was some sort of wall separating her from you. It was beyond fascinating but it irked her, she wanted to get into contact with you right away. Then, as she was working to implement a simulated version of you into the simulated universe as an Aeon she had a revelation. What if... this was all a game?

Natasha had done it. Recently the eyes glanced off her more often, something she couldn't help but feel disappointed at. But upon one instance when they glanced upon her, she'd taken their warmth in full, and decided to set out. It seemed when these eyes were on her, she improved in nearly every aspect, so maybe her luck would improve as well? Even though it had been a dead end many times before she investigated Vache's worn down laboratory covered by snow searching for research. Except this time, she found something. This Aeon... was strangely benevolent and caring towards mortals.

That's all the updates we have for now on the current characters, in terms of progress. Herta is one smart cookie but who else is one smart cookie? Dr. Ratio!!! That man I love him so much. Sampo is also a potential worrying addition.

Given in the current event you can get either Sampo, Guinaifen, Asta, or Yukong for free, so let's see how they react.

Dr. Ratio

...This was interesting. The plot unfurling behind the scenes of Penacony was to be expected, Aventurine was being a pain in his ass also to be expected, but an Aeon looking at him? A smart Aeon. One who also must hope to purge the world of ignorance! A noble pursuit. Or perhaps, they'd realized their own ignorance and sought to rectify it some of the Aeons were rather lackluster in this manner after all. But they'd likely never change in their ways.

And you're no longer looking at him, that's fine. Is it a bit more chilly in here or is it just him? An interesting side effect of your gaze then, the feeling of warmth. He wondered why that happened, the look of Nanook was dangerous and suffocating, near fatal for any mortal. That of Yaoshi's was said to be sickeningly sweet and suffocating as well. Nous' was cold and calculating, judging your every asset and whether or not you had potential. Everyone had potential, they just had to choose to rid themselves of their ignorance. If the gaze wasn't suffocating maybe... you were a weak Aeon? One that had just formed or had been thought to have died.

Interesting. Aeons, the topic no scholar knew completely about. Herta was researching deeply into them, Dr. Ratio supposed he could always ask her yet he didn't want to feed into her ego. There were other ways to get the information though.

Guinaifen

"Hello, hello! Can you all hear me? Good morning fam! And welcome to Little Gui's stream!"

It was then when Guinaifen suddenly felt warmth wash over her. Oh, maybe it was because this stream was her first normal one after all the ghost catching business but she found herself getting flustered...? Flattered...? She wasn't sure exactly how to describe it yet she felt even more energetic than usual! As if she could go on for hours! When she ended her stream, the warmth was still there and she still felt as if she was being watched.

Wait-- wasn't this how people said they felt when they were being watched by an Aeon? Something similar to this right?! If even an Aeon was watching her, she was definitely going to be famous! When Guinaifen went to tell Sushang about this news, she found Sushang had run into the same thing! Weren't the two of them an impressive pair? :)

E1 Asta

Research had been going smoothly, partly thanks to the eyes always observing Asta. With them came the warmth that brought confidence and innovation she felt she wouldn't feel otherwise. But, she could feel the warmth all the time now. She doubted an Aeon would be able to watch her all of the time so had she been blessed? That was good, she was able to focus on all the stars and her research more now and learn more in less time!

But... why did she feel so forlorn? As if she had been deserted? Had you just blessed her and moved on your way? Herta... Herta knew a lot about Aeons maybe she would know something about what had happened to her, maybe she would know if you're still around.

E1 Yukong

Even after it all Yukong wished to return to the skies. Despite failing her comrades, despite all those around her who she'd cared for yet failed to stop their death, despite the burning wreckage she'd had to painstakingly crawl out of. Yukong wished to fly. In this long life where even the things she'd once loved had dulled, the longing to fly was forever there.

The warmth was on her constantly now, she completed her paperwork faster, she created ingenious plans, but what did it matter?

"I want to go back," Yukong had spoken one day out to the silence of the world and when the warmth remained she realized, perhaps she could go back and fly. Maybe... it would be okay. But for now her fear remained, albeit comforted by the sight of an Aeon.

What a strange Aeon, to care so much for a mortal.

Sampo (spoiler warning for Black Swan quest, although I was kind of confused the whole time so some information may be incorrect)

Now this would be fun! Sampo had known he was right, this was only another clue in the right direction! And this Aeon, watcher, player, reader, whomever you were appeared at the perfect time! Whenever your gaze fell upon him, he could feel his speed increase as well as the rest of, if this were to be a game, his "stats." He knew he wasn't crazy, of course he'd never had that idea in the first place! He'd be able to retrieve his mask much easier now, he could deal with you later.

It wouldn't be anything bad, don't worry, Sampo Koski is always happy to have a new business partner and friend :) !

If there's anything else you wanna hear about it I'd be more than happy for ideas cause I love these little guys (the characters) . It's just them living their life except they're stronger and feel as if they can enact their dreams! And maybe they gain a friend or a small crush on the way but hey that doesn't mean anything until Penacony comes out with some tech they worked on with Herta that allows you to visit in your dreams but no way something like that will happen, right?

Also trailblazer is genuinely so stressed like imagine having to make the decisions to save an ENTIRE FUCKING PLANET and you don't even know who the you are or what you've been through, you're genuinely so lost but hey you're alive, somehow.

#hsr #reader insert #hsr x reader #self aware hsr #sahsrau #trailblazer #herta #natasha #dr. ratio #yukong #gn reader #asta #sampo #guinaifen #its kind of x reader in some spots if you squint

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suzukiblu · 4 months

Note

Parasite WIP is so good and I desperately want more of it! I voted for it in the poll and I’m so sad it didn’t win

Friend, I appreciate you asking after it because it really is one of my fucked-up faves that I really need to work on more, so uh . . . have all 4500 words of the prose so far all together, hahaha. Yes, yes I DID reformat this whole thing into Tumblr-friendliness all for you. THAT IS HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE YOUR APPRECIATION, FRIEND. ( so definitely we are gonna need that read-more down there, lol. )

Clark wakes up.

Clark didn't even know he wasn't awake.

"Superman," Bruce says with absolute neutrality. He's wearing the cowl. Standing in rubble. Clark is . . . not standing in rubble.

Laying in rubble. That's what Clark is doing.

Bruce is looking down at him very, very carefully, and seems . . . reserved.

Reserved for Bruce, even.

"What happened?" Clark asks, trying not to concentrate on the little seed of dread that the sight of that reservation invokes in him. He can hear the heartbeats of other League members, here and there in the wreckage of the street around them. Hear civilians and city noise. Hear Lois and Jon, distantly, and Ma and Pa, even more distant. And . . . Kara–both of her–and . . .

"We'll go with 'electrocution', but I think we can safely say just about anyone else would've been virtually incinerated," Bruce informs him, distracting Clark from his mental rundown of people he's currently worried about. "Or just exploded."

"Ah," Clark says with a grimace. Well, that explains why his head hurts so damn bad, he guesses.

At least it was him, then, and not any "anyone else"s.

He pushes himself up. Looks around. He . . . isn't sure where they are, exactly, except that it's probably somewhere on Earth and within the continental United States, judging by the architecture and signs he's seeing and the accents and languages he's hearing.

He has absolutely no idea how they got here, though. The last thing he remembers is . . .

. . . he's not actually sure what the last thing he remembers is.

Not a great sign, that.

Bruce is watching him. Like he's . . . expecting something, almost. Clark would ask, but there's an odd feeling distracting him. Something's . . . off, somehow.

Missing.

Bruce's utility belt is a new design, he notes absently. J'onn is down the street a bit and his costume looks a little different too. And Diana . . .

Diana is over across the way, and her hair is a couple inches longer than he remembers it being.

Clark would assume he was mistaken, except for the eidetic memory and all.

"Hm," Clark says.

"Hm?" Bruce says. He still sounds faultlessly neutral.

"Trying to figure out if I'm in the right reality. Things look a little off," Clark replies, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in concentration. No unexpected sounds or scents. No particular feeling of disorientation that can't be accounted for by being apparently electrocuted. No additional pains past the dull pressure in his head or any immediately obvious peculiarities beyond the minor little scattered differences here and there in his teammates.

But something is–

"I can't hear Kon," Clark realizes abruptly. He doesn't usually especially keep an ear out for the kid, at least not deliberately, but . . .

Bruce . . . pauses.

"You can't," he says, very carefully. It doesn't sound like a question.

It sounds like something, though.

"I can't," Clark confirms anyway, glancing around again. He still doesn't know where this is. "Where are we, exactly?"

"What's the date, Kal?" Bruce asks, and Clark's heart sinks.

He answers the question.

Bruce's mouth thins.

Hell, Clark thinks.

"We're currently in Keystone City," Bruce says, very carefully expressionless. "We've been here for three days. The date you just provided me was a full fourteen months ago. And Kon-El has been MIA for roughly thirteen and a half of those months."

Hell, Clark thinks, and doesn't let himself process anything past that.

"We need to get a scan of your brain," Bruce says. "For starters."

"For starters," Clark agrees tightly.

Bruce tells Diana they're leaving, then abandons the rubble and takes Clark up to the Watchtower. Clark goes. He doesn't ask what electrocuted him or who's died in the past fourteen months or if there's anything immediately urgent that he should know. Bruce would've already told him, if there was.

And he thinks he'd choke on the question if he tried, anyway.

They go to the med bay. There's a total stranger standing in it who smiles at them when they step through the door.

"Haven't seen you in here in quite a while, Superman," the stranger observes in amusement, tapping a pen against the clipboard in their hands. "You still haven't been in for that checkup I owe you, you know."

"He doesn't know you," Bruce informs them evenly. The stranger blinks.

"Sorry?" they say.

"He was electrocuted," Bruce says. "Now he thinks it's fourteen months ago. We need a brain scan. Immediately."

"Hell," the stranger says, their eyes widening in alarm.

Clark gets the brain scan.

He and Bruce wait in a convenient exam room for the results, which seem to be taking a while. Bruce seems a bit more guarded than usual, which means Clark is standing next to goddamn Fort Knox right now. He sighs to himself.

"Suppose at this rate I should call and tell Lois and Jon I'll be late for dinner," he jokes wryly as he folds his arms, no real humor in the comment, and Bruce goes very, very still beside him.

. . . hell.

They're not dead. He knows they're not dead, he heard their heartbeats before they left for the watchtower, Bruce would've already told him if either of them were–

"They aren't expecting you," Bruce says with absolutely no intonation whatsoever in his voice. "You moved out eight months ago. The divorce is already finalized."

"Ah," Clark says, very slowly. He doesn't let himself process, again. Not–just, not yet. "What happened?"

"You left them," Bruce says, and Clark . . . blinks.

"I left them?!" he demands incredulously. Leaving Lois is one thing, horrible and impossible a thought as it is, but– "Not just–I left them both?!"

"As you explained it to me, you were no longer interested in maintaining the . . . 'persona' of Clark Kent," Bruce replies carefully, looking just past him. "You said you couldn't stand the screaming anymore. That you appreciated us . . . humoring you for so long, but you couldn't just keep walking around making excuses and lying to everyone while people were suffering and dying just because you had to pretend to be human for a while. So yes. You left them. Haven't visited since Lois finally signed the divorce papers. Haven't spoken to your parents either. You've been . . . erratic. Since Kon-El's disappearance. When we couldn't find him . . . when we couldn't even find out what happened to him . . ."

"Oh," Clark says, and his heart sinks again.

He doesn't understand, though. Kon is–he cares about the kid, obviously. Cares very deeply about him. He's pretty sure he even loves him, at this point. But he's not . . .

It feels terrible to think it, but Clark doesn't understand why Kon disappearing like that would affect him enough to stop being Clark. It's awful, and he still hasn't let himself actually think about it happening at all because he really can't process it right now, but that awful? Really? Awful enough to abandon being any semblance of a normal person? Abandon Lois and his parents entirely?

Abandon Jon entirely?

Apparently, yes.

"Technically you're on unpaid sabbatical from the Planet," Bruce tells him. "We thought you might . . . reconsider, once you'd grieved properly, so Lois pulled some strings with Perry White. He thinks you're having an early mid-life crisis and your co-workers think you're off finding yourself in South America with a bad cell phone plan."

"I guess I don't believe in satellite phones?" Clark says, trying for wry again. It doesn't work, but he tries all the same.

"This is unfair of me, but I'm going to take advantage of your current mental state," Bruce says. He's looking at the wall, though there's nothing there to actually be looking at. Not even anything on the other side, at least not according to X-ray vision. "Try to remember how you feel right now, when your memories of the past year return. Try to remember who you are right now, when those memories return."

"Why?" Clark asks, watching him carefully as he does. The corners of Bruce's mouth tighten. Just barely, but undeniably.

"You've been . . . gone, Clark," Bruce says slowly. "You won't even answer to 'Clark' anymore. You aren't the same man that I . . . that we all . . ."

The stranger comes back before Bruce has to admit to too many personal feelings or Clark can figure out what to say to any of that, which might be a mercy but might also be–

The stranger looks . . . strange, Clark notices. Nauseated, almost. And definitely distressed.

"I haven't done brain scans on Superman before," they say, their grip on their clipboard concerningly close to white-knuckled. "And my predecessor apparently hadn't done any in a while either. Last ones in the system are over two years old."

"What's wrong?" Bruce says, narrowing his eyes. Honestly at this point Clark figures a kryptonite brain tumor would really just be the icing on the cake, and frankly would probably explain some of his apparent behavioral changes and current memory loss. That genuinely makes more sense than anything else, really, even with grief and guilt to contend with.

More sense than abandoning his own damn kid does, at least.

Although a tumor's the worst-case scenario, obviously. And it can't be any worse than that, really, or any worse than anything he's apparently done to his family this past year, so at least he's braced for–

"There's an . . . organism," the stranger says, swallowing uncomfortably. "In your brain."

"What?" Clark says.

"A dead organism, now," the stranger clarifies. "But it looks like it's been there for a while. There are . . . roots. And . . . lesions, too."

"An organism," Bruce repeats very, very slowly. "In Superman's brain."

"Yes," the stranger says.

"I don't . . ." Clark trails off.

"We need more scans," Bruce says.

"I ran it four times on two different machines," the stranger says. "It's organic. It's not giving off any recognizable life signs. It seems like it might've been . . . you mentioned electrocution, before?"

"You think the electricity killed it," Bruce realizes. "And then Superman forgot fourteen months?"

"I'm not sure Superman ever experienced those fourteen months to begin with," the stranger says tightly, gripping their clipboard even harder.

Clark was in no way whatsoever braced for this.

"Fuck," Bruce says.

More scans happen after all. A lot more scans, a lot of specialists, and a lot of arguing. Everything's a bit of a blur, in a sense. Clark absorbs very little of it, and mostly leaves things to Bruce unless he's asked a direct question about his medical history. His judgment might be compromised right now, after all, whether the . . . organism is dead or not.

The emergency OR gets prepped. The red sun lamps get set up inside it.

"Should we contact Lois?" Bruce asks as Clark's shrugging into an ill-fitting hospital gown and preparing himself to possibly die in pursuit of getting a dead who-knows-what out of his brain before it can start to rot there and potentially kill him that way. "Or your parents?"

"No," Clark says. "Just get this damn thing out of my head."

If he doesn't survive the removal process . . .

They don't know what's been going on. What he let happen to himself, somehow.

He isn't going to tell them he's back just to immediately take himself away again.

He records something for Jon, just in case. It's not enough, but it's–something, he tells himself. It's something.

It's all he can bring himself to do.

He leaves the disk with the recording on it with Bruce and asks him to have Dick deliver it, if it's necessary.

Things proceed from there, and Clark wakes up again a week later in a private room in the med bay, connected to half a dozen machines and needles and tubes and directly facing the sun. Diana is dozing in the chair next to his bed. Bruce is pacing at the foot of it. They're both in costume. Clark feels weak and groggy, but he can hear half a dozen other heartbeats lingering in the hall, so presumably they were expecting him to wake up around now.

"Mm," he says. Diana snaps awake. Bruce stops mid-step.

They both look at him.

"The operation was a success," Bruce informs him. "Textbook. Or as textbook as removing a mind-controlling parasite of unknown origins from a Kryptonian brain can get for mostly-human surgeons, anyway."

"Do you need anything?" Diana asks. "Would you like us to call your family yet?"

Clark shakes his head, then closes his eyes and sleeps for another week.

"Sleep", he supposes, counts as something that he needs right now.

The next time he wakes up, he's alone in his room and disconnected from the machines and just feels . . . normal, really. Like nothing was ever wrong at all and he didn't just have major surgery that was, essentially, the equivalent of multiple traumatic brain injuries. His hair is already starting to grow back from where it was buzzed down for the surgery, and there's not even any bandages on his head.

There's no noticeable scarring, Clark observes when he makes it to the little ensuite bathroom to take a look in the mirror. The surgeons told him there probably wouldn't be, given both the methods they'd been intending to use and the nature of his own physiology, but seeing the total lack of proof of what happened to him is just . . . strange, somehow.

It feels almost like a cheat. Like it should be obvious, in some way.

There was a parasite in his head. Something controlling him. Pretending to be him. Passing for him. It could've done anything it wanted.

It did do things that Clark still has no idea about.

So many things.

He couldn't even fight it. Wasn't conscious or aware enough to, or just not strong enough to, or just . . .

He couldn't even fight it.

And he doesn't know what it did.

The door opens. Diana walks in.

"Would you like us to call your family now?" she asks.

"Yes," Clark says roughly, curling his fingers around the sides of the sink in front of him. "Please."

"Of course," Diana says with a terrible and merciless gentleness.

Clark sits down on the lid of the toilet and just . . . cries. Just for a minute.

Or twenty.

Diana kneels in front of him and holds his hands in her own.

Fourteen months, Clark thinks, all twisted up with grief and pain and so, so much regret. He missed so much. He wasn't there for Jon or Lois or his parents. He wasn't there for Bruce or Diana or the League, for either of Kara, for . . .

For Kon. He wasn't there for Kon.

Wasn't there for Kon when the kid needed him.

Kon completely vanished, and who knows if the damn parasite even pretended to help look for him? If it did anything at all for him? Who knows if Clark could've found him, could've saved him, if he'd still been himself at the time?

. . . who knows if the parasite isn't what made Kon disappear to begin with?

It took fourteen months of Clark's life, and Kon . . . Kon disappeared two weeks into those fourteen months.

If nothing else, the timing is a screaming red flag.

Clark abandoned his son and might've murdered a kid who only ever looked up to him, a kid who he was never really able to fully understand but literally named, and he can't do anything to bring Kon back or to make up for the year that he wasn't there for the rest of his family.

Their family.

God, what has he done? What has Clark done, and did Kon die feeling afraid or shocked or terrified? Did he die feeling betrayed? Did he think it was Clark doing it, however it happened?

Did he die thinking Clark wanted him to die?

Clark doesn't even know what happened to his body.

There won't be another resurrection.

Clark chokes. Diana squeezes his hands. He grips hers like a lifeline and shudders through it. The grief is a terrible, ugly thing. It's one of the worst things Clark's ever felt.

The guilt is worse.

"Lois," he murmurs finally, feeling like the weakest man alive. "Could you call . . . Lois, please, and just . . . ask if she'll come. I'll explain it all to her, just–could you call her, please."

"Yes," Diana says, squeezing his hands again. "Of course."

"Thank you," Clark says.

He pulls himself together, more or less, and Diana goes to make the call. She comes back a few minutes later and tells him Lois agreed, but needs to find a babysitter first. Clark in no way blames her for not bringing Jon along and frankly is surprised she's willing to come at all.

He's not sure what he could even say to Jon right now.

What can he?

Diana makes sure he eats something, then leaves for monitor duty. Clark tries not to overthink things. Tries not to think too much at all.

He spent fourteen months not thinking at all, though, all of it lost in one oblivious blink, so that doesn't work out all that well for him.

An hour later, he hears the Zeta platform activate on the opposite side of the base, and hears Lois's heartbeat appear inside the watchtower.

Clark exhales, very slowly.

He waits.

Lois comes to the med bay. She doesn't stop to talk to anyone on the way. Doesn't talk to anyone except that stranger Clark still doesn't actually know the name of, who tells her where to find him.

And then a minute or a millennium later she's standing in the open doorway of his room, and Clark is looking at her. Her expression is neutral, and her hair is shorter than it was the last time he remembers seeing her–the last time he was the one actually seeing her. An inverse bob, not shoulder-length anymore. He recognizes the blazer and heels that she's wearing, but not the blouse or the pants. Not the earrings or the necklace, either.

And there's no wedding ring to recognize either way.

Clark wonders what happened to his.

God, but she's still the most amazing woman he's ever seen, and he's still never once deserved a single part of her. Not even a fraction of a part.

Especially not now.

"Kal," she greets, tone just as neutral as her expression, and Clark aches.

"Clark," he says, just a little too abrupt, and Lois–pauses.

"Clark," she amends casually as she tucks her hands into the pockets of her blazer, and if he didn't know her quite so well he wouldn't have even heard the crack in her voice around his name, super-hearing or not. "Never seen your hair this short. I kinda miss the curl, not gonna lie. It has charm, you know? Very boy scout next door."

"I had emergency brain surgery," Clark says. Lois pauses again. Tilts her head. He keeps talking. "Two weeks ago, now. Just woke up again fully today."

"What?" she says, just staring at him. "You–what happened?"

"It's . . . unclear, still," Clark replies slowly. "But as far as we can tell, roughly fourteen months back an unidentified alien parasite moved into my brain and . . . took me over, essentially. I don't actually–I don't remember any of that time. At all. Then two weeks ago I got electrocuted in Keystone and the parasite died. The surgery was to remove its body so my brain could heal from the damage it did without it rotting in there."

Lois keeps staring at him.

"Fourteen months," she echoes very, very carefully.

"I'm so sorry," Clark says tightly. "Bruce told me I left you. Left you and Jon. That I stopped being . . . myself. I can't imagine how difficult that was, or how it must've felt."

"I can't imagine how waking up and hearing that none of us even noticed you were gone felt," Lois says.

"You never do pull a punch, do you," Clark says with a weak attempt at a smile.

"I'm sorry," Lois says evenly. "I should've known."

"No one did," Clark says, then . . . hesitates. "Or . . . we think no one did."

"You think that's what happened to Kon," Lois says, because of course she's already done the math, and of course she's already had the thought herself. Obviously she would've.

"The timing is . . . likely, at least," Clark says. "And really, if anyone was going to see my face and notice that a different person was wearing it . . ."

"You have a point," Lois murmurs. She steps into the room. Clark wants to hold her. He also wants to bury himself in the coldest, darkest place that he can find and never, ever let himself see the sun again.

He doesn't deserve it anymore.

"I'm so angry that I want to cry," Lois says, her voice very distant and her eyes locked on his. Clark can see her hands fisting in her pockets. "I'm so . . . god. I should've known. You never would've left Jon. Not like that."

"Bruce made it sound like the parasite was . . . very convincing," Clark says. It convinced Bruce, who may just be the most paranoid mind on the planet, so . . .

"It was," Lois agrees, still without taking her eyes off his. "But I still should've known."

Clark blinks a little too quickly. Lois tightens her jaw. Takes her hands out of her pockets and leaves them at her sides instead. Clark never thought he'd see them without her wedding ring again.

"It's been–months, I know," he says, hating himself for thinking he even deserves to say this. "For you. But I still . . ."

"I love you," Lois says. "Come home."

There is no possible world in which he could tell her "no".

Med bay makes him wait for another two hours of observation and runs some scans, but then they let him go. Lois waits with him the whole time. She doesn't call anyone or send any texts. Doesn't leave the room. Barely says a word. Hardly even takes her eyes off him, like she thinks if she blinks he's going to disappear.

Clark can hardly keep her heartbeat out of his ears, so he doesn't blame her.

He doesn't blame her at all.

They go to Smallville. Bruce had said he'd send Dick to pick up Jon from the babysitter's and get him to the farm, and as much as Clark had wanted to go straight to him himself . . .

Ma and Pa first, he reminds himself. This is going to be upsetting for Jon–most likely traumatic, once it all sinks in. And definitely disorienting. It'll be best if as many of the adults in his life as possible know what's going on in advance, so he can go to whoever he needs to go to; get whatever comfort they can prepare themselves to offer.

Clark doesn't know how to do this.

He doesn't . . .

They don't take two steps onto the farm before a familiar blur is crashing into him head-on.

"Oh," Clark manages, and Krypto barks excitedly and flies up to lick his face, tail wagging wildly as he jumps all over him. Like he's missed him. Like he's been waiting for him.

Clark nearly cries again.

"Good boy, Krypto," he tells him, quiet and rough. "I missed you too, boy."

He scratches Krypto's ears. Strokes his back. Krypto nearly bowls him over in delight.

Clark buries his face in his neck and cries a bit after all.

Lois watches.

Waits.

Clark spends . . . maybe a little bit too long crying on his dog, and then they all head up to the house. Ma and Pa are both standing on the porch; presumably they heard Krypto barking. They both look a little bit startled and a little bit confused and a lot more pained at the sight of him, and Clark swallows painfully and stops just before the porch steps.

He looks at them, and he loves them so desperately. Everything they ever did for him, and everything they've ever been to him, and . . .

"I'm sorry," he says. "I just . . . there was . . ."

God, the way this hurts.

"It was mind control," he says. "The past fourteen months or so. I was . . . I wasn't. Wasn't here. Or . . . anywhere."

"Oh," Ma says, and her eyes are instantly wet with tears. Pa blinks very quickly, his hand curling against the porch railing.

"I'm so, so sorry," Clark repeats tightly, his own hands in useless fists. "But I'm–back now. I'm home."

"Oh, Clark," Ma chokes, and then they both throw themselves at him. Clark's been hugged by people with strength far past superhuman, but it's never felt . . .

No. It's never once felt the same way as when his parents do it.

They cling to him. He clings back. Krypto barks again and swoops around the knot of them, wagging his tail hard enough to nearly knock Lois over with the force of wind it stirs up. Definitely some of the porch furniture gets displaced.

Clark feels so much.

They sit together on the porch, Krypto sprawled contentedly across Clark's lap and Lois on the steps beside him. Clark gives Ma and Pa what explanation he can–tells them everything he knows about Keystone and the electrocution and the watchtower and the surgery and waking up. They watch him just as intently as Lois does the entire time.

He doesn't . . . he doesn't mention his suspicions about what might've happened to Kon. Not . . . not yet.

He doesn't know how to. Not to Ma and Pa. Not after he brought the kid here and left him on their doorstep with no real direction and . . .

Just–he'll tell them. He'll tell them soon.

Just . . . not yet.

It's not a very long talk, in the end. Ma and Pa take in everything he says and just take it all in stride, just like they always have. Baby in a spaceship? Kid with superpowers? Son who thinks he can save the whole damn world?

Of course they take it in stride.

Clark loves them too much to even define. Too much to even wrap his own head around. They're the best people he knows. The best people he's ever known.

They don't even think there's anything for him to be sorry for.

It's . . . painful, a little, when Clark realizes that.

Or a lot.

So, so damn painful.

Clark hears the definitely-not-a-Batmobile coming, far down the road. Three heartbeats inside it. Dick, Damian, and . . .

Jon.

Obviously.

Clark strokes Krypto's ears one last time, then gets up. No one asks him why, but he supposes the look on his face must be answer enough right now.

He steps off the porch and goes to wait by the driveway.

It's not that long a wait, but it feels like the better part of eternity.

#clark kent #lois lane #clois #superfamily #bruce wayne #diana of themyscira #rinfic #anonymous #wip: the parasite

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the-grimm-writer · 3 months

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Dabi with a darling who's obsessed with her art, her art being ballet

Cue vantom of the opera music ballet addition.

Also, I'm genuinely so sorry this took so long. I'm getting better at answering requests, I swear 😭😭😭

Mdni

Tw: stalking, paranoia, mentions of unhealthy habits, kidnapping.

You were used to people staring at you. Their eyes glued to you with pure admiration as you gracefully glided across the stage, moving your body in ways that took you years to master.

But this felt different. You felt someone's eyes burning into you with such intensity that any normal person would've broken down from it. Yet if you were one to break, you would've never made it very far. So you continued your performance like chills weren't running down your spine.

Heroes were hard to please. The world's top elite, coming to the theater to watch you, dressed in their finest night apparel. But the moment you started, all their doubts would wash away, watching silently with fascination once the music started.

The crowd broke into applause once you finished your dance, standing up and yelling their praise. It always made those long, painful nights of practice worth it.

As you bowed, you looked up to the audience, your blood running cold as you saw bright blue eyes from the back, hiding away from everyone else. Like a ghost, only you could see.

By the time you get down to greet the audience and discuss your performance, the man with the glowing eyes is nowhere to be scene. You don't know why you look for him, going past the darkest part of the theater and peaking in to see if he's still there, watching you.

Even your walk is elegant, your posture is perfect, back straight, and head held up high. Your voice was soft and feminine as you spoke to the people as they congratulated you.

"That was a stunning performance, my dear!" A tall, balding man with round, thick rimmed glasses eagerly shook your hand, yet you could tell by his crisp black suit and the beautiful younger woman that looked to be in her mid twenties or early thirties that stood by his side looking at you that he obviously had money. "When will you be performing again?"

"I'm here every night, thank you very much."

You smiled like he didn't give you the creeps. One thing your master didn't have to teach you but were thankful that he did. How to keep your admirers happy while maintaining a distance from them.

It continued on and on. You knew most people who attended the theater were wealthy, but you didn't care. You had all you wanted right now. So even as they introduced themselves, you didn't bother to remember their names. Always changing the topic if one got too bold with you.

A dancer's career was like a star, your balletmaster used to tell you. Shine too bright, and it would burn out quickly.

That's what you liked about it being busy, not being able to stay and talk to one person for too long. So whenever someone made you uncomfortable, you easily excused yourself and moved on to the next person. Sometimes, it would last for hours until you were finally able to leave.

There was a continuous cycle in your job. After you perform, you'd go to bed, get showered then something to eat, and then rush back to the studio in the early morning to practice. It was your favorite time to do it. When the sun was on the verge of rising and it was still dark outside. You could practice in peace with no prying eyes to judge you.

Turning the lights on, you walked onto the stage, dressed in your practice outfit. Skin tight nude colored leggings, a black leotard with a small tutu connected to it, and pointe shoes you just recently replaced and broke in. Your hair up in a tight bun, completely out of your face.

Taking a deep breath, you stood on the center stage and got in position, pretending like it was an actual performance as you danced.

It was always something you reminded yourself of when you got the lead role in dances. And whenever you didn't get what you were striving for and it felt like your world was going to come crashing down.

Yet still, you would dance until your feet bled and you physically couldn't anymore. It was painful yet an addicting feeling each time you overcame a boundary you once had and turned it into a new move you mastered.

"Why did you stop?"

Spinning around, you were about to stop until you collided with a person. You were about to apologize, thinking it was one of the other performers or the janitor until he spoke up.

You gasped in shock, turning around and stepping back from him. Those cerulean eyes were something you could never forget. Ever since that night.

"It's you..." Fear twisted in your stomach as you looked at him.

He chuckled at this, casually stepping forward towards you. "I knew you'd recognize me."

"Dabi..." You said breathlessly. It wasn't difficult to know who he was when he was always on the news. Heroes' warning is to be on the lookout for a deadly villain litered in patched scars and black hair. He smirked, knowing you'd seen him before.

"The theater is usually the last place I'd hide in. Too many witnesses." He stepped forward, making you go back. "But those idiots didn't even notice me. Not that I could blame them. That was quite the performance you put on."

You backed away, and he could see in your costume that your body was stiff as a board. Trained to have perfect posture even when just having a discussion with someone.

"Those fools don't deserve you, you know." He spoke up, his voice low and raspy. "They'll do what they do with everyone that has a talent. They'll make you dance like a puppet until you break."

You were stiff as you stood there, watching him circle around you on the stage. "I know what I signed up for," you said softly.

His eyes narrowed. "Then you're just as foolish as they are."

"It's ironic, you know," Dabi chuckled darkly as he stood behind you, placing his hands on your waist. "My father... he always strived for perfection. But even his most precious creation isn't enough for him."

You didn't blink an eye at his cold tone. Used to getting degraded and talked down to whenever you messed up even the slightest in front of your master and the instructors. So brutally harsh it could make even the villains with the blackest of hearts cry.

"Surely you understand," you argued back. "To love something so much, you'll continue to do it even if it kills you."

Though you didn't have a strong or flashy quirk, you made it up in your abilities in ballet. Pouring your heart and soul into your performances so even the untrained eye would be able to tell you aere the best at what you did.

You touched him like the fire that was dancing in his veins. The thing that consumed him aside from his needs for vengeance. Though he knew that obsession ran deep in his genetics. It was just something he never thought would hit him until that night he first saw you.

"That's because perfection doesn't exist."

His breath hit the shell of your ear, hot just like the rest of him, yet it sent shivers down your spine. "Yet here it is in the form of a little dancer."

You could tell how bitter it made him. You understood the feeling well. Every ballerina knew how it felt to be rejected and pushed to the side whenever a younger, prettier dancer came in and took the place they spent years working to get.

"Were you ever warned?" He mused. "Some hero or fuckin rich pig with too much time on his hands could ever use their power and money to snatch you up?"

Of course you were, and you hesitantly nodded your head. Nobody ever thought it would happen to them until it actually did. Hell, Dabi bet his mother thought she'd never wind up in an arranged marriage with his father, abused and locked away in an institution after making her have four children with him.

"I'm my father's son, after all." His scarred hand ran down your smooth cheek, down your chin until it wrapped around your throat and pinned you against him, his other arm snaking around your waist. "Men like us, when we see something beautiful, we have to own it, keep it for ourselves."

"You don't have to be like him." You protested, your heart racing in fear. Dread filled you at the thought of him taking away everything you spent your whole life working for.

"And you don't have to be a dancer." He retorted. "Sometimes we don't have a choice in life (Y/n). Now you're coming with me."

You tried to pull away despite his hand wrapped firmly around your throat, threatening you. "No! You can't do this! I have to perform tonight. I have to-"

"This is a lovely place," he cute you off. "Something even I could appreciate." His grip on your neck tightened as he held his other hand out, making you watch as bright blue fire appeared out of his hand. "Such a rich history. It would be a shame if it all went down in flames."

You weakly nodded your head, bursting into tears as you looked at the stage, the theater, your home on last time as he let his flame die out. He picked you up and threw you over his shoulder. His strong arm held you in place with ease as he walked away.

"Don't worry," he said softly, his smile wide and twisted as you cried. "You can still dance for me."

#yandere dabi #yandere dabi x reader #yandere touya #yandere touya todoroki #yandere touya x reader #yandere bnha #yandere bnha x reader #yandere mha #yandere mha x reader #yandere my hero academia x reader #yandere my hero academia #yandere #yandere x y/n #yandere drabble #yandere fic #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere writing

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angled-blade · 1 year

Text

How the Slashers met you

Slashers; Billy Lenz, Bubba Sawyer, Ghostface (Billy Loomis + Stu Macher), Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers (OG + RZ), Thomas Hewitt

To be fair, you’d never have expected this to happen.

• Billy Lenz

So long as you are associated with the sorority—be it that you frequent their home or live in it, Billy would have already known all about you. He’s even started adding you as an additional detail to his calls, unnerving the girls even more the longer they were occupying the house.

“Shh! It’s the Moaner!” One of the sorority girls exclaimed, attempting to hush the bustling Christmas party. The chattering came to an abrupt pause, as multiple footsteps neared the rotary phone that sat atop the table. His voice rang through, surprising them with the new addition animosity. The disembodied voice began chanting your name, similar to a mantra before crudely cackling once more. Barb steps in, feeling quite irritated that the man changed his sights from the sorority to you—someone who isn’t even a resident of the home.

“Why are you— ___’s got nothing to do with this, you fucking creep!”

“Naughty, naughty piggy.. Billy knows.. Billy wants ___! Tell Billy, bitch piggy—tell Billy now!” The man screamed many more expletives toward the girls, Barb having held the phone at an arm’s length as she waited for his response. The girls clung onto eachother, worry appearing on their faces the more they listened. One of the girls took matters into her own hands, snatching the phone and hanging up—cutting off the Moaner’s rage-filled screaming from reaching them. Silence returned in the house, with the girls looking at each other knowing now that you were involved in their mess.

They knew they had to let you know as soon as possible.

• Bubba Sawyer

Multiple factors were in place in which you would be spared by both Bubba and Drayton, it’s possible that you knew the Texan family when they were still active in the slaughterhouse. There was also the offchance that Drayton held a soft spot for you, which guaranteed your survival.

“Woah, woah, woah! Ain’t that someone familiar, Bubba?” Drayton’s voice seemed to hold a tone of surprise, as if he was not expecting a victim. The younger Sawyer tilted his head in confusion, multiple questions forming in his head as he wondered what it was that seemed to bewilder the ever so uptight Drayton. He remembered bringing back two people, both were knocked out by the blunt force of slamming the back of the chainsaw against their heads.

“Ya’ don’t look at ’em, don’t ya’... Look at ’em real close up.” He ordered, Bubba following his line of sight as he focuses on you. He squints through the mask, drinking in the image of you. As if lightning struck his own—he now realised who it was he struck himself. A shocked squeal erupted from his throat, his legs now on autopilot as he stumbled toward your unconscious body, babbling apologies as he held you. The excessive movement had you waking up soon after.

You found yourself face to face with Bubba, who seemed sheepish.

• Ghostface

• Billy Loomis

You might have met either through Stu or at the VHS store while you asked the closest person—that being him—for recommendations, resulting in an engaging discussion of horror films before quickly devolving into you exchanging numbers to each other before heading home.

“Good talk, I totally get your enthusiasm. It was nice talking to you… Uh..”

“Billy. Billy Loomis. It was nice talking to you too.. Wanna talk later? We can exchange numbers.”

You nodded, passing him your number before leaving the VHS store. Sure, it wasn’t every day that you met a diehard fan of horror movies, even going so far as to get into the details of the production itself and quoting directly from the actors—you were in no place to judge a person for their interests. You had your own interests and you’re sure you’d be passionate too if someone asked you about it.

It was already night by the time you were at home looking over the new movies rented for the time being. Feeling indecisive, you kept shuffling through the choices you had. By a stroke of luck, you were greeted with a familiar voice. A smile appeared on your features as you began talking to Billy. It was as if he were providing you with his own reassurance through simply talking to you. With all pleasantries aside, down came the questions.

“Hey, Billy.” His response was strangely quiet, a soft yeah as his reply. He’s probably busy with something.

“Remember those movies you saw me pick out?” A hum in agreement now.

“Which one’s your favourite?”

• Stu Macher

You are associated with Stu in school, often acting as his cover whenever he was up to his shenanigans. How were you upgraded to such a role? It was because you were seated closest toward the door to the classroom. You even stalled the teacher whenever he snuck back in.

“Did you see the look on her face? Did you see!?” Stu nudged you, a wide grin over his features.

You chuckled with him. No matter how many times you promised to not entertain Stu’s antics—it was pretty damn funny at how easily he got under the skin of those he pranked. In your eyes, it was merely harmless fun, there wasn’t any reason to get angry about it seeing how the pranks were juvenile. Even then, the only one jeopardising his time was him, really. Though you supposed that there were changes. One thing that was different was that Stu began approaching you outside of class.

“Hey, uh.. ___? How about we head out for lunch and.. y’know, hang out then?” He asked, scratching the back of his head nervously as he waited for your response. He lit up once he saw you perk up.

“Oh, sure. Where do you think we should go?” You asked, interested to know, much to Stu’s delight. He clapped his hands as if he struck gold after a moment of thinking. He smiled at you, his eyes scanning the hallway that was now empty.

“I know just the place! Hmm.. think you can handle skipping the day?” He asked, seeing your face quickly contort into one of concern. He laughed in amusement, patting your back assuringly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you this time!”

• Jason Voorhees

He assumed that he had seen every type of person who trekked along his home, but never would he expect to see someone who came alone and blended in with the environment. Jason watched you, waiting in silence for you to do something that would allow him to strike. You never did.

Jason’s hands were tightly balled into fists, his gaze boring into your back as he followed you around quietly. He waited for you to commit a discrepancy, a mistake that would lead to your death and yet here you were, taking photos. You avoided the trail that led into his territory—meaning you followed the signs to not trespass. Your orderliness initially irritated him, as he presumed it wouldn’t take long before you broke it—so he kept watching you, waiting.

The more time passed, his frustrations with you turned into one of simple respect. You kept to yourself and made sure to keep away from the sectioned off areas. Jason returned to his routine, from where he began to watch you less. What he didn’t realise was that he would be sighted in those very photos you took, which didn’t go unnoticed by you. You were alarmed, though you kept that concern aside in case it were a fault of the camera. Despite that, you attempted to entertain yourself by getting flowers by one of the many spots he was sighted.

When you returned to that spot, the flowers were not rotting as you expected.

They were gone.

Instead, a fresh pink rose laid under the ‘Welcome to Camp Crystal Lake’ sign.

• Michael Myers

• ’78/OG

Crossing paths with someone during his downtime was something that was strange, but never unexpected. OG found himself intrigued with you—just what were you doing, walking the streets of Haddonfield at three in the morning? He was curious, deciding to watch you after that encounter.

Michael watched you move about on your nights once more, seeing how you weaved through the streets as you held onto the groceries. You seemed to be well established in Haddonfield, though not many of the residents were anything but mere acquaintances that you were coincidentally on good terms with. You never knew them personally, but you knew them enough to be something that can remain in their memories for a good week or two.

Michael watched you move closer toward him, appearing distracted before bumping shoulders with him. Your head quickly faced him, apologising. Before you could leave, however, Michael grabbed a few of the bags that you had dropped when you had bumped into him, head tilting slightly. This was considered heavy? You couldn’t tell him by his face, though you asked him to help with the bags if he didn’t mind. He began to move, in which you took it was his way of saying, ‘yes’. You thanked him either way. The residents of Haddonfield were nice.

You made your way home, taking out your keys before you heard the sound of bags hitting onto the front porch. You turned around to thank the helpful man once more, but he was gone.

• RZ

It was difficult to catch his attention with how he resorts to living inside his mind majority of the time, if there happened to not be any goal present to drive him. You happened to intercept it right before he was to transition into it. Your disturbance now led to you right on his radar.

Not once had you felt unsafe in your home with all the doors and windows locked and shut tight—ensuring any break-in attempts to be close to null. That was until now, long after you had passed that man who had been standing near that old, abandoned Myers home. He seemed lost in though, though you couldn’t know for sure. You chalked it up as him being one of those young adults who had felt like they needed to prove something by entering a scrutinised place.

“What’s the point? Let them rest in peace..” You grumbled under your breath, quickening your pace as you headed home, unaware of the fact that the man by the home was now looking in your direction.

Michael followed you into your home, absorbing the layout in its entirety before he hid himself out of sight as you continued your routine at home. Michael took note of the fact that you were glancing around a lot more, your face holding one of discomfort. He inferred that you felt him watching you—meaning that you were more aware than the others. He made sure to commit it to memory to replay as you resigned for the night and head to bed. You woke up later at night, feeling an urge to survey your room before slumber could return to you.

You couldn’t help but feel a shiver down your spine once you saw your bedroom window open.

• Thomas Hewitt

You had to know of him without the influence of Sheriff Hoyt in the way. You might accidentally cross paths at an abandoned area of Texas, one that was Thomas’ personal retreat whenever he feels overwhelmed by his family. With no chainsaw and you simply passing by, he let you go.

“I didn’t know that there were still people living here—Sorry, sorry. I’m just passing through, really.” You stammered, staring at the man who stood before you. He donned a mask that covered his mouth and nose, the material appeared to be one out of leather, which intrigued you.

“That’s a really nice mask you have. Did you make it yourself?” You asked, genuine curiosity ever so present in your voice as you did so. His gaze was otherworldly, as if they were staring right through you, despite the fact that he bore human eyes.

All it took was a grunt and a nod to have you letting up slowly. Thomas continued to stare, taking in your features as you stood there, similar to a deer in headlights. You didn’t insult his appearance or made comparison of him with an animal. He thought through possibilities, before he ultimately decided that you weren’t worth the chase—especially with him simply wanting time alone by himself. It took Thomas all he had to speak, the words seeming to escape from him when he did.

“..Go home.” His voice was softer than he recalled, though he chalked it up to him not finding a need to do so at this point, but you got the message. You made sure to say goodbye before leaving him be.

It felt almost fortuitous that you managed to escape the way you did.

I hope you enjoyed these headcanons and have had a wonderful New Year! I have a lot more headcanons and stories to post for you guys!

I am also extremely happy to see positive responses regarding those two fics including OG Michael and Bubba respectively.. I really appreciate it!! There will be another story, more specifically a Jason Voorhees/Reader fic. Be on the lookout for that sometime soon. (:

Once again, please reblog this post!

Thank you for reading this, have a great day/night!! (:

#billy lenz x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #jason voorhees x reader #michael myers x reader #og michael myers x reader #rz michael myers x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #black christmas x reader #texas chainsaw massacre x reader #ghostface x reader

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vanteguccir · 3 months

Text

family reunion | jasper hale

Jasper Hale x reader | Cullen family x reader (platonic) | Mikaelson family x reader (platonic)

Summary: When Edward decides to leave Bella behind for her own safety, Y/N take the lead to take the Cullens to the town where she grew up, with her only concern being how to explain for them her real there.

Warning: None.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Edward, if you really want to disappear... I know a place we can go." Y/N said, looking directly into the mind reader's eyes, hoping to see some kind of emotion there.

Y/N could imagine the mess that was in Edward's head, the fact that he had, or rather, wanted to leave Bella behind for the girl's own safety was killing him from the inside, and despite feeling angry at the quick choice he made, she couldn't judge him. Y/N could never see herself away from Jasper, just imagining the possibility made her frozen heart hurt.

"Where?" Rosalie chimed in, looking at Y/N waiting for her response.

"New Orleans." She responded a few seconds later, feeling everyone's eyes focus on her.

Everyone in the Cullen family had a story that began at their birth and, often, ended with their last breath before becoming creatures of the night, stories of when their surname was something else, not Cullen.

Each one took their own time to reveal this story to the others, but it was never difficult for Y/N, after all, her life was normal before anything else... Right?

The vampire was born in London, but at the age of thirteen she moved to New Orleans with her mother after her parents divorced for reasons that Y/N didn't know to this day. Her mother chose New Orleans based on the idea that her parents, Y/N's grandparents, lived there and her ancestors came from there too.

From the age of thirteen, Y/N discovered the culture of New Orleans and grew up surrounded by it: street parties, blues players on every corner, restaurants open 24 hours a day, bright night bars and so on. At least that's what Y/N told her new family.

The truth is that the girl came from a lineage of extremely strong and well-known witches in the supernatural world, the Mikaelsons. Anyone who is smart enough would have a question mark in their mind now, after all, the Mikaelsons who are still alive are all vampires and vampires don't procreate, right? Right!

But what if part of the story has never been told? Not in bedtime stories, at least.

Niklaus' father was not the only affair Esther had, the mother of the Mikaelson family had a thing for supernatural beings and, therefore, in addition to werewolves, Esther became involved with a great wizard at the time, from the Bishop lineage.

Wizards weren't as well known at the time, as everyone focused on the female image within witchcraft, sometimes with curious eyes and sometimes with evil ones, but that doesn't mean they didn't exist, and Esther not only found one, she had a daughter with him.

Five years before Esther decided to turn her children into bloodthirsty creatures, she gave birth to Agnes Bishop-Mikaelson. Knowing the gigantic problem it would create if she showed up at home with another daughter in her arms, after her 9-month "trip", and that the child was not Mikael's, Esther decided to leave Agnes with her father and pretend that she never existed, completely removing the name Mikaelson from the child.

And it worked, no one from the Bishop family ever looked for her throughout her life and eternity, but that doesn't mean that the story of having remnants of a Mikaelson in the family tree wasn't passed on.

And Y/N, from the age of thirteen, grew up surrounded by infinite grimoires of her lineage, listening to stories told by her grandparents and mother, finally being able to understand why she could make fire light out of nowhere or objects levitate.

But although the girl saw her magic as a salvation, it was her downfall as well.

After the death of her grandparents, her mother became lost in grief and loneliness, going to the other side of the veil a few months later, leaving Y/N alone in a world of supernatural beings who would do anything to kill her if they knew about her great-great grandmother.

It didn't take much for the story of Esther's secret daughter to be revealed, and consequently, the existence of Y/N. Beings from all over the United States began to appear to the girl, wanting her life in exchange for revenge, and then her ancestors began to haunt her dreams trying to help her, but Y/N didn't understand that, and the situation only left everything worse for her.

Until one day, a charming man wearing a suit that was too expensive to wear on any given day appeared at the door of her house, offering protection and help in exchange for explanations.

Elijah was extremely helpful after understanding what his mother did to the Bishop lineage, being grateful that Y/N had no reservations in showing him all the grimoires and diaries of her ancestors, revealing the complete truth.

And with that Y/N was welcomed by the Mikaelson family, being able to train her magic with Esther's grimoires too, despite not having any physical help, since Kol, one of the Mikaelson brothers, was sleeping in some kind of coffin and Freya was dead, or something like that.

But it was one night when Y/N was walking alone through the streets of New Orleans, eager to return to the home of who she considered family, when everything was stolen from her.

An old and strong enemy of Esther appeared accompanied by reinforcements and not even with all of Y/N's still little knowledge would she have been able to stop them, the girl had only recently started studying strong magic and blamed herself for it, despite it not being her fault.

The girl was kidnapped and taken to a warehouse far from the entrance to New Orleans, surrounded by orchards, where she was tortured for hours, or was it days?

With the little strength she had left, Y/N was able to escape a few meters away from the warehouse, and it was there that she was found by Esme, who at the time was looking for fragrant apples to decorate the counter of her temporary home with her family.

Y/N could never be able to thank Esme enough for saving her life that day, if it weren't for the eldest, she would not have survived, already extremely weak and with fractures that caused irreversible damage to her organs, which would only lead to a slow death. Therefore, when Esme arrived at his house suddenly with the young woman in his arms, Carlisle spared no time before transforming her.

And then Y/N Cullen's new life began. She knew that hiding the whole truth wasn't right, but the last thing she wanted was to put the Cullen family in danger, already putting them at risk enough just by being with them.

"Are you sure you're ready to go back there, my love?" Jasper's question interrupted Y/N's triggered memories, and the girl was momentarily grateful that, with her magic, she could block Edward's reading.

"Yes, it's time to face those fears. Pack your bags, we'll leave at nightfall." Y/N informed decisively, turning around and going to her shared room with Jasper, finally being able to take a deep breath and organize her mind.

She needed to tell them before they put a foot in New Orleans, the girl knew that Niklaus would know of her arrival within seconds and she definitely didn't want to cause any more drama.

Y/N took out her phone and opened the contacts, her finger hovering over Elijah's contact, sighing and closing her eyes tightly before locking the screen, her last meeting with the Mikaelsons wasn't one of the best; Niklaus demanded that Y/N return home, despite her type of vampire being different, while Rebekah blamed herself for not having protected her enough before that night and Elijah tried to calm the whole situation, also begging her with his eyes to return to them, they missed her company, but she knew she couldn't, not at the time.

The girl shook her head, trying to shake off the thoughts, and picked up her and Jasper's bags, starting to organize the piles of clothes that she would take for both of them.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"There, everyone's ready?" Emmett asked after loading all the bags into the four cars and closing the trunk of the last one. Everyone responded with a simple wave and got into their respective cars, Y/N heading to the car she would use with Jasper, getting into the passenger seat and waiting for the long journey to begin.

"Baby, what's going on? Ever since you decided to take us to New Orleans you've been quiet. You know if you don't want to go there, we can aways choose another place-" Jasper began, his right hand on Y/N's thigh as his eyes remained on the road in front of him, casting quick glances at his girlfriend.

"No Jas, I'm fine, just thinking... I wasn't completely truthful with you guys about my life before I turned." She said, looking closely at Jasper, waiting to see his reaction, but only received a nod as if to say "you can continue, I'm all ears". "I think it would be better for everyone to listen." Y/N muttered, pulling out her phone and quickly starting a group call with one person from each car.

"Y/N? Unless Jasper lost his hand, I don't see why you're calling us. Your car looks great." Rosalie was the first to answer, being in the car behind Jasper and Y/N.

Y/N let out a laugh while Jasper rolled his eyes, Rosalie could be sarcastic when she wanted.

"Hello to you too, Rose. I'm just calling you all because I think I should tell you everything before we get to New Orleans. I wasn't completely truthful in the life story I told you before." Y/N began, beginning her long and tragic life story, smiling small when she had everyone's attention.

"This is all... Wow." Alice muttered from Edward's car. "How come I didn't see any of this?"

"Like I said, I'm a witch, and even with the transformation, for some reason, my magic wasn't interrupted or broken, in fact it became stronger and I have more control over it, that's why you only see me in some of your visions and Edward only hears some of my thoughts, I decide what you can see and hear." Y/N explained, seeing a sideways smile spread across Jasper's face, he knew she didn't mention him because she didn't hide her emotions from him, she never did.

"I think it's a lot of information to digest in a short amount of time, but we understand why you kept it from us for so long and I'm grateful that you wanted to protect us all." Carlisle took the lead, followed by "uhum's" from everyone, Y/N sighed in relief.

"When we get there, are we going to stay at this Mikaelsons' house or...?" Alice asked, looking out the window at the constantly changing landscape.

"We're going to the house I grew up in, I never sold or rented it. It must be dusty, but I promise it's big enough for all of us."

"Just the fact that I won't need to sleep with Edweirdo makes it good enough for me." Emmett joked, everyone laughing simultaneously, which calmed the tension.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

It didn't take long for the traditional "Welcome to New Orleans" sign to appear up ahead.

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, she couldn't imagine the Mikaelsons' reaction to seeing her again, so many years later. And she couldn't lie and say that she wasn't afraid of the Cullens' reaction to seeing what a mess her "other life" was.

The girl quickly took out her phone and opened the message group she shared with the Cullens.

"We arrived in the city that never sleeps, this is my home address, but you can just follow Jasper and I and we'll be there soon."

After sending the text, Y/N started giving Jasper directions to the entrances, trying not to look at the places they passed, as she knew she would get stuck in a memory loop. Finally, after many entrances, the girl saw the house where she spent her adolescence and early youth, smiling small as she felt her eyes fill with tears.

"It's that one over there." She said, pointing to the two-story house with a light pink fence in the front and pastel yellow curtains, just like her grandmother liked.

It wasn't long before the family found themselves unloading the suitcases from the cars and taking them to the living room, Emmett cracking jokes while Esme scolded him and Alice talked about all the clothing and shoe stores she saw on the way there.

A sound of approaching footsteps caught the family's attention, and they looked up to see a blond, green-eyed man approaching with an expression of anger and surprise.

"So it's true?" He spoke up, making Y/N freeze in the middle of the room, her hand dropping the backpack she was holding. "Y/N Bishop-Mikaelson everyone!" The man continued loudly with an ironic tone and sarcastic smile, opening his arms.

"Nik." Y/N whispered, closing her eyes tightly.

"Did you finally remember that you have a family, Y/N? Or did you come to ask for help with some nonsense you got into?" Niklaus asked rhetorically, staring at the entrance where he could see the girl's silhouette.

"Niklaus, please." Y/N spoke, turning and leaving the house, stopping a few meters away from the older man.

The hybrid stopped for a few seconds, analyzing the girl he saw as a daughter before she disappeared from his life, and the only girl Niklaus would set the world on fire if necessary, besides his brothers.

"Why did you come back?" He asked, crossing his arms, as if he was in charge of the city, which in a way is not a lie.

"We were in trouble in Forks and needed some time away." She responded with a sigh, quickly glancing at the Cullens behind her, who were paying attention to the moment without trying to interfere.

"Problems?" Nik paused for a second, a thread of worry passing through his eyes, which was quickly drowned out. "And do you find refuge here?" His nervous tone returned.

"Yes Niklaus, if you don't remember, I grew up here and my entire lineage is from here, I have the right to return to my home." Y/N argued, taking a rigid stance, pointing to her own chest.

"Oh, now New Orleans is your home? Funny how-"

"That's enough Niklaus." A second male voice came before the vision of a dark-skinned man wearing an expensive suit emerged.

"Great, a family reunion! Just what I needed right now." Y/N spoke with false excitement, rolling her eyes.

"Good to see you too Y/N." Elijah spoke, stopping next to Klaus and looking at everyone behind the Mikaelson girl, noticing their uncomfortable expressions at the sudden encounters and barbs exchanged between Nik and Y/N. "Why don't we have dinner at our house with everyone and... talk? We miss you Y/N and it would be great to meet the ones you consider family. If they're important to you, they're important to us too." He finished, sending a quick smile to the Cullens and receiving ones in return.

It would be long months.

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wntrs0ldier · 4 months

Text

AN OFFER II · 03

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 3k warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating, mature themes, dark themes, language, fluff, boyd holbrook as clint barton.

“You like that girl, huh?” “I've already told you as much as you should know,” he stated with no hesitation, his eyes still locked on you. But Sam knew more, much more. He wasn't blind. Or clueless.

series masterlist

The heat of the evening clung to your body even before you slammed the car door behind you, making you immediately miss the air conditioned interior you hadn't had time to fully enjoy. You blamed the insufficiently long distance between your gallery and the suburbs where Steve's house was located, and the fact that you had to make a solid effort in the back seats, changing your office clothes for the light summer dress that Bucky had supposedly prepared for you – Parker had delivered such a message to you along with the dress when he came to pick you up for work.

You headed to the garden at the back of the house, where numerous conversations were coming from, merging into one incomprehensible gibberish of dozens of voices, and the smell of smoke hung in the air.

Having spotted Steve walking towards you, you put on a wide grin.

“Happy birthday.” You tied your arms around his neck, and Steve rubbed your back.

“Thanks,” he laughed quietly.

You pulled away and handed him a bottle of wine. “And this is for you.”

“Bucky’s already given me the gift from both of you," he assured with a slightly dim smile. Steve was doing his best to show his gratitude, but you could well see how uncomfortable he was. If it was up to him, the party would have had nothing to do with his birthday – fireworks and a few loved ones would have been enough.

“Yeah, I know…” You scratched your neck. “But I didn't want to come with empty hands.”

“Alright.” Steve's smile took on a bit lighter expression. “Come on,” he said, nodding encouragingly. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Oh, I'd love to,” you huffed with relief.

It was even hotter by the grill. Steve flipped a couple of sizzling steaks over, then reached into the coolbox, filled with melted ice and beers bathed in it, and handed you a wet bottle – pleasantly cold in your hand. It hissed as he opened it for you, and specks of drink fell barely perceptible on your skin. With the drink brought to your lips, you looked around; you didn't expect to find anything in particular, but your eyes instinctively landed on a familiar figure.

Holding his own beer in a loose grip, Bucky was talking to some woman. At least that's what it seemed to you at first; it soon became apparent that he was actively listening to her, and fighting with himself not to look bored.

His hair, tied back in a bun, exposed his face – slightly weary eyes, flushed cheeks and wet, shiny lips. Your own stretched in a warm smile as you watched the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on, remembering that he had once asked you to call him yours. And so he was yours.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Clint approaching. “Howdy, Y/N,” he spoke in a voice so not concise that you were able to judge how much alcohol, more or less, he had managed to take in. Enough to embrace you casually, draw you closer and place a juicy kiss on your cheek, his lips wet and sticky. On the other hand, as a matter of fact, Barton did not need alcohol to behave like this. “It's not nice to be late, don’t you think?”

“Hi, Clint,” you replied when you finally had the chance to do so. You carefully moved him away from you – you didn't mind that he was stuck to you, but you had to get rid of the additional source of heat as soon as possible. Nevertheless, Clint's arm remained glued to your shoulders. “I wasn't late,” you stated lightly. “I was here all the time. You just didn't see me.” You raised your eyebrows with conviction.

Clint furrowed his forehead. “No…” he said doubtfully. “That's not true…”

“No?” you dug deeper, driving Clint further into confusion.

“Clint,” you heard. The exact moment of Bucky's appearance escaped you, but given the length of the conversation you had with Barton, he had just approached the two of you. “Stop fucking harassing my wife.”

“I'm not harassing your wife,” he protested, taking his arm away. “And I don't know what she's doing, but she's terrorizing me.”

Bucky, unfazed, watched Clint in silence.

“Okay, okay…” Clint muttered, leaving.

You watched him for a moment, until you brought your gaze back to Bucky – you caught his eyes bore into you uninterrupted, and the corners of your mouth lifted involuntarily, mirroring his gentle, somewhat enigmatic smirk.

“Could you heat up something for her?” Bucky turned to Steve, who nodded in response. “Thanks.” He patted his shoulder, then reached out a hand to you, which you accepted without hesitation. He pulled you carefully toward a long, set table that, with a few stains and general disorder, gave away what stage the party was at. “I saved you a seat,” Bucky said, stroking your knuckles with his thumb. A gentle smile sneaked onto your lips again. The fact that he had done something seemingly insignificant with you in mind was all it took. “You look nice,” he added, pulling the chair out for you.

“You think?” You raised an eyebrow, and Bucky laughed softly. He put down the bottle he had been holding, took a seat next to you and threw his arm over the back of your chair. “Did you pick the first dress you got your hands on, or did you actually go through my entire closet?”

“I liked the flowers.” He shrugged subtly, his eyes briefly tracing the tiny pattern adorning the dress. “I thought you'd want to change into something more comfortable. And something more airy, because it's fucking hot,” he continued. “And, well…” he murmured, lifting his eyebrows. “It shouldn't be worn with a bra, because of-” He pointed at his own shoulders, but was hinting at yours, bare and uncovered. “So, it's actually a gift. From me. To me.”

You snorted, then shook your head disapprovingly. “You really know about these things, huh?”

“Your knees gone weak yet?”

“Almost.” You demonstratively waved your hand before your face. “You're on the right track, that's for sure.”

The party was going on at its own lazy pace.

With the excuse of needing to use the toilet, you left the table – where Steve, Sam and Clint had joined you in the meantime – and went inside the house to the empty, peaceful kitchen. You provided yourself with a glass and filled it with cool water – a pleasant change to the beer you had previously consumed.

To your surprise, Bucky also showed up in the kitchen. He peeked into the room, and having noticed you standing by one of the counters, he stepped inside. His arms crossed on his chest, he watched you without saying a word.

“Hmm?” you murmured, your lips hugging the rim of the glass. You moved it away from your mouth, and, thinking nothing of it, pressed it to your neck. For a brief moment, Bucky's eyes jumped to the cold, foggy glass resting against your warm skin. He quickly regained the concentration with which he had come.

“You alright?” He grunted, his mouth set in a hard line.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Why..?”

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know. But what I do know,” his eyebrows rose, “is that you’re hiding here. What are you hiding from, Y/N?” He took a step closer. “From me..?”

You tilted your head to the side. “What are you talking about?”

His intense stare was burning a hole in you when he looked at you like that – interested in your reactions, your behavior, your feelings, it was studying every inch, every muscle, every twitch; his eyes were wandering all over your face and body, searching for honest answers, the reasons behind your decision. “Am I wrong?”

After taking another sip, you put your glass down. “Don’t do that, Jamie. Because I see what you’re doing, you’re trying to crush me.” You folded your arms. “Don’t treat me like the people you do business with.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, a corner of his mouth lifted, forming a proud smirk. “Smart girl,” he hummed. “But I will do that, since you won’t talk to me.”

A heavy sigh escaped your mouth. “I just-” you hesitated. “I needed a little break.”

He got even closer, his hips pinning yours down to the counter. You gasped quietly, feeling a hot blush spreading all over your cheeks.

“Listen, baby,” Bucky started, his voice low. He licked his bottom lip, then drew it between his teeth, leering at you. “If I have to talk to you, you have to talk to me. Gotta know everything that's going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Your mouth went dry, so you swallowed hard. “And w-what if you hear something you won't like?”

Bucky sized you up. “Don't get too curious.”

After sunset, the garden was illuminated by lights positioned low on the lawn, and there was no trace of the heavy stickiness in the air from a few hours before.

For a short moment, you disappeared from Bucky's radar, but it only took him a few glances – a couple of casual looks around – to bring you back into his field of vision. He found you among clearly excited women, grinning from ear to ear – mistresses, girlfriends, fiancés and wives of other gangsters. They swarmed around you, forming a delighted ring, chirping solely about those topics that concerned your new role.

"Show us the ring. Oh, it's beautiful."

"How was the wedding? No one was invited."

"We were losing hope that Bucky would ever settle down."

"Where did you spend your honeymoon?"

"How did you spend your honeymoon?"

The division between these several groups – mistresses, girlfriends, fiancés and wives – was clear but not striking. Wives always stood at the top of the hierarchy, being a little calmer and more toned down. Fiancés, on the other hand, radiated the strongest enthusiasm – unlike girlfriends, they felt much more secure in their position, and, like wives used to be, were still hopeful and optimistic about the future.

"You know, don't worry if he gets a mistress. It's a bit shocking at first, but mistresses are only there to please them. Nothing more than that."

"Exactly, they just need fresh meat.”

"Especially after children come along. Then it's even better for you. You won't have the energy or appetite anyway."

"It doesn't have to be that way. Stop scaring her."

"It doesn't have to be that way, but it's always better to be prepared for it."

"Someone like Bucky Barnes definitely needs a lot of attention. He has a lot on his plate. And you'll have to take care of the house, the kids and your husband? Oh, and I hear that you have a job?"

"But you will have your children. Children are great."

"Unless they grow up. Teenagers are-"

"Last time, I couldn't leave Mason in the daycare. There was an outbreak of stomach flu."

"Oh, poor thing."

Bucky, watching you standing in the center of that crossfire, saw you shrinking more and more. For a short while, it seemed to him that there were some advantages to this whole situation; that you were socializing with the people from his environment. But he finally realized that you were actually uncomfortable – he concluded this especially after you emptied an entire glass of unspecified liquid in one gulp. From the grimace on your face, he figured it surely contained percentages.

But perhaps it had to be that way – perhaps you had to learn the hard way that it was in Bucky's company that you felt safest.

With a hand shoved in his pocket, and the other embracing his beer, Sam stood next to Bucky. “What are you doing?” he asked; after all, Bucky was standing by himself, staring at a group of women.

“Looking.”

“Yeah, I can see that. But why?”

Bucky shrugged. “I like looking at her.”

Sam’s forehead creased as he once again glanced at the women. Only then did he understand who was the target of their attention. He smiled to himself and shook his head. “You like that girl, huh?”

“I've already told you as much as you should know,” he stated with no hesitation, his eyes still locked on you.

But Sam knew more, much more. He wasn't blind. Or clueless. “Okay, okay…”

“Alright. I'm going to rescue her,” Bucky said, lifting his cup to his mouth. “Before they eat her alive.” He left the empty cup on the table he had been leaning against and walked in the direction of the group. They went quiet as he approached, then burst out again with excitement, welcoming him.

Bucky caught the look of relief and gratitude on your face. He put his arm around your waist and rubbed your lower back affectionately. You rested your hand on his torso and continued listening to the questions and delights flying around in the air. Bucky didn't want to be rude, so he didn't pull you away from there right away. However, when he was right next to you, you felt a surge of new strength that allowed you to bear it all for a little longer than you thought.

A few big grins and forced laughs later, Bucky finally escorted you out of the group. The two of you stayed attached to each other as he led you slowly in some unspecified direction – as far away as possible from the force that sucked you in, chewed you up and spat you out.

“Are you okay?” Bucky chuckled softly, caressing your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you replied immediately, but somewhat barely conscious.

“Wanna go home?”

“Oh yes, please.”

As you stopped at the entrance to the bedroom, Bucky lifted his eyes from his book and bore them into you – your hair was still slightly damp from the shower, and only the thin fabric of a short nightgown separated him from a direct view of one of his favorite things on Earth – your naked body. Thinking very little, or rather, thinking about nothing but one thing, he closed the book and put it down on the bedside table.

“What's with the face? What’s wrong?” he asked.

You climbed onto the mattress and sat on your bent knees, resting your hands on your thighs. Bucky reached for one of them; he grabbed it loosely and stroked your knuckles. He looked at you, waiting, but with the same patience he had always had for you.

“I'm just wondering," you began hesitantly, clenching your fingers on his in a nervous impulse, “if you're planning on having a mistress. Or... mistresses,” you added barely audibly; your voice failed you as soon as your mind realized what was actually coming out of your mouth.

Bucky’s brows drew together. He slowly sat up, bringing himself closer to you. The thought of him downplaying the problem, dodging the subject or laughing in your face made your muscles tense.

“Well-” he began, his forehead slightly furrowed. He didn't speak for just a second, but that much was fully enough for you to process the hundreds of ways he would give you an affirmative answer. Of course I am, but it’s for the best, or Baby, you didn’t really think I would be faithful, right? Or One girl is just not enough. “It happens,” Bucky said carefully. “And it is considered completely normal with the life we lead-”

You nodded hurriedly. “Yes, I realize that.” You knew it; after all, you came from the same environment. Did your father happen to cheat on your mother? You remembered that your uncles, who were not really your uncles, happened to show up with newer and newer aunts. “But I'm not asking how it works. I'm asking about you.”

“I'm not planning on having a side chick,” despite the fact that this time he didn't even think for a second, he sounded calm. “Not, since I already have the most gorgeous girl I could come across,” his tone and blank expression proved that he was not trying to sugarcoat or pull the wool over your eyes; he was just honest.

You lowered your gaze to your hands, to the inside of one, where a now faded scar was drawn – the same as in Bucky's hand.

“You are saying that because we are in the honeymoon phase and the sex is still good,” you stated. “But what about later? I'll have to take care of the house, the kids, my job. I won't have the energy to give you the attention, and you will eventually need some fresh meat-” you babbled, forgetting to breathe. You closed your eyes and hid your face in your hands, coming to the conclusion that you had let them mess with your mind. You even used the same words as them.

Bucky gently wrapped his fingers around your wrists and pulled them away from your face, then cupped it and made you look at him. Stroking your cheeks tenderly with his thumbs, he watched you with a hardly visible but soft smile – a smile full of understanding. “If,” he emphasized, “you'd like to take care of the house and... everything else, but couldn't handle something, we can hire a housekeeper, a nanny or a fucking assistant, alright? As for the sex…” A crooked smile crept onto his lips. “I would rather not involve any outsiders, hmm?”

A peace of mind you didn't expect to experience with this particular issue washed over you. You were blown away by Bucky’s ability to bring you that much calmness. And perhaps you were naive, but you believed him – you trusted that he would never hurt you in this way.

You nodded, the corners of your mouth turned up shyly.

“Attagirl,” he murmured, placing a kiss on your forehead. “If there’s something that scares or upsets you, tell me about it. And we'll figure it out,” he added, his lips still on your skin. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your hair.

You tilted your head back a little so that you could look at his face. Again, he stroked your cheeks with his hands, as if correcting their placement, and gave you another gentle smile. Then, without a second thought, you climbed onto his thighs, and, hugging his neck, clung tightly to his body. Having closed his arms around you, Bucky pressed you to his chest and started caressing your back. Feeling his touch, his warmth, the beating of his heart, you melted.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

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