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luxaofhesperides · 2 months

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Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!

For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.

It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.

But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly.

His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color.

He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.

And then it went nearly colorless.

Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating.

Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate.

Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.

A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever.

“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy.

Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents.

“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.

The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it.

Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence.

“Morning,” Duke offers.

“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”

“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”

“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”

Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”

“I’ll drive, too.”

“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”

Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”

“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”

“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”

Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”

Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door.

The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out.

The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once.

Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words.

“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”

“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”

“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”

The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left.

“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze.

It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.

Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.

He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo.

He gets the Vietnamese Plate.

Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.”

The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles.

Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”

“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”

As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”

She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen.

Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders.

Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.

But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.

The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that.

She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet.

As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day.

“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”

“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security.

He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction.

As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage.

Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”

“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office.

“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”

“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”

“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.

Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time.

Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives.

“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”

“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.

He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed.

“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”

Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”

“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”

“What does this do?”

“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”

“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises.

Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”

She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye.

By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.

Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.

“Duke?”

It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest.

It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die.

This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it.

He won’t let anyone take it from him.

“Duke. Give that to me.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary.

“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat.

Bruce reaches a hand out.

He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him.

“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.

“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”

Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.

Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.

Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away.

The orb in his hand moves.

Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.

It’s his soulmark.

Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it.

One moment, the orb was still.

The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap.

Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid.

“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot.

“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face.

“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.

“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke.

“Are you alright?”

Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”

Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises.

If anyone can, it’s Batman.

If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends.

Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #i dont really know much abt jld so they are not really in here #just duke trying to live his life and have a nice day with bruce #when his soul mate gets thrown at him in the form of an ORB #(ghost core but they dont know that yet)#dannys gonna have to answer so many questions once hes awake bc not many know abt realms beings #its gonna be rough for him bc he's been asleep for 2 years in his core bc he was never safe enough to recover #until duke gave him a boost (plus the power of soulmates really helped him) and he woke up #in a cave with his soulmate and a whole crew of superheroes #what a thing to open ur eyes to. rip danny lol #thanks for the prompt!

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ioniiaa · 3 months

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My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Quick Notes:

This is when both reader/you and Alastor are both alive. (... we'll probably end up in hell later on btw so stay tuned...)

Reader is an artist/painter.

Part 5:

It was almost pure bliss.

Except many months later, you found out a secret of his one day.

He was an exceptional chef, you were always in awe of how he cooked such magnificent dishes every day.

But one day, you peeked out into the forest through the window in the living room and saw Alastor standing alone, covered in blood. Your first instinct was to run outside, so you did just that.

You rush to his side and ask if he's okay, and what had happened to make him covered in such copious amounts of blood.

He blinks a few times before oddly turning his head to you, breaking out of his stupor, "Oh my dearest (y/n), do not fret so. For I am only acquiring our dinner for tonight!"

You look down at what he is holding in his hands. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth. A leg. A human leg. Your eyes then trail to the ground where you see a bloody human body, mangled beyond recognition. "This is.. dinner?"

A large grin appears on Alastor's face, "Quite right! This one should be enough to last us through the week!"

He looks at your face with an almost vicious look to his eyes, awaiting your response anxiously, not that he would let that show, anyways.

All you can manage is "Oh. Okay." Before you walk back inside the house without another word.

It's no exaggeration to say that your brain chemistry was permanently altered from that moment onward.

The situation felt so strange and bizarre, you didn't know what to think. Part of you knew that was he's been doing is extremely horrible and corrupt. It almost made you empty the contents of your stomach, it didn't feel real.

It didn't feel real, but suddenly some of Alastor's behaviors started to make sense. His picky taste for food...He never let you help with cooking, you had chalked it up to him being more of a perfectionist, but now... you know its more than that. He was hiding the fact that he was butchering and preparing human flesh, right in your very home, all this time.

But.. for some reason... all you could think about was how dedicated he was to providing a comfortable life for you, because he truly loved you. Everything he did every day showed you that you mattered and that you deserved only the best.

"But I still love him with all my heart... maybe I'm just as messed up..." Was a sentence your mind kept repeating to itself for quite some time.

Your appetite shrinks after the initial shock for a few days, but you were never one to skip meals or have your appetite be gone completely, even if you were sick. In this instance, you weren't sure if it was a blessing or a curse in this case.

The meals he made for you had never made you sick in the past, so your body was already used to eating his cooking, and he made such amazing food, carefully crafted with such love and attention to detail, you couldn't help but keep eating his delicious cooking, no matter how bizarre and immoral it was.

"I think I really am just as messed up..." The thought crossed your mind again, but thoughts were interrupted by a rare occurrence, a kiss on the cheek from Alastor as he set your plate down in front of you.

The fact that you never stopped eating his cooking and always thanked him for his food and hard work, even after knowing where the main ingredient comes from, solidified the fact that you were the one. You loved him even after seeing him all bloody, holding a dismembered corpse, and telling you it was dinner. It was this pivotal moment that he knew, that you were the one to be his beloved forever.

In the coming weeks, things went back to "normal". You were settling into the new normal, as Alastor didn't hide the meal prep like he used to, and seeing him bloody and bringing in mysterious cuts of meat into the house became a normal sight to you.

One night when you were going to see Mimzy, Alastor informed you that he was unable to escort you that night. You were a little disappointed, but he assured you it was okay for you to go, it was just that he had plans that he wouldn't divulge any information on, no matter how much you pressed him.

Little did you know, but that night, Alastor was out on the town shopping for the perfect ring to propose to you with.

-> Part 6

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silence-burns · 4 months

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The Death of Me //part 1

Fandom: Aquaman

Summary: (very small spoilers for the movie) Finding Orm on your doorstep was not something you expected. Having him move in was even worse. But the effect he still had on every part of your life would be the death of you.

The sun was blinding, but unfortunately, not enough to make the man standing before you disappear.

“You're in surprisingly good shape for a dead person,” you said.

“And you look terrible for someone supposedly alive,” said Orm.

You shrugged and immediately regretted it. The tight bandages keeping your shoulder in place worked as a poor reminder it was out of commission for the next few weeks.

“How I've missed that princely charm. Piss me off some more and, half-dead or not, I'm gonna kick your ass back into that desert I got it from. It might be the last thing I do, but if I become a ghost, I'll brag about it for eternity.”

Your mood soured further with every minute you remained conscious. Surprises and resurrections, you could deal with, but your ability to be polite left long ago. There were a lot of impolite and certainly unprincely words bubbling in your chest, but they all disappeared when the most magical, impossible, and straight-out-of-fairy-tales thing happened.

Orm, of his own volition, smiled.

The sun was still doing its best to blind your already red and swollen eyes—it failed yet again. You examined the strange occurrence, with the furrowed brows and all the small wrinkles and tiny folds in the skin that usually accompanied a person’s smile looking perfectly normal on his face. It was a genuine smile. You could only blink at him for a moment

“I thought scowling was the only expression you had. Like a factory setting, you know.”

“I'm glad to hear you are as sharp as ever, despite your current shortcomings.”

“Excuse you, I'm in great shape.”

The man in front of you politely didn't argue. It was rather clear from his expression that he had some serious doubts about not only the state of your body, but also about your mental capacity of acknowledging said state, but he made the wise choice of keeping these thoughts to himself.

Wise was your middle name; therefore, you allowed the silence to confirm your words. At the same time, you shifted more of your weight against the doorframe, hoping your grimace came across as menacing rather than painful. Your leg needed a bit of rest, nothing serious. It totally wasn’t almost crushed to pieces a few weeks ago.

The smile on Orm’s face, an expression you could get used to seeing, started to shift into a look of concern as he watched your eyes. You looked away, afraid of how much he could see. Before you could react, he picked you up and carried you inside the house.

It was a pretty house, very spacious, just like old rich men tended to enjoy—which might explain why Batman bought it a long time ago as a safehouse far from any prying eyes, and why he allowed you to occasionally use it as such.

Yet, despite all the initial spaciousness, it was rather easy to clutter if the person living inside had a few cracked bones, general lack of energy to move, and never invited anyone around to see the mess.

Orm raised an eyebrow when he noticed a sofa dragged into the kitchen area and the amount of empty, crushed packaging laying around it. You hated how much could be expressed without saying a word.

“Put me down.”

Your words came out weaker than intended. Orm held you in a bridal carry which put immense pressure on your cracked ribs and sent flashes of pain every time you inhaled. But he was so warm and close that your anger sizzled and faded.

With your head on his shoulder, you had the perfect view of his perfect profile and the perfect frown deepening the wrinkles between his brows.

“So, this is how you live now?” was all he said, in a controlled tone.

“I know you're not deaf and heard me the first time. Put me down. Preferably on my beautiful and completely normal kitchen bed, thank you.”

You sighed with relief once he finally listened. Even though the pressure of his arms around you disappeared, somehow you still felt his warmth, as if it seeped into your battered, bruised flesh. You felt your face getting hot and decided against following that train of thought.

Your heart, for a reason you also chose to ignore, skipped a beat when Orm turned on his heel and walked back to the front door. It took him comparatively less time than when you had to drag your ass to open it a few minutes ago.

But rather than walking outside and disappearing from your life again, Orm only closed the door. And then turned the lock too.

“I don’t like where this is going,” you said, in vain hope that all of this was just a bad dream you'd soon wake up from.

“What a shame,” Orm said with no shame whatsoever in his voice.

“Why are you here? I might be a little late with that question, but I'd still love to know the answer.”

Orm took measured steps to the kitchen table, assessing the seat with the least amount of trash surrounding it, and sat down. He sat upright, posture uncompromised in the face of a backless stool, and folded his hands on the table. How he looked royal surrounded by trash and cold leftovers was beyond you.

“As you have witnessed, thanks to Arthur, after that final battle I got a way out of my old life. I enjoyed it for the most part, and even wandered the surface world for a while. And then I heard about your accident and came to settle my debts.”

“You don't have a debt to me.”

“When I was awaiting sentencing for my crimes, you were the one that took care of me. And not so long ago, you helped Artur break me out of that prison. That alone guarantees my utmost respect.”

“Your debt is paid, you owe me nothing.”

“That's not how it works.”

“I don't need a nurse, especially one who isn’t wearing a sexy costume.”

“I'm afraid that part is not negotiable.”

“Wait.” You squinted, doing your best to focus your thoughts despite a rising migraine. “This cottage is in the middle of nowhere, with the nearest town a few hours on foot and only if you already know the way. And the only people that knew I got… a little roughed up, were those in the Justice League. Did Artur give you a ride here because he felt guilty he didn’t stop that building in Venice from falling on me?”

“Every day I am thankful that I don't know the inner workings of my brother’s mind.”

“So he did.”

You let your head fall back onto the makeshift kitchen-bed. It was too much for you.

You grabbed the pills from your secret under-the-pillow stash of meds and swallowed some painkillers.

“I'm going to kill your brother.”

“May you have more luck than I did. Now, do you even own any clean clothes?”

#orm marius x reader #orm x reader #aquaman orm x reader #orm x you #orm marius #aquaman imagine #aquaman orm #the death of me #aquaman the lost kingdom

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magewritesstories · 24 days

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[ ᴍʏ ʜᴇʀᴏ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍɪᴀ ] ᴄᴏᴏʟ ɢɪʀʟ

summary; some bnha characters dating a cool black-cat girl (bc i'm listening to the Ghost album by diljit dosanjh rn and thats the vibes it gives off) included characters --- izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugou, denki kaminari tw; none, it's literally just fluff note; if you want these headcanons with diff mha characters i'd write them! also i'm not a black-cat person at all so sorry if its not super accurate. word count; 909 words

IZUKU MIDORIYA;

He's so surprised first of all, like this poor baby is so in love with you but the fact that you love him back?! He's absolutely over the moon.

You might be surprised when I say this but not a lot of people are surprised at the fact that the two of you are dating—because of course the adorable dork who can never shut up pulled the chill, calm popular girl.

You're the first person to decode his mumble language, and just nod along like it's completely normal

speaking of his rambles, you just happily listen and let him rant until he realizes he's ranting and then he stops and looks at you so calmly smiling and listening and he almost passes out because he's overwhelmed by feels.

"I think that Kamui Woods would probably be the best match for her, you know considering the fact that he could use laquered prison to—" Izuku cut himself off when he realized he'd been ranting on about what hero vs hero matches would be cool to see and who would win.

You're sitting in front of him, the ends of your lips quirked up slightly as you swirl your favourite drink and look at him. "Something wrong, sweetie?" You ask, tilting your head slightly to the right as you rest it in your palm.

"I–I'm sorry," He quickly apologized, freckled cheeks tinting red as he felt your gaze stay on him, "I–I've been ranting, and–and you must be bored... I'm sorry."

"I didn't say that," You reply calmly, "I like listening to your rants—they're cute, and not to mention informative."

His already big green eyes widen even more. "R–really? I mean are you sure?"

You let out a soft chuckle and nod. "Mhm, now, will you tell me about how Kamui Woods would beat Mt. Lady?" You ask, giving him another soft smile.

Izuku visibly brightens as he happily continues his rant.

KATSUKI BAKUGOU;

How? Just how?

That's the first thing people think, because why would someone as cool and calm as you date someone as hotheaded as him?

Everyone around you is so confused (Denki literally brain-fries himself trying to understand.)

But then they see the way you stare down Bakugou without even flinching and manage to calm him down and all of a sudden it just clicks.

It's not really a rare occurrence—Katsuki's shouting his head off about some algebra equation Denki doesn't understand.

"What is so hard to understand, you damn dunderhead?!" The explosive blond shouts, practically jumping over the table towards Denki.

You're sitting in the library with the rest of the BakuSquad and have already been warned twice to keep it down.

"Katsuki, calm down," You say, looking up from your own homework.

He turns to you with an annoyed expression. "I'll calm down when this idiot stops being so damn stupid."

You match the glare he's giving you. "We're going to get kicked out," You reply, placing a hand on his arm to pull him back, "I'm sure Denki will understand whatever you're trying to explain to him if you just chill out."

Bakugou glares at you for a whole minute before huffing and falling down in his seat.

Everyone at the table stares at the two of you in disbelief. Katsuki just glares at them, as if he's daring them to say anything about what just transpired.

"So, Denki," You continue, turning towards your blond friend as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, "What is it you didn't understand?"

KAMINARI DENKI;

He's your polar opposite, and that's what makes it work

Kaminari is known for his cheesy pick-up lines and dumb flirting tactics, so when he tries one on you he does not expect it to work at all

but then it does??!!? (his brain malfunctions ngl)

Oh boy, he's drowning you with cheesy cards, pick-up lines, etc just to hear that cute little giggle again (he prides himself on the fact that he's the only one that can get you to giggle)

The bell signalling the second break rang ten minutes ago, but you're still sitting at your desk.

"Hey, Y/N," Denki's voice sounds even louder than usual in the empty classroom, "Watcha doin'?"

You don't reply, simply pulling up your geography textbook to show him the cover.

"Oh, we're covering the greenhouse effect right?" He questions, pulling up a chair to sit in front of you.

He leans his head on his palm, blonde hair falling in his eyes as he stares at you full of admiration.

"You know it's all your fault right?" He says, with a small smirk on his face.

You know your boyfriend well enough to know he's up to some stupid shit, but you decide to bite anyway. "What's all my fault, babe?"

"Global warming, it's your fault," He smiles like he didn't just accuse you of something like warming up the entire earth, "Because you're so hot."

You blink twice and then shake your head in disbelief. "You can do better than that," You reply simply, turning back to your notes.

Denki sees this as encouragement. "Oh yeah?" He asks in his most flirty voice, placing a hand under your chin, "Well, I must be a snowflake, because I've fallen for you."

Now, granted, this pickup line is even worse than the first one but it's just stupid enough to elicit a giggle out of you.

"You're an idiot."

"Yeah, but I'm your idiot."

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bradshawsbitch · 1 year

Text

touch me | jake seresin x reader

plot; you've been seeing Jake for some time now, and when he invites you to bonfire night with his friends - you go a little shy on him.

request; yes, nonny requested with the prompt;

hesitantly tugging the other's fabric of their shirt or sleeve, testing the waters

disclaimer; I'm aware that 'testing the waters' is a saying in the context of the prompts, but I found these pics on pinterest and it sort of started a bit of a plot in my head.

warnings; 18+, afab!reader, no use of y/n, pet names, touch starved, fluff, jake being an oblivious extrovert, skinny dipping, l-bombs, soft smut, p in v, unprotected sex in the ocean (make smart decisions folks, this is fiction).

word count; 4.1K

tagging people who might like; @roleycoleyreccenter @theharddeck @hangmanbrainrot @roosterforme @lt-bradshaw @sebsxphia @mothdruid @laracrofted

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He’d noticed you one day on his morning run. The sun had just barely made its way over the horizon, casting the deserted streets of San Diego in a fiery red hue, as he made his way through a street of cute little houses. Normally, this was not the route he’d choose to take during his morning run, but as he got out of bed that morning, he’d felt an unexpected urge to go about his morning a little differently.

Jake did have an established route for his morning run, and one for his evening wind down, but after he felt an inclination for change, he simply decided to switch his morning and evening route.

So when he jogged past your house, to see you sat on your porch with a steaming mug in hand, a cat perched on your lap as the morning sun made your skin glow - his step might’ve faltered and his jaw might have slackened. That day he almost came to a complete halt in front of your house, slowing so considerably it might be considered a brisk walk. You’d noticed him, of course, it was so early it was only the two of you out.

He’d decided to forego his shirt that day, running only in his shorts and his backwards cap to keep the longer strands of his fringe out of his face. Your soft smile before you shyly averted your gaze had his heart clenching in his chest, and it felt like you might as well have flung him into a 6G pull with the way the air seemed to leave his lungs at an alarming rate.

Jake had kept running that day though, which some might consider unusual for him. He had no qualms with going up to any woman or man to chat them up, it wasn’t really in his DNA to deny himself anything beautiful. With you, however, he felt like it would be disrespectful to chat you up like he did at the ‘Deck, with the sole purpose of taking you home for the night. No, Jake would like to treat you with more respect than that. Would simply like more with you. Which is how he found himself having switched his routes to see if sitting on your porch in the morning sun was a daily occurrence for you.

To his great delight, it was. And after a few weeks of making conversation with you as he ran by; learning your white, fluffy cat’s name was Empress Snowcone Kittlesworth - going by Snow when she wasn’t on royal duty (you assured him that the shelter had named her). Jake always made a point of offering Empress Snowcone Kittlesworth his most sincere salute when he saw her, only because he loved the way it made you giggle and beam at him, and of course because he was obligated to treat sovereigns with the utmost respect. Cats included.

After those weeks, you’d found yourself falling hard for Jake’s easy-going charm and sweetness. He’d taken you out on dates, and always made a point to open doors for you, keeping his hand respectably at your back, and for some reason always walking on the side closest to the road - always switching if you were to walk curbside. It was easy falling in love with Jake.

You’d never in your life experienced being treated with such care before. People opening doors for you had seemed foreign at first, and you had felt almost embarrassed the first time he did it - assuring him he didn’t have to do that. “Darlin’, I know I don’t have to do anything - I only do what I want to do,” Jake had said as he’d offered you that damn charming wink and smirk of his.

Dating Jake Seresin was nothing short of a whirlwind. The man had energy for the whole fleet, and his very extroverted persona of Hangman could make you grin for days. Though you had to admit you loved Jake’s softer side too, the one that let his hands linger near you at all times. It had been almost six months since your first date, and closer to seven since you first saw him that beautiful morning. For those six blissful months, Jake had had the privilege to have close to office hours at his post at Top Gun, along with some of his friends and co-workers from his squad.

Today, however, Jake had been gone for thirteen days and 20 hours - closing in on that dreaded fourteenth day. Jake had told you it was a shorter stint, more of an educational trip to another naval base to share some of their newfound skills. He’d been chosen to go out of the squad, and you were so proud of him. Still, it didn’t do much to alleviate the worry you felt for him, even if he had assured you there would be no actual mission on this trip. You knew that things could go wrong even without the interference of enemies.

Jake and you hadn’t moved in together yet (something you regretted somewhat, seeing as he’d be coming home to his own place after his trip instead of yours), wanting to take things slow. But as time went on you found that the urge to wake up to him by your side grew with each passing moment. These two weeks of not seeing him, hearing him and feeling him had left you in somewhat of an unexpected funk.

It surprised you, because you would describe yourself as quite an independent person - not too upset about spending time with yourself, almost teetering on a little introverted. Certainly, you hadn’t ever thought you’d feel the need to always have someone’s touch upon your skin. Now however, you’d found yourself crying on three different occasions at the way your heart yearned to feel Jake’s hands skim your body over the past fourteen days. You even missed when he’d absentmindedly have his hand on your hip as he talked to someone else, his thumb rubbing soothingly at the skin just above your jeans, something you hadn’t given much thought to until you found yourself feeling a little off without it.

Glancing at the clock situated over the entrance to your kitchen, you knew that Jake must have just reached San Diego by now. It was late, and you knew Jake must think you were asleep, and you knew he was likely exhausted as well. Heaving a great sigh, you knew you’d have to wait until tomorrow to see him.

Before he had been sent away there had been talk of a bonfire night with the squad, and they had settled on tomorrow’s date. They’d scheduled it in advance so that everyone could attend, and so that none of them were sent out somewhere else. Jake had been looking forward to it for ages, and he’d rambled about how happy he would be to introduce you to all of his friends and co-workers that you had yet to meet because of their deployment.

To your great distress though, tomorrow was Friday - which meant having to sit through an entire day of work before you could finally see Jake. Blinking blearily, you noticed your phone buzzing with a message.

Jakey 🤠💛: hey darlin’, just got home! absolutely exhausted, but missing you something fierce. can I pick you up after work tomorrow? spend some alone time with my best girl before the bonfire? hope you’re sleepin tight baby ❤️

Knowing how Jake could get, you smiled as your heart warmed in your chest, before deciding to sleep and answer his text when you awoke in the morning. You didn’t want him worrying his mind with why you were still up at this ungodly hour.

As it turned out, you wouldn’t be able to meet Jake before the bonfire. Your day at work started out pretty regularly, the clients that were scheduled for appointments with you showing up in a timely fashion and seemingly making good progress. Your last of the day though, that’s where it all got a bit rambunctious. During a small break, you had managed to text Jake that you would be needed at the office a bit longer - and he texted back that he’d been held back too.

Ultimately, the two of you decided to meet up on the beach, which almost made tears well in your eyes. You wanted nothing more than to meet Jake in private, be able to be a bit clingy and snuggly with him before you had to socialize with everyone else. You wanted him close in a way you didn’t feel comfortable having other people witness. With a sad sigh you returned to work, anxiously bouncing your knee as you tried to finish up as soon as you could.

In the end, you managed to get away from work. But you realized pretty soon you’d be late to the bonfire, and a disappointed little whine left you as you knew Jake would already be mingling with his friends, not even leaving you the opportunity to snuggle up in his arms for a few minutes in the parking lot before facing the group.

Having quickly changed into a flowery sundress, you slowly approached the group on the beach, the sun setting beautifully - turning the sky a lovely color of faded orange and pink. Scanning the group, you could see the tall forms of Rooster and Payback laughing together, Phoenix trying on Bob’s glasses, and Harvard and Yale throwing a football between one another.

Fiddling with your fingers that had interlaced in front of your dress, you nervously stood on your toes to try to catch your golden hued boyfriend in the mass of aviators.

“My hard workin’ girl!” you heard him before you saw him, but when you did see him, your breath caught in your throat. His hair had started falling out of its carefully styled look, some loose strands hanging in front of his gorgeous sea glass eyes, his beaming smile seemingly brighter than the setting sun.

“Jake!” you breathed out in relief as he finally stood before you, squealing as he swiftly wrapped his strong arms around your thighs, lifting and spinning you as you held on to his shoulder laughing.

“Missed you, baby,” he grinned, pecking your lips before setting you down and grabbing your hand “Let’s go before Javy eats all the food,” you giggled as he led you closer to the fire, his friends closing in on him - drawn to him like moths to his bright smile and sunny energy.

Soon enough, Phoenix had pulled you into conversation, Halo laughing beside you as you told them of a funny thing a client at work had said during the day. Hangman was out, flitting between friend groups faster than you could keep track of. That was the downside of a large party, you thought somberly. So many people that Hangman knew and loved all in one place for one night, and you couldn’t blame him for wanting to spend as much time as possible with people he hadn’t seen in so long. It didn’t help that awful sinking feeling in your stomach though, or the burning longing in your chest.

“He’s always like this, unfortunately,” Phoenix comforted you softly as Halo moved to grab some beers from the cooler a bit away. “loves being the life of the party,” she offered you a small lopsided smile, patting your shoulder. Looking down, you nodded “Yeah, I mean of course,” you replied, biting your bottom lip as you glanced over to see Javy goading Jake into doing some form of back flip in the sand.

“I’ve just missed him a lot,” you confessed, scrunching your nose at how pathetic you sounded. You were sure Nat thought you were a bit of a wimp, maybe not cut out for dating Hangman. To your surprise, she pulled you into a sideways hug, a warm smile on her face.

“I get it, hun. He’s just a little oblivious and high on attention right now. Just go nudge him a little, he’ll be good,” Phoenix squeezed your side again and you chuckled softly, thankful for the woman you now considered a friend.

“I don’t want to be the clingy girlfriend though…” you confessed your fears in so low of a voice you’re not even sure Phoenix would catch it, but she did, and she let out a loud laugh “Honey! Do you think Hangman would not like to have your attention every second of the day? Please! He wouldn’t think you were clingy. You’ve given him like three hours to monkey about doing stupid testosterone driven tomfoolery,” she winked at you, leaving your side to join Halo by the cooler.

Looking out onto the now dark ocean, hearing the soothing swish of the waves gently caressing the beach, you took in a deep breath. Perhaps it was the way the moonlight was hitting the water, but it almost looked like the ocean was glittering gently as it moved. As the waves moved slowly in their ebb and flow, so did you - languidly making your way over to where your boyfriends loud laughter rang out.

He had put on a long sleeved, cream white henley as the darkness had fallen, and you couldn’t help the stars that shone in your eyes as you took in the way his soft hair flopped in front of his eyes as he looked down - corners of his eyes slightly crinkled as his laughter turned into soft chuckles.

Moving to his side, you could tell that he was as Phoenix had told you, a bit high on the attention and general extroverted buzz the friends had given him. He was engrossed in a tale that Javy was telling, arms and hands emphasizing his point as Fanboy snickered by his side - Jake nodding along. A woman stood by Javy’s side, smiling and shaking her head - you figured that must be Javy’s wife, she looked very sweet as she smiled at you too.

A soft breeze had goosebumps slowly settling on your skin, and you protectively wrapped your arms around your mid, positively yearning for Jake’s warm embrace. He didn’t seem to notice the way you were silently begging for him though, engrossed in his friends and the buzz of activity.

Licking your lips, you slowly looked around, making sure no one was watching you. Javy had turned to Mickey to respond to a comment the latter had made, and you took this as your chance.

Ever so hesitantly, your fingers wrapped themselves around the soft cotton of Jake’s sleeve, tugging so lightly you weren’t sure he’d notice. But as soon as you had tugged twice, Jake snapped his gaze to you so fast you were concerned he’d get a whiplash.

“Honey,” he almost sounded surprised, breathless, his green eyes swirling with emotion as his brows knitted together - as if the spell of fooling around with his friends had abruptly been severed. “Hi baby, I’m sorry I left you. Have you been having an awful time?” he sounded so concerned, his voice laced with regret as he gently kissed your forehead.

“Don’t worry Jake, I’ve been hanging with Nix and Halo,” you smiled softly “I just missed you,” you confessed in a small voice, leaning slightly against his side, not wanting to seem too overbearing yet craving his touch all over you. Jake smiled so fondly down at you that it took your breath away, and it seemed as if his chest was puffed up just a bit prouder at your words.

Jake only felt warmth swirling within him as he finally looked at you. He felt a little ashamed at how he’d asked you to come, yet hadn’t made the proper time to make you feel like he’d missed you as much as he had when he was gone. Now, when he saw your sweet hesitant smile and shy look in your eyes, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why on earth he was listening to some stupid story Javy was telling him.

“D’you wanna go for a walk with me babe? Even if I’ve been a horrible boyfriend all evening,” Jake pleaded, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment. “Jake, you could never be a horrible boyfriend!” you defended “but I would love a walk,” the last bit was spoken a bit shyly, and Jake’s face lit up at your answer, swiftly lacing his fingers with your as he led you down the beach by the water.

As the two of you walked, you talked in hushed tones of the weeks you had been separated, and that overwhelming feeling of need was starting to overwhelm you again as you listened to Jake’s soft tone, laced with his endearing accent. You were out of sight of all of your friends now, so with a small whine, you grabbed onto his forearm with both hands, tugging him to a stop.

“Jake,” you whined softly, pulling him closer to you. His brows furrowed, letting his palm cup your cheek slightly as he looked into your eyes. “What is it sweetheart?” he sounded concerned.

“I’ve missed you,” you pouted, tugging at his other arm again. He chuckled softly, his thumb stroking against your cheekbone “I’ve missed you more, baby,” he smiled. He didn’t understand. You whined softly again, not wanting to spell it out that you were a little baby who needed to feel his arms around you at all times.

His intense gaze made you shift your feet, averting your eyes to look down at the sand beneath you.

“Babe… tell me what you need,” his voice was soft but definitely commanding, his fingers gripping your chin and slowly tilting it upwards so he could look you in the eyes. His green irises were stormy, and an expression you had yet to see on him was present on his features. It made you gasp, a slow burning ache settling between your thighs as he stepped ever closer to you.

“Need you to touch me…” you whispered, tears rimming your eyes. “Sweetheart…” Jake sounded regretful “Why didn’t you tell me?” finally his arms wrapped around you, and you let out a sigh of relief, your whole body relaxing into his broad chest, nuzzling your face into his pecs.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful today?” Jake murmured against your hair, his palm running up and down your spine as you shook your head against his sternum. He chuckled low, before you felt him shake his head against your hair.

“Silly me. You look out of this world beautiful today, honey,” his sentence was punctuated with a soft kiss to your hair. You smiled against his shirt, wrapping your arms tighter around his waist in an effort to get even closer to him.

“Still need me to touch you?” Jake’s voice had a teasing lilt to it, and you removed your face from it’s spot against his chest to take in his facial expression. Biting your lip, you could only nod bashfully at the look on his face. “What do you say to losing some clothing then huh, sweetheart?” raising a brow, you tilted your head slightly, inviting his lips to descend upon yours for the first time that night.

Kissing Jake always had you slightly dizzy. Jake kissed with purpose, slow, sensual, and just as good as he was at everything else. He had your jaw cradled in his hand, tongue slowly meeting yours as you so easily yielded to him.

“Now what did you say about less clothing?” you murmured into the kiss, and Jake broke away to reply, only to chase your lips for a quick succession of pecks, until he looked out over the ocean. “Care for a swim?” he smiled at you.

You barely had time to nod before Jake was removing his henley, revealing chiseled abs and a broad chest dusted with hair. Standing frozen, you could only stare as he continued removing his clothing. How was this man real? And how was he yours to look at? Blinking slowly, you took in your boyfriend's smug smile as he approached you.

“Up,” his words were soft, his large warm palms skimming your sides before guiding your arms into the air, hands firmly guiding them and holding them in place. Keeping your hands stretched towards the starry skies, you watched as Jake sank to his knees before you, hands caressing at your thighs, his mouth following his lingering touches, lips kissing the ever more exposed flesh of your thighs.

Moving to stand, his arms had now gathered the fabric of your skirts onto them, and he gave your lips another loving kiss before he guided the dress over your head and onto the sand among his own clothing. Jake groaned softly at the sight of you, his hands immediately finding their home on your skin. You sighed in pleasure as he gently caressed your bare breasts, his warm skin soothing the chill of the night.

His mouth trailed soft kisses from your neck to your collarbones, and from your collarbones to the soft flesh of your breasts. His warm tongue laved over your hard nipples, and he took one of them into his mouth to warm, letting his lips latch around the flesh to suck lightly, teeth gracing over the sensitive bud. Soft moans spilled from parted lips into the night, and Jake figured it might be the loveliest sound he’s ever heard as it mingled with the soft sounds of the waves.

Once again, Jake bent slightly, his fingers hooking themselves into your underwear, sliding them down your legs, removing your shoes from your feet last. Strong hands skimmed your calves, up to your thighs, where his fingers tapped gently, urging you to hop up.

As you did so, Jake caught you in his arms, tenderly helping you wrap your legs around his midsection as he walked you out into the water. Resting your hands around his neck, you softly tugged at his short hair, reveling in the way his eyes never left yours - the love radiating from them making yours slightly misty.

Wading deeper, you let out a surprised gasp as the water hit your skin, and the two of you smiled as Jake submerged you further into the water. It was when he moved fast that you noticed the glittering again.

“Jake!” you gasped, slowly dragging your hand back and forth in the water, spellbound by the sight of the bioluminescence that followed your hand “It’s beautiful” you sighed, before looking back at his handsome face.

“It really is,” he murmured, soft green eyes looking at you. Leaning down, you let your lips softly meet his again, hands roaming over his now wet skin. “I missed waking up next to you,” you confessed in between kisses “so did I,” Jake retorted honestly.

Again, Jake let his lips and tongue move languidly against your skin, drawing moans and sighs from your lips as he sucked and nipped at spots he knew were sensitive. “Jake” you whined softly as his hand reached up to cup and knead your breast. “Yeah, baby?” his voice was raspy, filled with lust.

“I need you!” the whimper fell softly out into the night, your head having tilted back slightly to give your lover more space to love on your skin. “Mhm, I need you too, honey.” Jake hummed, positioning you so that you could feel his hard cock against your inner thigh.

Sighing onto Jake’s lips, he slowly lowered you onto his aching cock, the swirl of the water making it a bit harder than it usually was. As you felt him fully seated in you, you let out a relieved breath, letting your forehead rest against his shoulder as he lazily lifted you so his cock slid against your walls - rocking slowly and deeply.

“I love you,” Jake’s words were soft and low, but they seemed to echo loudly against the dark night sky and the glittering ocean, illuminated by stars and the moon. He was still moving in you, and a soft groan left him before he repeated himself “Fuck, I love you,” his voice was strained with emotion, his jaw clenching slightly.

“I love you, Jake,” you whispered, having left your perch on his shoulder, rocking down onto him and looking at the way the moon beautifully illuminated his face, and the waters glittering between you as you moved.

“Move in with me,” Jake whispered “I’ll touch you day and night, for as long as you want me to,” he moaned, and you could tell his promise was as much to himself as it was to you.

“I’d love nothing more,” you sighed, relishing in the thought of waking up next to Jake every morning, for the rest of your life.

#jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fluff #my writing #jake seresin smut #smut

1K notes · View notes

twistedinthreads · 2 months

Text

Lost In The Labyrinth

Part 1.

You came to Oxford to get away from America; from your mother's fame and the ghosts of your past. You get more than you bargained for when you meet Felix.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: sexual content (not explicit but it's there so 18+ MINORS DNI), I used some descriptors for reader such as scars, birthmarks, imperfections, but I made her as inclusive as possible, reader is American, she's also a nepo baby but isn't using her nepotism in any real way. Bi!reader and Felix. fic title inspired by the taylor swift song, of course (and I am terrible at titles!)

Playlist (a work in progress!)

A/N: I am so insecure about this reading back over it omgggg but I'm posting it anyway! Hi friends. I've been working on this for so long, and I'm recovering from my surgery so I figured there's no time like the present. Here we are. I am obsessed with this movie and this man! I promise this fic is gonna get more interesting, but we've got this for now. Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist, and feel free to send me asks if you want to talk about reader and her lore, because she is very special to me and I adore her already!!!

Your eyes droop as you hum along to the nameless blonde that stands in front of you, her sparkly pink cocktail dress catching the light and making her glow. She’s going on and on about how Everlasting Eve is her favorite movie of all time, and how your mother is “the greatest actress of our time!” You want to vomit. It’s not like this doesn’t happen, it’s practically a daily occurrence at this point, but you’d much prefer it if people stopped giving so much of a shit. If they did, you wouldn’t be stood with a bottle blonde from Bristol talking your ear off. You’d just stepped out to get some air, for Christ’s sake.

“You’re from the States, right?” You nod, sipping at your cocktail and bouncing from one foot to the other to conserve some warmth in your legs. She asks it as if she hasn’t been talking your ear off and didn’t notice your accent, not as thick as it used to be when you’d lived in New York full time, but still foreign here. The music is less obnoxious out here, bass easing on your chest. It’s cooler, too, the fall night air brushing against your neck like a lover. “That’s brilliant! I went with my parents once, when I was a kid. We went to Disney World.”

You smile and nod, muttering out a “cool” as you sip at your drink, cringing at its strength.

“Is that far from where you live?” She asks, and you wonder how she got into this fucking school. Probably a legacy, with more money than she knows what to do with.

“Uh,” you suppress a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, like… incredibly South of New York.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to New York,” she continues to babble. “My parents go on business trips there, but they’ve never taken me. I want to see where Little Angels was filmed! Uh, Lincoln Square Park?”

“Washington Square Park,” you correct her.

“Yeah!” She snaps her fingers and points. “That’s it! When your mom’s character is waiting there for Hugh Grant’s character, and then they walk off into the sunset together? Absolutely the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen!”

You stare off into the distance vacantly, the night sky painted with different navy hues and dotted with the brushstrokes of stars.

Suddenly, you feel a warm arm around your waist, hot breath on your cheek. “There you are!” You’d know that voice anywhere. The figure kisses you on the cheek and it takes everything in you not to start grinning from ear to ear. You turn, meeting his lips, and he plays along like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “I’m gonna head home, wanna come with?”

You nod, thanking him with your eyes. He winks gently at you and grabs your hand. “Nice talking to you…” you’ve already forgotten her name. Her tone has completely shifted, body stiff as her eyes mull over you and the man that holds your hand with a vice grip.

“Sandra.” It’s cold, but you keep your own voice chipper.

“Sandra! Nice to meet you,” she’s in your college, so you’ll have to be cordial. “See you around?”

She just nods and lights a cigarette.

As you walk away, one of Felix’s hands around your waist and the other holding your own, you look up at him. “Thank you so much. Holy shit. I was about to lose it.”

He lets out a low, intoxicated chuckle. “It’s what I’m here for, darling.” Uses his fingers on your chin, tugging lightly to kiss you hard on the mouth. He pulls away and you chase his lips, planting one more kiss on his mouth, this time softer.

“Your room or mine?” You ask, to be met with a smirk as he grabs your hand and leads you across campus. It’s a path you could walk with your eyes closed, the muscle memory of so many nights embedded into your body by now.

His room is all red carpet and wood paneling, empty takeout containers and beer cans and ashtrays strewn about. His bed is unmade and his textbooks are all over his floor, but it hardly matters when he’s kissing you like you’re the only person in the fucking universe.

Within minutes, you settle back into a familiar routine. Clothes shed, completely bare to one another as you grind and writhe on top of him, hands on his toned chest. He’s gorgeous with his mouth open in ecstasy, labored breaths escaping it, eyes closed and clenched, hands rested on your waist as you move above him, a renaissance painting. You’re moaning too, tempering your whines so that the sounds don’t travel. The moon paints the room in subtle, cool light and the pleasure makes sweat bead on your brows.

“Missed you,” he manages between moans, voice heavy and breathy. “Missed this.”

“It’s been like, two days,” you let out a chuckle, and it fades into a moan as you grind your hips again, trying not to scratch his chest with your manicured nails, though you doubt he'd mind too much.

“And that’s too long,” he replies, and you lean down and kiss him, open mouthed and messy and euphoric.

When it’s all said and done, you lay naked beside him while he smokes a cigarette, arm laced around your bare shoulder, your head rested on his. It’s bliss, something you’ve begun to ache for all the time. “Really, thank you. That girl was driving me fucking insane.”

“That scene where your mom’s character and Hugh Grant ride off into the sunset together? Immaculate.” He mocks the girl, a surprisingly good impersonation, and you both belly laugh. You wipe away bits of red lipstick from his mouth and grin delicately at him. You know you’re not the only girl he’s seeing, not even the only girl he’s fucking, and it wedges something vile and dangerous in your heart. The words linger on your tongue. You want to ask, want to know, and if you sound desperate? Well, so be it.

“What is this?” You wrench the words out quickly, looking at your hands.

“What do you mean?” He takes a long drag of the cigarette, letting the smell perforate the air in the room, turning it cloudy in its wake.

“Us,” you murmur, and he runs a hand through your hair. “Like… I know you’re fucking other people, Felix. And that’s fine but… I just want to be clear on what this.”

He looks at you perplexed, smashing the cigarette in the ash tray and turning on his side toward you. You mirror his motions, so the two of you are laying in bed, you practically on top of him due to its size, your hands under your cheek. “I’m fucking other girls? News to me.”

“I see the way you look at them,” you murmur. “India. Annabel. That guy you study with sometimes… Ryan?”

“I’m not fucking anyone else,” he mutters, seeming almost offended at the notion. He scoffs before his next words. “I practically haven’t even looked at anyone else.”

“Fe-“ he cuts you off, a hand brushing over your cheek, holding it delicately.

“No,” he starts. “I know I have a reputation or whatever,” he waves his free hand around. “But I genuinely haven’t been seeing anyone else since we started… this.” He gestures between the two of you, and you can sense that he's lying, but it hardly matters.

You’re almost self-conscious as his eyes rake over your body; so self aware of every little imperfection, every feature. The birthmark on your hip. The way one tit is just a bit bigger than the other. Your crooked finger from when you broke it playing volleyball in ninth grade. The gray hairs you’d been noticing popping up recently.

“You’re the prettiest fucking girl at this college,” he says your name before kissing you sweetly. “Don’t want to look at anyone else.” You know it’s a lie, considering the fact that he does look at other girls, and often. It’s almost like you can’t bother to care, though. Your head is all floaty and tears are burning your eyes.

He climbs on top of you, kisses down your chest, down your stomach, makes sure to take his time kissing that same birthmark you were so insecure about minutes before, your inner thighs, before finally landing where it matters most.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, yeah?” He looks up at you with those gorgeous eyes, the earnestness in them making your heart swell up. In this moment, it’s not the same Felix that made you cry last week because he told you you needed to get your own friends (you have plenty), or the Felix that ignored you at the pub to talk to Annabel, causing you to storm out and ignore him for three days until he realized.

Sometimes, he doesn’t care if you come, and he doesn’t clean up after himself, and sometimes his words bite, and last week he made that insensitive comment about your friend with depression. But you think you might love him, and it feels like enough.

After, he asks you to stay with him. You laugh languidly, tears brimming at your eyes from how hard. He kisses you, soft and slow, the moonlight seeping into the window and painting the carpet with light; it looks like a lone puddle of blood in a sea of blackness.

When you wake, it’s nearly noon. The sun beams through the curtains and you shield your eyes, trying to move underneath Felix’s strong grip. He’s got a hand wrapped around your thigh. Your leg wrapped around his waist while your arms are, slightly pained from the uncomfortable angle, folded around his neck. You regret moving your face from its spot in his chest, wanting nothing more than to occupy his space for as long as possible.

You can’t bear to wake him, his eyelashes fluttering ever-so-slightly against his face. You smile, tuck yourself back into him, and feel his breaths come out relaxed and steady. The tranquility doesn’t last long, though, and you watch as his eyes flicker open. “Good morning,” his voice is raspy, his saccharine accent accentuating every word with posh sweetness. He kisses your cheek and gets up, your eyes meeting his bare ass. “I should go shower, you cool to stay here?” He asks as he gathers his things.

“I need to go,” you also get up, searching around for your undergarments and your uncomfortable cocktail dress, pulling the blue, beaded garment on without much care. “Sundays are study days with June.”

You slip your uncomfortable heels on, wincing at the blister you’d developed last night but didn’t notice until now, and kiss him on the cheek as you leave his dorm.

The trek across campus has you nearly limping in pain, as you kick your shoes off the second you make it into your room. You gather your shower gear, thankful for your own bathroom and the warmth of a long, hot shower. It’s almost painful to wash his scent off of you, but you know you’ll be seeing him again soon, and let your floral body wash cleanse you and your sore form.

Before you get dressed, you grab antibiotic cream and bandaids from a drawer and tend to your blisters, throwing on a pair of slip-ons to avoid even more pain.

And as you go to study with June, your mind is far from Shakespeare; it rests only on Felix, Felix, Felix.

#felix catton x reader #felix catton #saltburn #saltburn x reader #saltburn smut #felix catton x you #felix catton x y/n #felix catton smut #felix catton fic #saltburn fanfic #saltburn fic #saltburn fanfiction

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formulapai · 4 months

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LIVING WITH ENDO (AND OSCAR)

an Oscar Piastri fluff/angst scenario

scenario: what it’s like living with endometriosis, with your boyfriend’s support. (might do a second part.)

warning: mention of surgeries, blood, vomit, eating disorders, depression, bruises.

pai’s words: THIS IS BASED ON MY EXPERIENCE!! as much as endo is the same for anyone suffering with it, the impact it has on the body and mind, the pain, the treatments, and a lot of it is purely personal !! as someone who has been living with it for more than ten years and has tried everything the French Healthcare has to offer, even going into alternative medicine and such, this is my experience that I’m writing and it can be a little different than some people.

to anyone having questions about it, having doubts or just curious, my dms and requests are always open, I’ll be honored to make this illness a little more known. :)

to anyone fighting against it everyday, I’m so sorry. you’re not alone, i 100% stand with you as a fellow endowarrior (this term is always making me wheeze but I love it!!). we’ll get through this eventually !

THE NIGHT

You’re laying awake on your shared bed, not even able to move an inch because of the sharp flash of pain coming and going, not letting you take a real breathe as the movement of your diaphragm creates waves after waves of pain. Despite your pain medication, it’s a common occurrence and you’ve yet to find a solution to it, just waiting for it to pass, tear-stained face staring at the ceiling in a silent prayer that you’ll be soon free of it all.

You feel Oscar move next to you, his calm breathing picking up as he slowly wakes up, first grumbling about the early hours but then noticing your state. He doesn’t know what you need, doesn’t dare to place his hand in your lower belly to try and massage the pain away. It’s an “all or nothing” situation as his body warmth and his soft touch can either calm you and your body down or create another episode of agony, and not even you can predict it. He knows you’re aware he’s up, your face completely still as to not stress your body even more, and he press closer to you, close enough to comfort you as much as he can, far away enough to not touch you.

He can see your diaphragm broaden its movement slowly, your breathing finally beginning to get deeper as you feel the episode fade away lazily, not at all in a hurry to leave you alone. Even from under your sleep shirt, he sees your muscles flexing and relaxing as waves of pain appear, your body reacting naturally despite your tries to stop it, the flexing of your abdominal muscles making it worse. It’s a normal response, really, just like your arm will flinch automatically when you hurt it, a mean to get away from whatever hurt you. But when the only thing hurting you is your own body, it doesn’t work.

It takes a few more minutes until you take your boyfriend’s hand, guiding it to your lower belly and letting it stay here, feeling it starting to massage your body as soon as it touches it. It’s not miraculous, the pain still present, but it helps both mentally and physically as your shoulders relax ever so slightly. You always complain about him being way too warm on a regular basis, but how happy you are for his warmth right now. With your lover pressed to you, his soft praises in your ears and your body finally letting you rest, you fall into a deep slumber, thanking whoever has put Oscar in your life.

THE DAY

It started great, you woke up early and in pretty much no pain, motivated enough to make breakfast as the Australian sleeps soundly in the bed. You should’ve seen it coming when waves of nausea were starting to make themselves known the more you cooked, preparing your favorite French food, some Pain Perdu. It’s really not in Oscar’s food plan and his trainer will hate you for it, but you certainly don’t care.

It doesn’t come as a surprise when you finally throw up, your whole body spasming as it tries to get whatever was the problem out of it. It’s mostly bile as you haven’t had the chance to eat yet, the liquid burning your throat as it comes up, sweat marring your forehead at the sheer effort of standing despite your muscles begging for a rest. It hasn’t happened in a few days and you were enjoying it, able to eat and drink whatever you wanted without being overly stressed about how your body would react. Guess the fun is now over.

The doctor told you that it’s quite normal to have GI issues when you have endometriosis, even when it’s not commonly talked about. But, like every other symptoms, no real remedy exists apart from antiemetic medicine but you’ve found out quite early that it doesn’t really make it better so you’ve decided to not take it anymore, opting to just wait and deal with it. Oscar didn’t know about all this when you two started talking, barely knowing endometriosis and just thinking it was bad period pain. It always comes as a shock when he sees how much deeper it runs, how hard it makes your daily life.

This nausea thing made you develop an eating disorder, or so your therapist is saying. As you’re scared of vomiting, you try to escape food as much as possible, waiting for your body to feel better so you can eat in large quantities to make up for the lack of food. Your boyfriend knows it, your friends too, truly everyone sees how you avoid food like it’s the plague, but no one can say anything against it, knowing the reason behind it and having no solution. It’s hard, it’s painful, for both you and them, as you’d rather not do this to yourself, but it’s the only way you can live a somewhat normal life regarding this issue.

As you feel better, mere minutes later, you wash yourself before continuing breakfast, knowing well it’s now only for Oscar and not for you. You settle for hot hibiscus tea, crossing out coffee for today as it fuels the inflammation caused by your illness, something you really don’t need at the moment. Your collection of tea is impressive, your close ones all searching which tea is good and which tea is bad for you, gifting it every occasion they get, hibiscus and Nettle being your favorite ones as you feel their effects on your body.

THE STAINS

Ever since your surgeries and thanks to your special birth control, you’re not supposed to have periods anymore. Sadly, it still happens like your doctors told you it could, just not as regularly and serious as before. Your hemorrhagic periods, lasting without ever being stopped as your cycle was pretty much nonexistent, is replaced by a blood flow still heavy but not as much, making itself known only a few days a month. It still comes with all the complications of it, the searing pain making you pass out, the muscle aches, the nausea and diarrhea. You can’t complain, you’ve lived way worse.

Of course, it decided to happen today out of all day, as you’re standing in the McLaren garage, watching your boyfriend overtake another one of his colleague and securing P3. It’s probably the stress of it all, strong emotions tend to trigger episodes and you curse them as you feel the change in both your body and mind, your periods always hitting you bad mentally. You quickly excuse yourself to Oscar’s driver’s room, abandoning the race watching right in the middle of it, knowing that he’ll understand but still feeling bummed out. Apart from the obvious toll on your body, the grasp it has on your mental state is insane, leaving you battling with depression, something you’ve learned is one of the most common outcome with endo.

You take your time changing clothes, cleaning yourself in the toilets and putting a pad you’ve thankfully put in you bag before going, knowing you’ll have to change it in less than an hour with how heavy your flow can be. You slowly make your way to the massage table, laying on it as you pray it’s only going to be blood and not everything usually accompanying it, especially not the pain. It’s a vicious circle, you know it well, as you’re scared of the pain so you become tense, so tense that it creates pain, the condition feeding off of your stress and the movement of your muscles, most importantly your abdominal ones. So you try to distract yourself, you go on social medias, you read online, you watch videos. You busy yourself until you realize you really need to change your pad, scurrying towards Oscar’s bag and hoping he has some as he usually does when you two go out, always so thoughtful.

People are cheering outside, the race probably ending in a positive way and your heart swell at the sheer joy emanating from the garage. Still, you don’t seem to find anything in the bag, your hands shaking as small sniffles echo in the room, feeling absolutely stupid for not predicting your period. You can’t even hear the door opening behind you, feet stilling for a few seconds before they make their way to you, arms wrapped around your shoulders.

“- Hey, what’s wrong darling?

- I’m dumb, that’s what’s wrong.

- What happened ?

- I’m having my period and I didn’t even bring anything and now I’m going to bleed out everywhere and ruin my clothes.”

Oscar presses a kiss to your head and gets up, walking towards a drawer and taking out some pads, bringing them to you. You stare at him, as you accept them, still sniffling as you let yourself fall into his arms, thanking him quietly. You don’t know where you’ll be without him, probably bleeding out everywhere like you just said.

“- You’re not dumb, it happens to forget things. And you have me, right ? You know I always bring way too much of these with us.

- I know, thank you. Really, thank you Oscar.

- It’s alright, dearest. Go get changed, I have to get back there but I’ll be quick, I promise. We’ll go back to the hotel after that.”

You nod, pressing sweet kisses to his neck where you face is buried before letting him go, thanking him once again.

THE SURGERY

After yet another scan, you’re finally allowed the surgery, a long and draining battle you’ve won. Endometriosis is still not taken seriously by most of the doctors you’ve met, mostly overlooked as pain every person with an uterus has to live with and nothing more, so it’s a relief when you meet a specialist willing to help you. It’s a simple surgery, called laparoscopy, leaving only a few incision scares on your abdomen and promising an almost pain-free life, or well, years. It’s rare that only one surgery is enough to annihilate the problem in its all, it happens, thankfully, but it’s still quite uncommon or so the surgeon said. It’s pretty logical, as the tissues will appear again eventually, growing back where they’re not supposed to, creating new inflammation nests.

It’s stressful, as every surgery is, but you like to think of it as a good stress, completely opposite to the fear Oscar is feeling as the hours tick by, getting you closer to the surgery. Theoretically, he knows it’s a safe surgery, a small one, one the surgeon has done many times. Still, the love of his life is going to be put under anesthesia and under a scalpel and he can’t help but feel terrified by it. It’s not going to be lengthy, less than two hours, which is not that long for this kind of surgery, but he already knows he’s going to bite his fingernails off while waiting.

He’s updating your close friends and family members as the door opens, your bed being rolled inside the room as you slowly wake up, still loopy and giggly because of the anesthesia. The two nurses tell him that the surgeon will come later to check and talk with them, assuring Oscar that the surgery went very well before leaving the couple alone. You’re still quietly giggling to yourself, lifting your arms in front of your face and making random shapes with your hands, almost snatching the IV a few times so he interrupts you, sitting next to you and making sure your hands stay away from the crook of your elbow. You look at him with a wide, toothy smile and start to play with his hair, tugging at it as you try to give him some horns, the hair not sticking up no matter how much you try.

You spend the next hour drifting in and out of sleep, the anesthesia wearing off and pain slowly creeping in. The doctor makes his way in the room, giving you the ok to go home as long as you’re not alone, prescribing pain medication and planning a meeting with him a month from now. The two of you listen to his advices, Oscar noting everything he needs to buy such as ice packs, and you’re soon discharged, your boyfriend leading your wheelchair towards his car. He takes it back to the nurse when you’re settled in your car seat, thanking her for lending it even when it’s the official protocol. What can he say, he’s too polite.

The healing process is tiring but worth it, your belly adorned with scars and bruises slowly fading away, swollen and tender. You’re thankful for the break as Oscar is able to stay with you through it all, his family and yours visiting you and allowing you to have a pleasant distraction. Your close friends come too, deciding that a gossip session in the middle of the living room as you eat pasta is the only remedy you need, to Oscar’s despair. He likes them, he truly does, he doesn’t like to be chased from his own living room though. He snickers as he leaves the couch, leaving you with a lingering kiss before he goes in another room, logging in his computer. In the end, the healing process is fine, you were glad for anyone helping you through it, you were even more thankful for your boyfriend. And if you have to get a second, a third, even a fourth surgery, you’ll be ok as long as you have him.

#f1 x reader #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #f1 #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fluff

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codylabs · 2 years

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One thing that's missing from a lot of the current Dracula discourse is an understanding of how vampires actually work in the book's universe.

In most of the modern portrayals we're used to seeimg, vampires are painted as tragic or conflicted figures, that are mostly the same as how they were before being bitten: the same person, just immortal and nocturnal and periodically possessed by bloodlust. Not so in the original book, and not so for our good friend Johnathan Harker.

In the original story that we're currently hearing, vampirism is much more of a transformation, and much more closely tied to undeath and demonic sin. Not only is it brought on by death, but the reanimated corpse retains none of it's soul and it's conscience and any trace of goodness it had in life.

Most of us were delighted and amused at the Count's bizarre antics in the story's first chapters, then suddenly surprised when it took a sudden turn toward horror and apparent homoeroticism when the Count saves Johnny from his 3 blood-slorpimg girlfriends and gives them a baby to eat instead. And yes, that is the point where the nature of the threat becomes clear, but the missed purpose of the first few chapters is to set up not only how absolutely disconnected the Count is from how a normal person lives and acts, but to show how this entire demeanor as a noble gentleman or a friend or a human being is nothing but a poorly-maintained facade, and a means to an end; that end, of course, being to move away from the superstitious and well-guarded countryside, and into a quiet home in the center of London, one of the most densely populous cities in the world at that time.

And somewhere in the Count's conversation with his three fine ladies lies another hint: that love means something completely and entirely different to vampirekind than it does to us. A human does, and should, love through care, concern, goodwill and service. The count wears these things like a mask around Johnathan, but between he and his ladies the mask falls, and we see that when they say love, they mean something else: something on the spectrum between lust and dominance and hunger, and probably closer to the latter. The Count being affectionate is not necessarily a sexy or appealing or desirable occurrence in any way whatsoever at all ever.

The story hasn't suddenly turned toward horror, it has been a slow revealing, to both us and Johnathan, that he is trapped in a castle not with a man but with a THING. It wears the skin and memories of a nobleman who died long ago, likely in one of those wars it's so fond of recounting, but it is even less his friend than we are. We, and Johnathan, can be certain now that the moment he has served his civilized purpose the pretenses will drop, and the beast and its beastettes will devour him,

And England is next.

I love this story. Familiarity and memes can turn horror into comedy so easily, as we have been proving, but beneath it all, this is some damn good horror.

#dracula daily #vampire

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aniharas · 3 months

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𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯

pairing: anakin skywalker x jedi!fem!reader

summary: in the soul-shattering aftermath of geonosis, anakin finds solace in forbidden affection, risking everything for a stolen moment under the moonlight.

warnings: angst, ptsd, trauma, phantom pains. anakin just needs a hug.

wc: 4k+ oneshot

a/n: this is mainly written from anakin's pov and detailing his thoughts. i was just craving an angst fest don't mind me. likes and reblogs deeply appreciated :) inbox is open! enjoy <3

The light-polluted nights of Coruscant were not very kind to the Chosen One.

It was becoming a ritual: stirring at the latest hour in a sweat in the night. Almost an hourly occurrence. Poor Anakin would cry out, reaching for the ghost of an arm that was no longer there. The memories of the dreadful incident came around often like an old acquaintance, one who didn't quite get the hint that their presence was not wanted.

The terrors were definitely unwanted. Each nightmare that plagued his mind, almost every waking moment, every phantom pain was a painstaking reminder of his own incompetence. He was too weak, too blind to stop what happened. The flash of the red saber. The brief, agonizing, piercing hot sensation in his right arm followed by a sharp breeze. The unmistakable smell of his own charred flesh. The events of Geonosis were far too grisly to forget. The monstrous nature of his failure grasped and invaded his mind with its tendrils, ensuring nothing but pain as it threatened to pull him down under.

What made matters worse was the useless words of the Jedi Council when he sought their advice. Anakin nearly trudged out of the Council Room in laughter. Did they know how ridiculous they sounded? Firstly, he couldn't confide in anyone or simply desire their comfort. Secondly, his own limbs were considered part of things that he couldn't stay attached to, and the young Jedi found that piece of grim advice hilarious. He wondered if their powers with the Force and their lightsabers were the only reason that they were respected.

The cybernetic arm that he was given only did so much. It functioned like a normal arm and hand; it simulated the sense of touch. It was a piece of technology revered by many and saved those who used it. Whenever he retired to his quarters, he would simply stare at it, desperately hoping that it would complete him, hoping that the many credits invested into his new limb would save his soul from the relentless torment that lurked whenever the sun when down.

It was never the same. How could it ever be the same? Despite the fact that Dooku had severed his right arm, Anakin felt like he had broken his whole body and spirit. One would describe his state as one of constant grieving, for his arm, for himself. He dreaded training, missions, meditating. Eating seemed to be a monumental chore for the boy who was destined to save the galaxy.

His body was at a disconnect with his own mind, and no amount of tinkering or relentless practice with the replacement would help. It was like everyone else was above ground, moving at a normal pace, and he was stuck at the bottom of the ocean, unable to control the chaos of the water around him.

He had hoped that the nightly perils would cease in their frequency with time. As the years passed, his hope diminished, at the very least wishing that he could get used to the feeling.

On another lonely, sleepless night, Anakin had woken from phantom pain. Defeated, he slid himself off the edge of his bed, letting his body slump to the floor. He was the phrase 'human wreck' incarnate, his now grown-out hair askew; sweat and tears mingling as they slid down his face and neck; the pale, vein-ridden skin of his half-bare body being proof of his negligence towards himself. It was only on occasion that he could sleep alongside the moon, with no troubling thoughts to bother him. The rest of those nights were akin to psychological torture.

"Maybe it was karma for all the times I used the Force to extract a confession from somebody. Is that what that felt like?" he said to himself.

At times, he liked to pause as if there was someone there who would respond.

He wanted a response, longed for someone to just be there. Someone could sit across from him and say that his pain was superficial, that he was being overdramatic, and Anakin would still be grateful for the words. Intimate touch was constantly on his mind; not the kind of touch that led to something amorous, but the kind that could leave his battle-torn skin covered in goosebumps, the kind that would make him hyper-aware of every inch of his body.

He brushed his human fingers over the forearm of his replacement, wanting to know if there was some way he could make himself feel that intimacy. His desperation to simply feel was slowly driving him mad, and he once again let himself lose to his rage. A tear seemed to poetically slip down Anakin's cheek as his sweat-ridden fingers fumbled around with the latches, dislodging his mechno-arm and flinging it towards his wall with enough strength he could muster. A pained grunt escaped his lips.

As it slammed against the wall, it made a loud, yet unsatisfying 'thud'. Some of the casing popped off, the wires and inner mechanisms becoming exposed as it fell unceremoniously to the floor. The emotional toll and the sudden action it wrought had left Anakin out of breath. His glossy eyes trailed from the wreckage down to the emptiness where it should have been, and at that moment, he felt truly pathetic. He desperately wanted to blame anything else, but it seemed that with every obstacle, he only had himself to blame. Did he truly deserve this? He started to believe so.

It was then that his ears picked up a soft knock at his door. Anakin had shot up from his seat on the floor, hurrying over to retrieve his arm and fix it back into place. Disoriented from the absence of sleep, he managed to trudge his way to his door, carefully watching his own feet so he wouldn't stumble. Almost like a child.

When he opened the door, the last thing he expected was to see her. Why was she even here this late at night? She didn't even live in this part of the Knights' Billet. Had one of the masters sent her? Her expression and her body language were timid, seemingly afraid to cross the line; but her ever-so-captivating eyes shone with curiosity. Anakin caught those eyes trying to sneak a glance behind him, tilting his head as he made himself comfortable leaning against his doorway.

"Did someone send you? Tell them I'm not in the mood," he said rather curtly without another glance, taking a step back as he moved to close the door. He was growing exhausted with how the Jedi expected so much of him but didn't even respect him.

Her hand seemed to spring out to hold the door open in retaliation. He was growing tired of the antics, ready to glare her down with daggers, until he saw something different in the girl. Her stance was firm as she held open the door. He saw that her eyes held a brewing mix of resolve and desperation as if silently pleading for him to hear her out.

"I was walking by, and I heard a noise. Are you okay?"

Time seemed to stop as she voiced her concern, leaving Anakin breathless once again. There was an undeniable pang in his heart, threatening to set loose what had been building up inside of him. Any other day, he would've brushed her off and forced the door shut without a care in the world. She was jeopardizing her place in the Jedi Order, and his as well. How could she afford to be so careless?

So careless about her duties…but she cared about him.

Struggling to voice his answer, he found himself nearly paralyzed with uncertainty, not knowing how to proceed. The mere act of them meeting this late at night had already broken so many rules...but was he willing to sacrifice some rules to save his own sanity? He saw a look of pity flash over her eyes, and he stayed frozen as she quietly shuffled in, closing the door behind her in a similar matter.

Anakin was sure about the fact that he needed someone to confide in, to share his agony, to comfort his long-tortured soul. It was only until she had uttered her first words to him that night that it dawned on him: she would see him as weak, and not the Chosen One. The dichotomy of his needs and fears clashed about in his brain. He needed a companion, but he was afraid of losing her approval, anyone's approval. Everyone's approval.

"What's wrong, Anakin?"

Her voice had cut through the growing torment of his thoughts, leaving it silent, those three words alone threatening to unravel him. He avoided the piercing gaze that was threatening to see right through him.

"Just insomnia," he muttered.

When his eyes returned to her, he immediately knew that his answer wasn't good enough. Who was he kidding? He realized that he hadn't even bothered to look presentable, hair messy and skin glistening with sweat. As if to mock his own thoughts, a gust of air blew in from his conditioning unit, making the tear streaks down his face feel like they were freezing. He watched her carefully as her eyes examined these very things, a flush gracing her cheeks as she briefly glanced at his bare chest. The faint glow of the stars pouring in from the window only seemed to accentuate it, illuminating her skin. She was pretty.

The very thought angered him. Why did beauty distract him so in such a vulnerable moment of his life? It was a weakness he was not proud of, not only because it represented what he could not have, but what he struggled to be himself. Every rule in his life seemed like it was set in place to keep him from having beauty, being beautiful. He couldn't help but break those rules as his eyes raked over her figure. He saw how her hair cascaded down to delicately frame her face, skin that was once covered modestly by Jedi robes, eyes that seemed to tantalize him even if her intentions meant otherwise.

Would it be so terrible if he indulged in these desires in his moment of need?

Anakin shook his head to his own thoughts, causing her to tilt hers in confusion. Of course, it would be terrible, but why was it terrible in the first place? He was suffering, feeling pathetic with his appearance and in his mind. It was not terrible to need someone, but why was guilt beginning to consume these selfish desires? Maybe it was terrible to need her. He barely knew her, and she took the same vows as he did.

"I understand," she whispered, seeming rather awkward and sheepish compared to before. She avoided his gaze as she turned her back on him. As she began to reach for the doorknob, Anakin was surprised to see that she hesitated. Was it too hopeful to think that she felt the same? He called out for her, more despairingly than he intended to.

"Wait, I..." He hesitated, not sure if he wanted to take the plunge. It would be the start of a slippery slope he couldn't hope to dig her or himself out of. He knew that if he tried, it would be futile, so that must've been why he had the nagging feeling that he didn't even want out.

"I need you here."

He watched closely as her brows furrowed and her grip on the doorknob tensed, immediately realizing that his request might have been too bold, to say the least. His gaze fell to the floor as a wave of humiliation washed over him. If she had run off at that moment, he would've understood. However, as he gathered the courage to look up once more, he saw that she had stood still, eyes continuing to prod him for a better explanation. Swallowing the ever-growing lump in his throat, he leaned against the wall of his dormitory as he tried to find the words that would lead him down the slope. If it meant that he could find peace for one night, one hour, or even one minute, so be it.

"I need you here because…I am cursed. I'm cursed with an affliction I can't ever hope to cure. I feel like I'm at war with myself, and it haunts me to my soul."

Anakin paused, subconsciously holding his breath, unsure if he wanted to continue. All of this was most likely too heavy to hear, especially since she barely knew him. Did she care?

At that moment, as if to answer his silent query, she stepped forward and placed herself in front of him, standing so close he felt the warmth of her body. The scent of her freshly-washed hair polluted his senses, leaving him feeling melancholy. He watched in a trance as her brows furrowed in worry, tentatively lifting up her hand. Her fingers gently prodded at his cybernetic, outlining the broken casing. Once her curious eyes rose back up to meet his, there was a silent acknowledgment. Understanding. It gave him the push to keep going, to muster the strength to hold open the floodgates of his heart. He stopped holding his breath, his sorrowful gaze falling to the floor.

“I'm...completely lost. I've strayed so far from the path of the Jedi that I can no longer see it…and I am afraid I don't even want it. I'm constantly told that I shouldn't feel this way...that hurting is selfish, and that I should focus on the needs of others before my own, to live up to my prophecy," Anakin muttered, his tone turning bitter and his brows furrowing in anger at the last word.

"But how can I do that when I am disconnected from myself? When I don’t feel like the Chosen One? I don’t feel like anyone is choosing me.”

Anakin’s eyes traveled up her figure once more, her minuscule and simple movements making them glaze over with desperation. He found the way her shoulders gradually moved up and down with each breath captivating, the flutter of her lashes with each blink. He took her by the hand that was calmly tracing his forearm, enveloping it firmly in his. She watched him as her breath halted in suspense, her fingers seeming hesitant to move.

“I need you here, not because I expect you to fix me, but because I just need someone. Anyone. I need you to choose me, to touch me,” he whispered, his voice shaking as he watched her lace her fingers with his own. “Please, I need this...bittersweet taste of relief. I can't bear this alone anymore.”

After what seemed like an eternity of silence with their hands in each other’s, she let go, much to Anakin’s chagrin. However, she lifted her hand once again, gradually bringing her hand to his chest, laying it flat above his heart. The sensation sent waves of warmth across the bare skin of his chest, the rippling feeling leaving goosebumps in its wake. He was certain that she could feel the deafening pounding of his heart. A faint gasp left his lips as she began to slide her hand down to his abdomen, his muscles in that area tensing. He didn’t expect to feel this hyper-sensitive to someone’s touch.

She flinched a little at his reaction, causing her to stop her motions. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she looked up at him timidly.

“Is that okay?” she asked, her voice unsure, as if she was testing the waters.

Hearing her words, Anakin’s vision was obscured by his own tears…tears of relief. He savored the straining feeling in his chest and throat as he fought to hold back his sobs, thankful he was even feeling anything like that at all. A slow blink of his eyes betrayed him as a brief stream of hot tears slid down his cheeks, which she quickly wiped away with her free hand. She seemed rather flustered when that very action caused more tears to fall in succession, awkwardly wiping more tears as quickly as she should.

The act made Anakin chuckle briefly, nearly surprising himself with the sound. It seemed to surprise her too, in turn making her laugh along with him. Realizing that this warming feeling was contagious, they both began to erupt into giggling fits, ending with a hush from her, muttering something about “quiet hours”. Though it had seemed silly, Anakin had wished they never stopped.

Again, damn the Jedi with all their rules.

During her stay, they sat together at the foot of his bed as Anakin slowly began to unravel the darkness that had been plaguing him since Geonosis. They spoke in hushed murmurs, afraid that someone might find them together. Their conversation would cease at the mere sound of a distant footstep, the creak of the conditioning vent, and muffled voices from the other side of his dorm wall.

However, Anakin thought all the sneaking around to be worth it. Her presence and her conversation proved to help more than he could have hoped for. Soon enough, he was pleading for her to come back the next night. A shy expression overtook her features. Something around the lines of “You like me that much?” was uttered, and those very words ignited the beginning of an insatiable fire within him. Her wide, curious, and sparkling eyes continued to feed that very fire.

Anakin wasn’t too sure when he started to kiss her.

He wasn’t even aware of when they had closed so much distance between each other. However, her receptiveness pushed those questions far away, his thoughts taking form in the shape of her. A rush of emotions flooded through him, momentarily drowning out the misery that consumed his existence. In that singular, stolen moment, he felt a profound peace, something that he thought he might never experience again.

Every touch, every gentle brush against him sent electric currents coursing through his body. His senses were enveloped by her, reveling in the taste of her, the softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath mingling with his. Her hands began to clutch onto his frame desperately, her nails digging in and leaving red trails in their wake. The world around him slowly began to fade into insignificance, his focus narrowing to the raw sensation of being alive, of feeling something so intensely beautiful. For that fleeting moment, Anakin allowed himself to be consumed by this sinful, blissful indulgence of the present. It was a sanctuary from his own mind. After a lifetime of monochrome, he was overjoyed to feel anything at all. It was a bittersweet joy, knowing that this kiss was fleeting, and that it came at a heavy cost. As their lips reluctantly parted, Anakin’s mind was only filled with anticipation for the next. He watched her, his eyes filled with a mixture of reluctance and longing, as she began to pull away, her breath slightly ragged. A part of him wants to hold onto her desperately, to stop the inevitable departure. “Wait,” he called out, his voice feeble and vulnerable as he cautiously took her hand in his. “I-i…don’t want you to go. This is…it's everything to me.”

Anakin hated how desperate he sounded in his pleas, embarrassed at the state Geonosis had reduced him to. He almost despised the fact that he needed this…that the Chosen One needed someone else to feel so alive. But the way she flooded his mind was such a high for him, and he never wanted to come down.

“Please,” he begged, his voice nearly giving out as his eyes began to glisten. “I know the risk you’d be taking, but…one more night, please. The same time, tomorrow night. We can figure out what to do then.” He watched as her resolve wavered, noting the longing in her eyes. Anakin knew she felt a pull to him as well, it’s what caused her to come and investigate him in the first place. As she took a deep breath, his thoughts came to a halt, ensuring utter silence to hear what she had to say. “Okay, Skywalker. One more night. But…if we get caught, it’s on you,” she scolded, her arms crossing.

Anakin found her attitude endearing, answering her with a simple nod. Despite her playful nature, he understood the weight of her words. He leaned in, allowing his forehead to rest against hers, enjoying the subtle heat that radiated from her, a stark contrast to the cold room they were in. Pulling away with a lingering touch and a final gaze, they parted ways. As the door closed behind her, a profound sense of emptiness washed over Anakin. Her absence only made him feel the weight of his desperation. The taste of her still lingered on his lips, and it nearly made him want to throw the door open and chase after her. However, as much as he desired that, he couldn’t bring himself to.

As he returned to his empty bed, he decided he would just have to wait until she would return, his newly found moonlight, who had illuminated his dark and harrowing night, who had caused the waves in his heart to surge and swell.

He found comfort in the fact that the moon would always return to the sky.

As each night passed, their next clandestine meeting was what occupied Anakin’s thoughts. Every single moment until then felt like an eternity, nearly stretching his patience to the limit. His thoughts were never without her.

It was especially bad whenever he would sit in the Temple’s garden and meditate with Obi-Wan.

The afternoon after that encounter with her, Anakin and Obi-Wan sat cross-legged across from each other, eyes closed as they sought inner peace with the Force.

Anakin struggled to quiet his mind, to let go of the constant longing that plagued him. He tried focusing on his breathing, to sink into stillness, but the image of her under the moon invaded his every thought. Her face, her touch, her taste, her warmth–it consumed his mind like a raging wildfire.

As Obi-Wan searched through his own mind, he couldn’t help but sense a disturbance. A subtle ripple, a flicker of distraction that emanated from his young apprentice. His brows furrowed slightly as he tried to search for what was troubling Anakin.

After a while, Obi-Wan slowly opened his eyes, gaze fixed on his padawan as his gentle voice broke the silence. “Anakin, I sense something is weighing on your mind. Is everything alright?”

Anakin’s eyes remained closed, feeling sweat break out on the nape of his neck as he fought to maintain his composure. Why did Obi-Wan even bother asking? He was never going to tell his master, and he knew that. That didn’t prevent the feeling of guilt that started to accompany the flurry of his emotions. “I’m sorry, Master,” Anakin responded after a beat of silence. “I’m just…worried about my knighthood. That is all.”

Obi-Wan’s expression softened, his eyes taking on a knowing, yet understanding look. Of course, he knew his apprentice hiding something. He would consider himself a bad master otherwise. He could feel the turmoil radiating from Anakin, yet his desire to remain elusive. He wanted to respect his privacy, but his duty as a mentor compelled him to push further.

“Anakin, you know it is one of my many responsibilities to guide and support you, but I cannot do that if you hide things from me,” Obi-Wan said. “Whatever it is, just remember you don’t have to face it alone.”

With that, Anakin’s eyes fluttered open before meeting his master’s, a mixture of guilt and longing to open up to him. He hated that he was in an order where judgment and the potential consequences of desire prevented him from confiding in his mentor, his best friend, his brother.

“Believe me, master, I am more than thankful for your concern. But this…this is something I have to figure out on my own,” Anakin replied, his voice displaying a hint of vulnerability. “I will be fine.”

Obi-Wan sighed inwardly. He knew that part of becoming a Jedi involved navigating your own path, but he couldn’t help but feel like there were deeper issues at play. However, he was willing to let it go for the sake of supporting his apprentice.

“Very well, young Skywalker,” he conceded, a touch of sadness in his voice. He reached over to give a reaffirming pat to Anakin’s shoulder. “I trust that you find your way, as you always do. Don’t forget that I am here, whenever you need me.”

Anakin nodded, letting his eyes fall shut once more as he continued to “meditate”.

Still, his moonlight danced through his mind, and he could only think about how long it would be until he could see her shine again.

a/n: ao3 saw it first! inbox is open!!

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #angst #hurt/comfort #forbidden love #anakin skywalker x fem!reader #anakin skywalker needs a hug #anakin x reader #fem!reader #clone wars #he also needs therapy #and an arm

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iveleftitwithyou · 9 days

Text

casual | paul lahote x reader smut

NSFW | 18+ | minors DNI | word count: 2.38k

warnings: smut, dom!paul, slight angst, mention of fighting, i think that's it?

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i asked you guys if i should post this now or incorporate it into ruderal, and the result was overwhelmingly to post it now, so here it is with some plot adjustments! i've been OBSESSED with this song by chappell roan and knew i needed to make it into an imagine, although this song is probably about a woman lol. highly recommend listening to the song as you read this. this is my first time EVER writing smut so i hope its not too bad - as always, let me know what you think :)

ALSO this is in an alternate timeline where the guys are all like 21+ and so is y/n :)

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Paul’s hand lingered on your thigh as he drove the winding road back to Forks, his thumb rubbing small circles on your outer leg. the radio hummed with a song you couldn’t manage to pay attention to, instead focusing your gaze on the motion of his finger on your bare thigh. while you assumed the gesture was meant to comfort you, it did a lot more than that. you hoped that the darkness would obscure Paul’s peripheral vision enough for him to not realize you were ogling his muscular arms and unusually large hands. his veins protruded in a way that drove you crazy for some reason, and as much as you were still upset with him, you couldn’t help the rush of hormones that flooded at the sight.

Embry had made some stupid joke about you at the bonfire at Emily's that night, a common occurrence when you hung out with the pack. he didn’t mean anything by it, you joked around with each other like that all the time, but Paul had been extra sensitive for the last few weeks as he spent more hours on patrol. Victoria’s looming presence and the mystery murders happening around Washington meant the reservation needed increased protection, and the men in the pack had to step up. Embry’s comment led to a fight where the pair both phased, snarling and snapping until they both came to their senses and things went back to normal. you hated when Paul shifted because of you, even if it was just indirectly your fault like it was tonight.

you two were meant to be casual, despite Paul having imprinted on you, as you had just gotten out of a long-term relationship and weren’t ready to commit to someone again. you’d been seeing each other casually for months, hanging out, and getting to know each other better. as much as you were hesitant to let him into your life completely, you couldn’t deny your attraction to Paul. he’d been nothing but a gentleman thus far, bringing you flowers on dates, opening doors for you, and following your boundaries to a T, terrified to mess anything up with you. of course, his physical form was unlike anything you’d ever seen - you were lucky that he preferred to hang out without a shirt on. things had gotten hot and heavy between you two a few times but hadn’t gone farther than some very intense making out. though, the way Paul’s hand touched you now was enough for you to throw those boundaries out the window; you wanted him - no, needed him.

you focused your eyes back on the road in front of you, only being able to see as far as the truck’s dim headlights illuminated. breathe in, breathe out, you reminded yourself, trying to calm down the butterflies in your stomach. you were unsuccessful, and it didn’t help that Paul’s hand was inching closer and closer to your hips.

suddenly, his hand snaked further inward and his grip tightened, engulfing your inner thigh. your breath hitched, and you unsuccessfully tried to mask it as a cough. you saw Paul smirk out of the corner of your eye, but he didn’t look over at you.

you once again reminded yourself to breathe as the ache between your legs became more apparent. his hand loosened its grip and continued its journey towards your core. half of you thought about stopping him purely as punishment for fighting with Embry, but the much louder other half wouldn’t dream of it right now.

you couldn’t help but let out a small groan as his hand finally reached your jean shorts, his fingers tracing the seam that ran between your legs. the slight pressure he applied drove you absolutely crazy as you wished for more friction.

the sound that escaped your lips seemed to do something to Paul as he let out a breathy groan of his own. “alright, that’s it,” he mumbled, turning the wheel toward the side of the road. he must have known exactly where you were because he easily pulled the truck behind a set of bushes that obscured most of it from the road. any passerbys, which were few and far between at this time of night anyway, wouldn’t notice the vehicle.

almost as soon as he slammed the gear shift into park, his lips were on yours. he kissed you with a passion you’d never felt before. you melted into his lips, reminding yourself for the third time that night that if you didn’t start breathing, you would pass out. he gripped the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair as you continued to make out. his other hand traveled down your arm, to your hip, and unbuckled the seatbelt you’d been wearing. in one swift, but slightly awkward motion, he disconnected your lips for a brief moment and grabbed each side of your hips, pulling you across the center console onto his lap. you were careful not to lean too far and hit the horn with your back as you settled onto him, silently thanking Paul for owning such a spacious truck. your knees settled on either side of his legs.

as you sat down on his lap, you brushed his hardening length with the same seam of your shorts his hand was just on, eliciting a quiet moan from both of you. impatient, Paul once again gripped your scalp and slammed your lips together. you allowed your hands to slip underneath the hem of his shirt, feeling the outline of the muscles on his bare abdomen. this feeling, combined with the warmth radiating from his bare skin, drove you insane.

“take- it- off-” you mumbled in between kisses, tugging the hem upwards. you were unsure of where the forwardness came from, but you didn’t stop long enough to be embarrassed.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do,” he snarked half-jokingly but obliged.

the moonlight streaming in from the windshield was just enough for you to be able to see the outline of his pecs and abs, and you really couldn’t help but stare.

“like what you see?” he chuckled, noticing your eyes widening at his physique.

you nodded, unable to form words, instead opting to smash your lips back together with all of the strength you could muster. you’d had enough of looking flustered - you wanted to take initiative.

you raised your hips again, pushing your abdomen against Paul's and lowering yourself onto his member. you rocked your hips back and forth as he moved his lips down your cheek, then your jaw, and eventually to your neck. the friction as you continued to grind against him elicited a low growl against your neck as his lips attached to your skin. you moaned embarrassingly loudly as he sucked at the delicate skin, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be sheepish. in fact, the only emotion surging through your body right now was pure desire for the god-like man leaving a series of hickeys on your neck.

“Paul, that’s gonna leave a mark,” you whined. you knew you’d regret letting him do it in the morning but right now you wanted nothing more than for him to mark you as his. you wanted to be his.

“don’t want anyone else getting any ideas. you’re all mine,” he retorted, lifting his head up to look you in the eyes. his were almost completely black with lust. “say it.” he commanded, holding your jaw tightly in his hand. “say you’re mine.”

“i’m all yours, Paul” you panted, your hips continuing to move back and forth on Paul’s lap as you stared into his dark eyes. despite your relationship still being undefined, truer words had never been spoken.

“good girl. now shut the fuck up and get back in the passenger seat.” his harsh words did nothing to discourage you from obeying as you scrambled to sit back where you were a few minutes prior. this was a side of Paul you had only seen when he was angry: dark, commanding, dominating. usually, you would have to try to calm him down when he got like this, but right now, you were very much enjoying him telling you what to do. you already missed the warmth of his body on yours as you climbed back over to the other seat, but you instinctually knew better than to voice your complaints right now.

Paul leaned across the console, reaching his hand between your knees and under the seat to move it back as far as it would go. once he was satisfied with that, he reached across your lap and pulled the reclining handle, his other hand helping to lower the seat back slowly so you weren’t sent flying backward.

“scooch back” he ordered again, and you moved your hips backward on the seat, supporting yourself with your elbows on the very edge of the seat near the headrest.

you were confused as he opened the driver-side door and hopped out of the truck. you watched as he opened the passenger-side door, it becoming clear now what his plan was. you pulled your knees towards your chest as he climbed back in, kneeling on the floor mat in front of you. god damn, this truck was spacious, and you were incredibly grateful for that right now.

his large hands fumbled to unbutton your shorts. he pulled the zipper down and you lifted your hips, followed by your legs, so he could slide them off. not wanting to wait another second, he pulled your underwear to the side and connected his thumb to your clit. you let out a loud gasp at the sensation and he chuckled proudly, knowing how good he was making you feel. Paul rubbed small, tight circles on the sensitive nub for a few seconds before you felt a finger dip into your wet folds. a guttural moan escaped your throat as you finally got the sensation you had been waiting for since his hand had rested on your thigh earlier in the night.

he added a second finger shortly after and continued to pump in and out of your heat, his thumb continuing its circular motions on your clit. you could feel your orgasm building inside of your core, and it was almost euphoric knowing it was Paul making you feel like this.

“Paul, i’m gonna-” you moaned, getting close to the edge. “what the fuck?” he’d removed his fingers altogether upon hearing this and you were not happy about it.

“patience, princess.” he chuckled, making eye contact with you once again as he raised his fingers to his mouth to taste you on them. you were still pissed at him for teasing you like that, but the sound he made as he licked your wetness off himself almost made it worth it. almost.

“let’s take these off, shall we? or should i rip them off?” his fingers slipped under the waistband of your underwear.

“don’t you dare,” the one rational brain cell you had left replied, lifting your hips for him to slide them off like he did the shorts. you liked this pair. Paul held your hips back down as he spread your legs open, leaning his torso over the seat until you could feel his breath between your legs, amplified by the wetness that had come with the teasing.

“god, you look so fucking good” he took a second to admire the sight before him before he groaned lustfully and connected his tongue to your cunt. he made quick work of finding all the right spots to hit, causing your legs to tremble and your eyes to roll back in your head. at this rate, you wouldn’t last long, but you never wanted this moment to end.

“oh, fuck,” you moaned as he continued to circle the sensitive nub with his tongue. you had never felt this connected to someone before, not any of your exes. no one had ever made you feel as good as Paul was in this moment. as he continued the motions of his tongue, you realized Paul was perfect for you in every way, including this one. it was like pre-nut clarity.

you felt the pressure building up again, somehow even stronger than last time, unable to contain your moans. “fuck, Paul, i’m gonna cum” you groaned, arching your back against the seat as Paul continued to hold your hips down harshly against it. you figured there would be bruises there tomorrow, and the thought of him marking you up even more only exacerbated your growing orgasm.

“cum for me, princess” Paul mumbled against your clit, giving you permission to let go. it only took a couple more swipes for you to come completely unglued against his mouth.

Paul gradually slowed down his motions, guiding you through your orgasm as your hips attempted to buck against his face, craving the stimulation. eventually, your brain started to function again, and the first thing you thought was that that was definitely the best orgasm you’d ever had. you couldn’t tell Paul that, though - it would boost his ego way too much, and he already had a huge one to begin with. the second thought that went through your head was that you were ready for Paul to be your boyfriend. no man could eat you out that good and get away from you.

he admired his work as you panted in front of him, a smirk of pride on his face. he loved knowing he was the one who made you feel so good. he raised himself up on his knees to hover over you, one arm resting on the seat to support himself as the other snaked behind your back to pull you to his chest. you wrapped your arms around his back, settling your face in the crook of his neck. your breaths were soon in time with each other, basking in the body heat radiating from the both of you.

you could have stayed like that forever, but after a few minutes, Paul pulled back slightly to look you in the eyes. he seemed deep in thought before he smiled and opened his mouth to ask you a simple question: “is it casual now?”

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part 2 here :)

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miller-n-morgan · 4 days

Text

And I Feel Fine (.i)

Joel Miller x Jackson!Reader

18+, mdni

Summary: Random selection on weekly patrol is a completely normal occurrence. A coincidental raid on the Jackson dam generator by Tommy’s older brother (and a little stranger) is absolutely not.

Warnings: there's a lot to unpack here, bear with me; mentions of death, violence, gore, blood, mentions of sex abuse and trafficking. Mentions of teenage pregnancy. Mention of drugs and substances. This one literally has ✨️the works.✨️

Word Count: 5.7k

Hi everyone! Thank you guys for the likes and shares and encouragement of my work before I even posted it! I appreciate you guys so much and I hope you enjoy (if that's even possible yet this is so messy for a first chapter)

The man is tall, his face looks worn and tried by the tests of time. It’s not a bad face, you reason. It’s just older, seen more things. You recognized him, though he doesn’t look the same now as the source material from which you know him. He used to wear a smile, you’re pretty sure. “Have we… met?” He seemed confused, trying to meet your wandering stare. Tommy stepped in, thinking he’d better introduce you both. “This is my brother, J-” “Joel,” you nodded, turning back to Tommy for only a second. “I remember from those pictures you brought back.”

Fall leaves are on the ground, on your front porch, and practically everywhere you look this morning. Other houses wear the orange and red upon their rooftops and over their outdoor furniture. It’s your favorite season while it’s in motion, while the leaves are still falling. It’s romantic somehow, after waking up from the nightmares. The rainbow after the rain, or something like that.

In a few weeks, you know the best of it will be over, and the wind will carry the leaves to the middle of the street, into the town area, and it will be impossible to see anything else but the dead color bursts. That is when you hate fall, when its leaves need to be raked up and out of the way. By then they are crisp and dry beneath your feet, a reminiscent sound of something else that isn’t as pleasing. You will be loathing when that time rolls around, but for now you are at peace, and savoring the momentary beauty. Nothing is permanent, including your ability to sit in the warmth of your house, sipping the hot coffee you’d brewed before patrol.

You’ve only rotated twice in two weeks, which doesn’t make a damn lick of sense considering you are one of only three people that knows the western route.

Tommy’s put you on for this morning, he and Maria are to accompany you and a few others around the power plant by the dam. There’s been some noise going on the past few weeks, and with the livelihood of the commune on the line, it’s best to sort these things out, nip them in the bud.

You take your mug to the kitchen sink and give it a quick rinse, grabbing the two lonely carrots in your fridge on the way out, stuffing them in the pocket of your jacket.

By the time you’ve actually laced up your boots, and tripped on your doorway’s crooked ridge - a morning tradition, no matter how many years you’ve lived here - the sun is cresting over the mountains, the light barely shining over the homes and their leafy crowns of orange and red and yellow and brown.

It’s still only seven-thirty by the time you reach the stables. You know Maria’s probably got something to eat packed away for later, you never got too hungry in the morning anyways. Tommy un-hatches the gate for you, walking up with half a smile on his face.

“Provoker is living up to his name just now, kicked my ass right out of his stall,” he shook his head, throwing an annoyed hand behind him to spite the horse. “And here I was tryna do somethin’ nice for ya.”

You huffed a laugh, trying to seem apologetic for your stallion’s bad behavior. He always teased you, ‘your old horse wasn’t like this,’ and ‘maybe I’ll shoot him and claim self defense.’ But of course, Maria wouldn’t stand for that. Casper, or as Tommy so lovingly has taken to calling him, ‘Provoker’ was found several miles south of the commune, just a scared and hungry horse. He was strong and sturdy and learned the routes quickly. Tommy was just an ass because the horse didn’t seem to like men.

“What did you do this time?”

“Ain’t done nothing, swear it. Keith saw me, was just passin’ through,” he defended, his hands in the air.

“With you, that can be enough,” you shouldered passed him into the stables, hearing him follow on your trail.

“You callin’ me fat?”

“Absolutely.”

He rolled his eyes, grabbing his bridal from the wall and handing you yours. The horses are usually saddled early in the morning, all except for Casper. Maria does good with him, and when you get to his stall you can see she’s already prepared the tall stallion for the ride.

“Good mornin’, handsome…” you pulled a carrot from your pocket and fed it up to the horse, his grateful blow of air a signal that he was in a better mood now.

“Can’t believe you’re rewardin’ his bad behavior.”

Tommy’s voice is not upset, but vaguely annoyed over your shoulder.

“Maybe I’m rewarding his good behavior,” you say it smugly, giving him a narrowed gaze as you turn your head. “You’re higher in rank than me, if I dispose of you I get all the power.”

Maria heard you from the next stall down, snickering under her breath.

“Oh, so that was an assassination attempt, then?”

“No, you have to be someone of high importance for it to be considered an assassination,” Maria replied, leading her bronze mare from the stalls. Elsie, the horse’s name was.

You were still fixing the bit for Casper before adjusting the bridal.

“She just admitted I was higher in rank,” he argued, pulling his own horse forward now, leaving only you to catch up behind them.

“Still lower in rank to me, bud,” she teased, nudging his shoulder and smiling in his direction. He smiled back, and by witnessing it alone, you mirrored both expressions.

You’d been here since before they were even together. Almost ten years since you’d met Tommy, and eight since you’d met Maria. You saw them meet each other, saw them interact before this was ever the norm. You swore back then they hated each other’s guts, hated whatever one had to say to them. With time the hatred melted to a dull dislike, and by the time the Jackson commune was established, they seemed to have forgotten any ill feelings they ever had. It was like watching a movie over the span of four years, the personal threats and arguments turned into strange and somehow meaningful compliments or encouragements. They were married three years ago, and it was the first wedding you’d ever attended. You remember it so well because you imagined that maybe someday you’d get a shot. You would have a chance at loving someone the way Tommy adored Maria, heart and soul.

“There’s a few boys still stationed out at the generator. I reckon they kept clear any danger during the night, but we should still be vigilant.”

Tommy’s warning brought you back, allowing you to pick up time from where you left it. The three of you lined up in front of the commune’s entrance point, mounting your horses and waiting for the go ahead from the men guarding the gates. It’s been a rough season, dealing with raiders, hunters, and even on the odd occasion, children in need of shelter.

Casper took off before you even had to tell him, because he’s gone out enough times to know the drill. Maria follows closely behind, with Tommy lagging slightly. His horse, Dakota, was an old girl… probably one of the oldest in town. But she was smart, reliable, and got where she needed to be… eventually.

The ride was quiet this morning, no animals in the trail or clickers wandering the premises. It was actually nice and serene, matching the beautiful scenery of the fall ambers.

It wasn’t long before your horse’s legs slowed, trotting to the checkpoint and coming to a halt when the watchers spotted you.

You recognized one of the guys in the tower, Billy. He was a little younger than you, but closer in age than most of the company you keep. Nice guy, but not a thought behind those eyes.

“Top of the mornin to ya,” he called out, leaning over the edge of the rail with a cheesy grin.

“Morning,” you called up, dismounting Casper and leading him around the wall now. “Heard you boys had some trouble last night.”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle. How about you, princess, you sleep okay?”

You snorted, looking up to him with a bright expression.

“Like a baby.”

You tied the reins by the makeshift trough that had been half assed and reconstructed over the years, looking out over the dam where the checkpoint sat upon. Everything was running smoothly, so either they actually did dispose of last night’s threats, or they were keeping them hidden extremely well. The water flowed, the power ran.

You weren’t really paying attention to what Tommy said when he came around the corner, just hummed along to his words and hoped he didn’t notice.

You liked this checkpoint more than the rest. The water was beautiful, the nature around it even prettier of a sight. You wished you could have seen it under better circumstances, without a gun on your hip and a knife in your pocket.

You wish that in another life you could come here, lay a picnic blanket down, and just sit by the water and the trees behind it in the distance, the mountains over and above framing them like a painting. What a shame for something to lose its beauty on the technicality of implication. The men stationed at every point on the river implies it isn’t safe. The weapons in their arms imply that the dangers are not few, and the way they look to each other implies they would rather not be here, with Jackson’s commune being the only place they can really feel at home anymore.

“Hey,” Tommy’s direct call to the back of your head made it turn. “You listenin’?”

“Huh?”

He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes as he repeated his words.

“Can you go check the bridge and see about damages?”

You nodded, a small ‘yeah’ rolling off your lips when you started into that direction.

You passed by Billy going up the stairs, giving him a small smile and a nod before turning the corner. You liked him, really, you did… but you were too tired and too hungry to interact with a guy who thought a great point of conversation was mentioning the different soups of the week in the dining hall.

“Come to inspect my handy work?” Terry, an older man with a strange wit about him, had been waiting for you on the bridge when you got there.

“Yep, Tommy just wants to make sure all the bases are covered.”

You peeked around one of the smaller generators, seeing the body of a dead raider that had been dragged aside from the walkway. He was already starting to smell, the rotten odor making you scrunch your nose in disgust.

“You just left him here all night?” You asked, kicking the boot of the stiff, cold man. He had a bullet hole in his neck, and you figured, Terry was awfully proud of putting it there. The man had a good aim, one of the better shots in town.

“Didn’t know exactly where to put ‘im until the shift was over. Guess that’s your job, now,” he grinned devilishly, jabbing you in the ribs with his elbow. You tried to get him back but he just caught your arm and left it loose. “Easy now, don’t hurt your arm… gonna need it to carry him.”

You sighed, walking around to where you could get a good grip on his boots, picking them up one by one before dragging him from that corner.

“Was he the only one?”

“As far as we know, we called it in as soon as we shot him. There haven’t been any other surprises since then.”

“Good to know,” you let out, getting him around the corner and to the stairs. Billy didn’t seem to be as chatty now that you were accompanied by a dead body, but he stared the entire time you got him positioned at the staircase.

“Need some help?” he finally offered, but at this point, you had it covered.

“I’m good.”

You kicked hard enough to roll him over, letting his body topple over the stairs until he reached the bottom. Years ago, doing this may have bothered you. Disrespecting the body of someone who died in this cruel world would have turned your stomach. But again, that was years ago. Now, this body was just some jackass who tried to ambush your family of survivors, and you had to dispose of him.

“Well that looks… fun.”

His dry attempt at humor made you huff a single laugh through your nose, following down the stairs a moment later. You got back to the work of pulling the guy’s tattered boots, dragging him through the dirt and leaving a muddy trail of blood from where it seeped out his neck.

Tommy was coming around the corner with some tools, probably on his way to fix something important, but he stopped a moment to watch you and your unfortunate task.

“Gonna lend a hand?” You asked him, the pace of your backwards steps slowing when you passed him.

“No, I think you got it,” he joked, moving on with a smile the next moment. What an ass. He was like a big brother that you never had. You knew that man would kill for you, and has before, but still found every opportunity to mess with or tease you. What an ass.

Just wait till Maria hears about this, you think. Then he’ll be in for it.

You roll the body into the river once you get far enough away from the dam, making sure he won’t cause any harm to the flow or energy. Once you’re sure he’s completely out of the way and taken care of, you turn back to the checkpoint, walking over to Maria as she finished speaking with the main watchguard from last night. You figure you should blame him for your task, since he could have done it… but that’s petty, and you only have room to be petty when you know it’ll get you somewhere.

“Guess what I just did?” you asked in a mocking tone, a fake smile plastered on your face as you crossed your arms.

“Probably something to earn the sandwich I brought you,” she returned, knowing you well enough by now to recognize your sarcastic behavior.

“I dragged a body from the bridge to the river, it better be a fucking good sandw-”

“Turkey and cheese.”

“God bless you,” you folded, following her to her backpack inside.

As soon as the food was in your hands, you gave her a genuine smile, sitting down at an old abandoned desk almost immediately. The woman chuckles under her breath. She remembered too many times you’d skipped breakfast before a patrol… it was by now a part of the routine to make you something to eat when she got scheduled alongside you.

“Save some for later, we might be here a while.” She pat your shoulder, leaving without a response from your end. You were far too occupied to give her one, anyways.

The town’s butcher was a nasty man, but everyone loved him dearly, and this was why. You imagine that before the outbreak he was probably some big time deli owner, one of the best around. It’s just a fucking sandwich, you think… but it’s so damn good.

You saved about half, knowing that now you were fed, you could tie yourself over until the next meal in the hall this evening. It was Wednesday, so the menu would probably consist of soups and salads.

You get a bit caught up in wrapping your leftover food until you hear a bit of confused banter from outside. It sounds like Maria, but you can’t be sure. Whoever she’s just finished yelling at isn’t an imminent threat, you can tell that much, but you still worry. You take enough time to put the sandwich away and start to leave the warehouse, pulling the gun from its place at your hip. You don’t raise it, but having it close is better, you’ve learned. The noise outside has ceased but after a moment, the door opens.

“Maria?” You don’t even make it out of the hallway when you bump into Tommy, side by side with a stranger. He catches your eye in a familiar way. “Hey, I know you.”

“Have we… met?” He seemed confused, trying to meet your wandering stare. Tommy stepped in, thinking he’d better introduce you both.

“This is my brother, J-”

“Joel,” you nodded, turning back to Tommy for only a second. “I remember from those pictures you brought back.”

“Right,” Tommy mumbled, stepping closer to you. “He’s brought a girl with him. Maria took her to get some of those rations in the back section, but I think you still have the keys on your chain. You might wanna head over there.”

“Alright,” you started in the direction of the exit, walking backward to give Tommy a warning. “I left half a sandwich in there, don’t touch it.”

You stood outside of the Boston QZ, fourteen years old and scared as hell. It was hard enough to get in without being caught, but once you were inside, you’d have to remain invisible for the next month, or at least, until you could settle your predicament.

“This way,” echoed a voice in your head, the young man that accompanied you, trying to sneak you under the city tunnels. You followed him until you were in a sewer, having trouble making your way through given that your body specifications had changed over the last eight and a half months.

The man ahead of you didn’t bother to help or to make the path easier, but kept yelling for you to keep up.

“I’m trying,” you trudged on, your swollen feet making you stumble along the sludgy water. “It’s really hard.”

He huffed, his face invisible to you as you blocked it out of your mind. “You have to move faster, we can’t get caught down here.”

Your eyes formed tears at his flippant tone, impatient and completely ridiculous about how fast you were moving when you clearly could only strain yourself so much. You let a hand fall subconsciously to your swollen stomach as you climbed out of the sewer, following the man ahead at an impressive speed given your condition.

You hated him, wanted to leave him… but you knew you would die without his direction.

“Alright, coast looks clear. If we linger around here a while we can blend with the crowd as we move down.”

He didn’t pay any mind to your state, the tears streaming down your face or the pain in your back and hips. The way you waddled just to meet him around the corner, watching for people passing by.

“Once we find the contact, you know what to do.” Flat tone, flat words, unfeeling. You still couldn’t see his face, but his voice is strong. It plagues you.

“Yes…” and you turn to the dirty window beside you. Your appearance is appalling at best, scruffy and unbrushed hair pulled back in a ponytail, tear stained cheeks. Your torn jacket and ripped pants barely cling to you, now wet and sagging around you from the water in the sewer. The only thing left to stare at is your too thin body, struggling to hold the weight of what grew inside you. The face that looks you back in the eye… it’s young, too young for this. It has a dark history, and doubts about the future. It wants more than anything to be at peace, to relax and be settled… but it looks to you as is, not as it should be.

“Are you okay?” Maria asks, taking the key you were about to give her, your hand now frozen in mid air as you stare down the kid before you.

“Yeah, I’m good I just-” You can’t seem to move, breathing out shakily. You manage to lift a finger in her direction. “Who is-?”

“Ellie. She’s with Joel, they’ve been traveling together.” She finishes unlocking the storage base, shouldering the door open. When she turns back you haven’t barely moved. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“No…”

And finally you beg your muscles to move, to turn your head away. Your eyes moving from the girl’s face causes a chain reaction, and you regain full motion again. You wait for Ellie to follow Maria, make sure there’s a good chunk of distance between you, then walk into the building, your head to the ground in deep thought. That face, it’s you… no. It’s her.

“What’s wrong with her?” Ellie whispers to Maria, turning back to watch the way you struggle forward, trying everything in your power to avert your eyes from her, but she’s still there.

“I don’t know,” Maria puts her hands on her hips, genuine concern arising. “What's wrong with you?”

Give an answer. Give a realistic answer that doesn’t raise more questions. Not the truth, though.

“She just reminds me of someone, that’s all.”

The girl seems angsty given your state and how shaken you seemed. Like you saw a ghost. You still aren’t sure she isn’t one.

“A dead someone?” She asks, louder than her last words.

“No,” You shake your head. Not a lie. You’re not dead yet, and you don’t think she is. Can’t be a ghost, especially not mine. Maria wouldn’t see her. “Sorry if I’m bein’ weird, you just… how old are you?”

“Fourteen... And a half.”

Fourteen was bad enough, but the little witty ‘and a half’ gave you a very good estimate of her birthday, or at least, birth month. You gasped lightly, whatever air you could take in was coming in small doses. You suddenly can’t take a deep breath, your head running in circles and repeating dates, times, names, places. Faces, even.

“Maria, I think I’m gonna sit down a while.”

You fell against the closest table, scooting back on it until your back hit the pole it was against.

“Take your time,” She muttered, nodding and pulling Ellie along to the lockers.

She pried one open, pulling a few cans of food from the containment and giving them to her. Peaches, baked beans, chicken soup, all were pretty good options in comparison to the hunted and gathered rations she and Joel had been surviving on. She would have been far more excited had she not been focused on the woman sitting down, her eyes closed and hands raised to her head from the other side of the room.

“Does this happen to her a lot?” She couldn’t stop staring either, the fear about the woman lingering as something familiar.

“Never.”

Maria wasn’t sure what had gotten into you. She had to look through the files of her mind to try and come up with an answer to your madness. The most stoic and brave faced person she’d come across, now sitting in shambles of thought.

“Do you know who I remind her of?”

Maria shakes her head, handing Ellie a can opener and a spoon. “No.”

For a moment she thinks that maybe it could be your sister, deceased… but you said the specific someone wasn’t dead.

“Her whole family died a while ago, and I don’t know anyone back home that looks like you.”

“She’s on her own?” Ellie dug into the chicken soup can first, her hunger now distracting from the conversation.

“She’s got us, but yeah I guess so.”

All alone. No family left, all gone to cordyceps and raiders. Mother, Father, young brother, baby sister. No one made it.

“That’s sad. I hope I don’t make her upset or anything.”

Maria shook her head, sitting next to the girl. This poor kid has probably been through a lot. Knowing what she does of Joel, she thinks he can’t be a pleasant traveling companion. Ellie doesn’t need anything else to worry about, least of all a total stranger.

“No, that’s not it. I think she might just be remembering someone she forgot about. Life’s been tough on her.”

The girl nodded, spooning into the can of soup now that it had finally been opened.

The woman was tall, dark hair cropped higher than her shoulders, her face was stiff and unexpressive, like most people in this QZ.

“You got the pills?” She asked, her voice low as she looked around to make sure no one watched on. No Fedra officers or anything of the like.

“Yeah,” the faceless voice spoke, a hand reaching out with the pill bag. It was half full, probably more than one bottle. “Vicodin, hospital standard. You can try 'em, they’re still good.”

“Alright,” she took them, inspecting the sides of the bag. She’s done this enough times, she can tell they’re real. “I found a family that’s willing to take another baby. Had to pull some strings, but they’re open to it.”

“Where are they?” he asked, and you turned to him, the forceful tone he had made you jump a little. The woman before you noticed, and didn’t seem thrilled about it. She turned to you, slightly more compassionate than when she was scowling at the man by your side.

“How old are you, kid?”

You looked to him first, and he looked apprehensive. You needed an out, this is it. “Fourteen.”

She took a sharp inhale, turning to the man, her arms crossed. Her face was again ruthless, the glare she sent him was unrelenting.

“And how old are you?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, feeling cornered. “That’s not really your business. You got the pills, just tell us where to go.”

The woman shook her head, dropping it as a chuckle escaped her.

“I’ll take her,” she answered, eyes flitting back and forth between you. Your body language when she spoke told her you were relieved.”Without you.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

And before you knew it, she pulled a gun from the back of her pants. You gasped, standing back, and the man grabbed at your arm, but you shrugged it away. This is where you get off the train, away from the way it’s been carrying you along the long and winding tracks, only making stops in the most complicated of stations.

“The deal is I find a safe place for her to have a kid, and someone to hand it off to. Those are the terms, and I intend to keep my end.”

You stepped closer to her, watching as she placed her finger on the trigger. “I didn’t agree to what I didn’t know.”

“Look, I know where to find more pills, just take us where you’re supposed to and I can get you more,” he raised his hands, trying to beg, trying to argue, but the woman didn’t budge. She knew that you’d either been forced into this companionship, or trafficked into it. She wasn’t a good person by any means, but she wasn’t going to turn a blind eye to something she wouldn’t condone herself.

“I’m about to ask her a question, and if the answer isn’t no… you’re gettin’ your head blown off, ya hear?” She turned to you, looking you up and down. She wants to be wrong, wants to find out this guy is just a nice companion that happened to be helping you out of the kindness of his heart. But she’s doubtful, call it an apocalyptic mindset. “Is that his kid?”

You chanced a look at the faceless man, feeling his eyes on you though you could not place them. He was expectant, waiting for you to lie so that he could go back to being your keeper, telling you what to do.

“Yes,” you nodded, the tears from earlier returning to your eyes and making the stains on your cheeks even darker than before.

“Just stop, I can get you more!”

The woman raised her gun more steady, her finger beginning to pull back on the trigger before you stopped her, a hand at her arm.

“Wait,” you breathed, the rapid inhales were evening out as you asked her: “Can I do it?”

“Honey, you don’t know what you’re doing, don’t do this,” he begged, the reverberation of his words like a whirring siren in your head. You remember sirens, from before the outbreak. Cops cars, ambulances, fire trucks. You remember them. They always signaled help was on the way, and that’s what this felt like.

The woman was shocked, but didn’t hesitate to hand you her gun. You’d been through hell with this asshole, and you couldn’t let someone else have the satisfaction of dealing with him. She understood your mindset well, as others in her past brought about the same feelings.

You raised the gun to him, and heard one more cry of your name pass from his lips before pulling the trigger. The tears stopped flooding your cheeks almost instantly, and you breathed out in relief. The woman didn’t wait for you to hand it back, she took the gun from you and placed it back in her pants.

“You okay?” She asked.

“I’m better…”

And then she nudged you out of the alleyway, beginning to lead you in the direction of your next steps. You weren’t out of the woods, yet.

You don’t even know what happened during the attack, just that you went into autopilot and started shooting from the first sign of intruders. It was more of those fuckin hunters. The ones who killed whole groups of people at a time in order to steal the most trivial items off their bodies. Too bad not one of them survived.

You tossed up a look and your eyes met the familiar stranger. Joel, Tommy’s long lost brother. Your head was foggy, but you’re pretty sure he just saved your ass from getting shot. Not like it was your fault, you weren’t at your best, and you probably wouldn’t be until you figured shit out.

“Are you alright?” Tommy came up beside you, his arm on your shoulder, sleeve torn where the bullet just missed.

“Physically.” You turned to see Ellie run up to Joel.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

You froze again, watching how she interacted with the older man, the way she was so expressive. Tommy hadn't ever seen you like this. So… affected.

“Means I’m all over the place. Not really sure what’s real right now.” You turned back to him, following him around, trying to find Maria.

“Well, maybe you should ride back with Billy, he’s about to head out. You can go home, rest.”

“No, I don’t-” You cut yourself short, trying to recouperate your words. “I don’t need rest, I need some clarity.”

“On what?” His exasperation was not due to annoyance, but rather the fact that he knew… it had something to do with his brother and Ellie.

“Where did Joel find that girl?” You crossed your arms, trying to broach the subject without just telling him yet.

“Probably back in Boston, why?”

You’ve known Tommy for ten years, since right after he left his brother. Since he’d gone off on the trail of the fireflies, a trail you’d gone down a while, too. He knew practically everything about you. Knew about your family, about the hunters you used to run with as a kid, the guy who basically kidnapped you… and yeah, he knew about the baby you gave up.

“You remember that one story I told you? From when I was younger?”

He stopped in his tracks, not turning around fully, but tossing a look over his shoulder at you. It was unsettled and confused, but not upset. He knew you had good reason to believe what you did… but still. It was a one in a million chance, right?

“C’mon… you can’t possibly think that’s her.”

“Tommy…” you knew he was trying to keep your hopes down, that he didn’t want you to over excite yourself on a whim… but what if? You’d prayed for this day, to find her again. You went back for her once and she wasn’t there, neither was the family you left her with. You hoped she was alive, but until now you were never sure… you’re still not sure but you hope, you hope.

“There could be a hundred other kids out there that look a bit like you, you know that.” The chances are a million to one… but he can’t stand to look at you, your eyes so full of something he hasn’t seen there before. Not just hope, but something else, something full of a happiness that is only at its most basic potential, unknowing. “Did you ask her anything? Check for the birthmark?”

You shook your head, arms tightening as you looked back to Ellie in the distance.

“No, I was terrified. Kept thinking I was gettin’ haunted by the ghost of my past self.”

It was meant as a joke, but it was partially serious.

He sighed, following your line of sight and tilting his head. Yeah, he saw the resemblance. He’d met you at age eighteen, but he pictured you younger. Cheeks still a little puffy from the unlost baby fat, eyes still bright and twinkling despite the things you’d seen. Probably quite a bit shorter, too. He figured that she’s the spitting image of you from that age.

“You really think it’s her?”

You threw your hands up in the air. How many times did you have to say it? Try to convince him? No, you weren’t sure… but you had every reason to believe it.

“Same age, same face, same QZ-”

“Look… talk to her. Ask her some questions. See if anything matches up.” He ran a hand over his face. He’d made up his mind about something only a minute ago, and it was plaguing him even more now that you came to him. “Now, I gotta go talk to Maria, and after that I’m gonna take her off of Joel’s hands. She’s gonna go to the fireflies. You’re more than welcome to join me, I’ll need the help.”

You used to make runs with Tommy all the time. No problem… but this also meant more time with Ellie, possibly your Ellie. You could ask her more, find out the answers you’ve been longing for since you left her.

Tags: open

“Okay…”

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #Joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller #reader insert #the last of us

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wannaeatramyeon · 1 year

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Vin Jin x Reader: Friendship Bracelets

Very random. Fluffy scenario pre-relationship

Vin Jin taps his pen impatiently, willing inspiration to strike.

Stupid fucking Duke and his stupid fucking talent. Vin needs to remind everyone how much better he is, and he needs new material.

You haven't been much help with his music, fiddling with some silly piece of string and beads most of tonight. Tongue poking out in concentration, and brows knitted as you continue whatever the fuck it is you're doing.

In fact, you have been a hindrance more than anything. Numerous times Vin had wanted to write something about you - your words and looks and company becoming his muse. Then he remembers how cringe and weird that would be, so he's back to square one.

And now you've fallen asleep, hand still holding your little craft project. It's not an uncommon occurrence, you and Mary and Vin often spending evenings together, leading to an inpromptu sleepover.

Vin pulls a spare blanket over you and resists the urge to ruffle your hair.

In the morning, you tie the friendship bracelet around his wrist.

So this was what you were working on? This stupid thing took you all night?

Vin thinks it looks pretty ugly. A black knotted cord thread with tacky white beads, reading '♡VIN♡'. The bastard didn't hesitate to say so, which you brush off with a forced smile.

The shitty thing clashes with his aesthetics, and he's half tempted to cut it off right then and there.

But it's a gift from you, he can't do that. If only to spare your feelings - that's absolutely the only reason. He doesn't care about the stupid thing.

Not at all.

Fiddling with it becomes a habit.

The bracelet becomes a reminder of you that night, the hours that you spent on this. (Seriously, how did this pathetic thing take so long?)

Not even Mary has one, which Vin is quietly smug about. It's completely unique. One of a kind. Just for him.

He likes to think it brings him good luck when he notices it dangling from his wrist. Even the ugliness has its own endearing charm.

The first time he misplaces it, he tears his room apart.

A couple week later, you receive a small box thrown at your head, signed with just 'V'.

No prizes for guessing who your assailant is. You notice Vin barely managing to duck behind a corner as you frown in his direction.

Smooth.

"This is fucking bullshit," Vin had cursed the day before, frustration building as he sits alone in his room.

How the fuck did something so simple take so much time and still end up being so hideous. He looks at his exceptionally poor handiwork. It was somehow even worse than yours, and that's saying something.

What a waste of fucking time, he thinks, as he angrily grabs his jacket and sunglasses and makes his way to the shopping mall.

There's no way Vin could give you his homemade attempt. This would have to do.

At the jewellery store, he flushes in mortification when the store assistant asks him what his girlfriend would like. Nevertheless, as soon as his eyes land on this, he knows it is exactly your taste.

A silver bracelet with a heart pendant hangs prettily from your wrist.

Vin feels a rush of joy when he notices you wearing it. He keeps the smile off his face, wills his pulse to stay normal, and the heat on his face to subside.

You shake your wrist at him, the jewellery flashing in the sunlight, and give him a small smile like you're sharing a secret.

Vin calls you a loser, even as his hand absentmindedly comes up to touch his own bracelet.

He thinks of them as a matching set.

#dodging peoples asks for gun goo taehoon seongjun like the matrix #lookism #lookism hc #lookism headcanons #lookism x reader #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #lookism fic #lookism fanfic #vin jin x reader #vin jin #jin hobin #jin hobin x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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peterparkouryo · 1 year

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captivated habits | 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

prompt: your unrequited love for peter turns unhinged.

warnings: mentions of stalking, f!masturbation (referenced), unrequited love, obsessive behaviour, ptsd, erotomania, attachment issues, and bpd (borderline personality disorder)

word count: 5.9k

a/n: i was feeling dark, so read at your own risk i guess. also tysm for the love on rebound ajnskafn!! part three is in the works <3

The moment you met him, you should've known something was wrong with you.

At first, you thought it was an innocent crush, always having that feeling of butterflies flying around in your stomach when you were around him. You even looked forward to going to school, having the energy that normally you never had. He had you on a euphoric feeling.

The next thing you know, you're becoming a lot more addicted than you should've. Most people say it might be limerence, but you know that's almost complete bullshit. Now, those people could be telling the truth, but there was something deep down inside you that ached, always.

You were becoming a different person in the most unhealthy way. You started to seek him out in the school hallways, got to know his schedule, and there was even one point where you followed him home (which may or may not have been an accidental occurrence that happened more than once).

He of course did not know who you were, you weren't friends but he knew you from a few of your classes (three of them to be exact), so he had no idea of your intense feelings for him.

It was unrequited in the worst way possible. How can someone so pretty, so pure and innocent not feel the same way? Possibly because you made no effort to have an actual conversation with him, the only time you did was when he asked to borrow your pencil. Let's just say you cherished his touch on the wooden object as soon as you got home from school that day.

The boy in question is Peter Benjamin Parker. The absolute love of your life. His beautiful chestnut brown hair, those same coloured eyes that shine brighter than the sun, moon and stars. His nose as crooked as a trail through the woods, the small dotted freckles decorating its presence. The boy was one of a kind, you loved him more than you loved yourself.

There were times where you would stay up at night, fantasizing about what it would be like for him to yours. Being able to embrace his warmth, letting him be the shoulder you cry on, having special dates only reserved for the two of you. Those thoughts ate away in your head, you were too down bad, but you didn't care.

Currently, you were laying in your bed, trying to get proper sleep. It had been a long day, only having a little amount of time to see him. If it wasn't for your mother who had unfortunately picked you up early because you had a dentist appointment, you would had got to see him longer throughout the day. The class she had called you out of just so happened to be the class Peter was in, so now he probably thought you had something wrong with your teeth, which wasn't the case. You only had three hours and fifthteen more minutes until you got to see him again.

You would always get up an hour before you had to attend school, picking out your prettiest outfit for him even if he didn't pay attention to you half the time. It wasn't his fault, never would it ever be his fault. Plus, you liked watching the sun rise, imagining what it would be like to be on a random rooftop of New York, watching the star rise in its wake with Peter.

Peter had always got to school five minutes after it's starting time, reasons you were unsure of. You always tried to linger around his locker before he arrived because it gave him a chance to see you once he cascaded up the stairway. His gaze was always straight ahead (or sometimes downward depending on his mood that morning), so you sometimes purposely walk past him after standing at his locker for five minutes straight. This became a daily routine.

Though so far it doesn't seem like you have a mental illness, but there is surely something wrong with you without a doubt.

People who just have "crushes" or are "in love" are the people you tend to avoid. Those are silly feelings. Feelings that only last for a few weeks or even months. With Peter, you knew it was more than love, it made your head spin with the possibilities that you had a chance with him.

You knew Peter never felt the same way, he didn't even know your name, which is understandable because you never made the effort to get him to know your name. But there were times that made you feel like he knew exactly who you were. He would sometimes send a small friendly smile your way, ask you for help on problems that involved the classes you shared together, and even grazed your fingertips when you gave him that pencil. It was a sign of the start of your love story.

Sometimes you wrote letters to him, none of them were sent of course (except maybe the poems), and even emailed him a few times, anonymously complimenting him on his excellent work or you would write words of affirmation on his favourite coloured sticky notes, placing them on his locker before, after, or during school hours.

You knew Peter didn't take a liking into your unwanted gifts. There had been a few times when you had sent him LEGO Star Wars sets to build with his friend, Ned. You only did that because you heard him talking about it, and you loved the idea of making him happy. You even started watching Star Wars because he was so fond of it. Sadly enough, he had exchanged your gift for some sort of technology for whatever project he was making. You only knew this detail because you were there, obviously.

It would had hurt a lot more, but you were glad he was actually happy with his barters. Doing it a few more times only proved his happiness was limited and you noticed it started creeping him out instead of doing the exact opposite.

You feared the worst if he ever found out it was you all along.

Once the timer hit six thirty AM, you eagerly arose from your bed, grabbing your outfit you had thought thoroughly about since yesterday when you had went shopping with your mom. You bought clothing items you knew he would like, you were feeling hopeful.

You even snuck into your mother's beauty kit, applying a step my step makeup look you saw on YouTube last night. It wasn't too much make up, light enough for Peter to see the glow that amplify your best features.

After what felt like ages of applying the look, you grabbed your backpack from your closet, the pictures that decorated the inside only making you smile, thinking of the day that's bound to be wonderful ahead of you.

The pictures weren't anything too special, just a few off guarded candids of Peter, either reading, walking in or out of Delmar's, or your personal favourite, when you were outside in the field during gym for one class, you just so happened to catch a glimpse of his smile. You've never pulled out your camera so fast.

Yes, it was unnatural, and borderline creepy, but he didn't suspect a thing considering you're in the school's photography club. To be fair, the only reason you joined was for the sole reason of taking pictures of Peter.

Sometimes you would remove the picture from the closet's wall and get under the covers of your bed, holding it up to your face, touching yourself as you imagined what it would be like to have him engulfing your body, having his way with you.

Those thoughts were for another time, you figured you could wait until later tonight to revisit them.

When you exit your room, you make your way out of the apartment, making sure to have the new digital camera you had previously bought with your last paycheque, inside of your backpack. Though you only did photography because of Peter, it still interested you in ways that were sometimes not even related to the boy, which is less than one percent of the time.

If you were to put all the pictures you took on the small objects into a hard drive and upload it to a computer, people would be freaked out by just how much pictures you had of Peter.

You were so glad when you arrived at school, quickly shoving your things into your locker, making your way to the second floor to where Peter's was.

Your heart did somersaults, backflips, front flips even, as you got closer to the threshold. Though you knew the boy wouldn't arrive to school for another hour, you felt that if you stood near his locker long enough, you swear you felt his presence.

Walking up the stairs, dodging the many bodies of students that lingered around, you were so excited to just stand near his locker, tracing your fingers across the combination that you knew had his hands touch every so often.

The only downside to it was you didn't know his combination and no matter what you did, you could never figure it out, even if you planned to watch him put it in one day, the numbers were just so small to see, it made you feel undeveloped that you couldn't be closer to him in that sense.

What you did not expect to see when you finally were on the second floor was Peter standing at his locker talking to his friends.

No-, not friends, Ned, his only friend, and some girl who you recognized from your Math class.

She was tall, a lot taller than both Ned and Peter, she had brown curly hair and her skin was a light fair tan, her gorgeous face only adding to her appearance.

You could feel your guts inside your stomach twist and turn, the sick feeling only getting stronger when you watch as Peter effortlessly laughed at whatever it was the girl had said.

When had Peter decided that coming to school one hour before he actually does was a good idea? And why had you had no knowledge about his sudden change of schedule?

It was unfair that the boy had decided out of nowhere to change his daily routine. It threw you way off course, and you only hoped that the boy only made a change in his morning route, opting to still go to Delmar's every Wednesday (today) after school.

Your glare only got more diabolical the more you watched the three of them interact, the sight making your thoughts whirl with things only psychotic murderers would dare think of.

"Hey." A voice greets you from behind, startling you and you thanked whoever it was before you went too far off the deep end of the sight a few meters in-front of you.

You turn around, your gaze meeting your friend since freshman year, Cindy Moon.

She was a pretty Korean-American girl, her long black hair complimenting her small figure.

If you were being honest with yourself, you were only friends with the girl because she was on the Decathlon Team with Peter, and she was the only one from the team to actually make an effort to talk to you whenever she wasn't involved with studying, or being a friend to the world.

Of course the girl is aware of your "crush" on Peter, unaware of your obsessive delusions that you would much rather keep to yourself. There were times that the girl had made plans for the two of you to talk, but you were too afraid and unprepared to actually grow the balls and do it.

It's not like you haven't planned your first encountrment with the boy in your head, but you'd much rather do it on your own accords than have someone else half ass do it out of the kindness of their heart.

"Hey Cid." You reply with a small smile, quickly turning your attention back toward where Peter and his friends would have stood, but unfortunately they were nowhere to be found.

You eye twitched at the thought, scolding the girl behind you for missing your chance at seeing Peter walk away, capturing the backside of his figure as he did.

You turn to face the girl with a frown, watching her smile never disappear.

"Ready for first period? I did the homework for you!" She cheerily says, pulling a piece of paper from behind her back, giving it to you.

You take it gratefully, looking down at the Chemistry homework you knew you weren't going to do whatsoever.

Now to make yourself clear, you weren't using Cindy for doing your homework, that was just a plus. It wasn't your fault the girl was such a pushover. You had better things to do, like develop your film from your camera, find the perfect GPS tracking devices off Amazon that costed less than at least sixty dollars, and be near the love of your life any chance you got.

"Thanks." You simply say, your hands gripping the paper slightly.

"You're welcome." Cindy replies, and you were just about sick of her smiling.

"Okay, stop smiling, it's getting creepy." You tell her with a grimace, satisfied with yourself once her face slowly falls to a neutral expression.

You really had no problem with "happy-go people", it was just when someone who you knew or not had too much to smile about, it outraged you for reasons you weren't too sure of. Nevertheless, it was one of your many pet peeves, and the more you thought about those thoughts, you realized you might just be the most pessimistic person to walk earth.

There were a few things that made you happy of course, and you had a pretty well-tamed structure to maintain those happy thoughts to yourself, so you couldn't see why people most of the time couldn't do the same.

Even if it wasn't just "happy" thoughts, you knew humans were utterly incapable of keeping their thoughts to themselves. Always finding any reason to create chaos with their deliberations.

Sometimes you could never understand, maybe will never understand why humans are the way they are, yourself included you supposed.

"We should get to class." The girl breaks you from your notions, tugging on your sleeve as she drags you through the hall.

You blink a few times, coming back into reality, staring dumbly at a almost frantic Cindy Moon.

"Alright," You tell her quickly, snatching your arm away from her hold, following the black haired girl through the hallway to your class.

Your first period went by agonizingly slow. You were just itching to see Peter for your third period, and second period wasn't any better with its slow clock, which also happened to have been broken.

When second period was over after what quite literally was forever, you hastily packed your things and made a bee-line to your third period class, sitting in your unassigned assigned seat, said place had the perfect view of Peter as well.

You pulled out your notebook, the item was pencil filled with all sorts of logs of whenever you'd see or hear of Peter, and if you were to be honest, it was almost out of pages. You made sure to be careful when in public, hoping and praying that the people surrounding you didn't take a glance to see your so called "creepy" hobby and take it completely out of context. If that were to ever happen, you would quickly come up with a lie, or maybe if god was real, they wouldn't care in some sense.

You adored keeping track of Peter, it made you feel closer to him, though yes, there are other things that you do consider as close as you can get, but you know this is a way of knowing him better without actually having to talk to him.

"Is anyone sitting here?" A voice breaks you from your trance, and you smoothly and swiftly close your notebook, glancing up to the source of the voice curiously.

Your heart almost stops right then and there. You didn't want to believe it and had to blink more than twice to make sure you were seeing the person who stood before you. Suddenly, you felt this immense amount of impulse, the feeling being too reaming for you to handle.

In some fucked up way, you're sure you deserve this, having this weird inkling that the boy standing above you, almost towering you, had known about your obsession. He had only come over to tease you about it and possibly confront your creepy actions to the entire class (maybe even the entire school if you're honest). It made your head spin and you lack the proper ability to conjure up any english words, his eyes practically pleading for an answer.

"I, you,-" You start to form a sentence, scanning his attire, making a mental note in your head, and your heart beat increases to make things that much harder.

Peter was way too nice for his well-being, and normally you'd hate that in a person, but this was Peter, you loved anything he offered, and if he were to commit a violent crime, you'd be his number one defender. Hell, you'd even help him commit any crime if he asked.

Still, you figured maybe you were in some dream and Peter wasn't actually approaching you, asking if the seat next to you was available, because he shouldn't know of your existence, and it should almost be a world of fiction to allow him to ask you so.

"No." You mumble, hoping he'd heard it because you knew you weren't going to say more than just that one word.

Peter shows you a smile in appreciation and if you weren't sure you died before, you're sure you one percent died just now.

The boy sets down his bag near the free chair, and you move your stuff out the way to allow him the space he needed, watching his every move carefully.

You wonder if this was a wake up call of fate. In your head, you knew Peter was the one for you as much as you were the one for him, and maybe there was a god and the universe is conspiring for the two of you to be together. All it took was a little push.

The teacher walks in moments before the bell rings, and as quickly as he enters, the lesson starts not even seconds later.

"Sorry, do you have a pencil?" Peter has asked you in the past, of course, you remember it like yesterday and if you didn't, you knew it was probably in your 'log' notebook anyway.

You smile, a small unnoticeable one (that you made sure of), and instead of giving him a verbal answer, you dig through your backpack, pulling out a pencil before handing it to him, hearing a small 'thank you' that you surely heard.

Okay when you say a pencil, you mean the pencil, the same one you, well, had touched yourself with. Not that it was coated in anything other than your wetness, because if you were being frank, it was damn near impossible to reach climax with a object that thin.

You expertly observe Peter, your heart swelling at how tenderly he held onto the pencil, his concentrated expression doing wonders to your well-being. The poor boy had no idea of the sinful deeds you had done with the object in his grasp.

The whole lesson, you paid more attention to Peter, his scent, the way he wrote, and the many facial expressions he made whenever he was listening to your boring teacher speak. It was like watching your favourite film on repeat, learning the lines of each scene, and when you knew you had mastered each scene perfectly, you'd reenact each line word for word. Peter was your very own favourite movie, and hopefully one day he can reciprocate how you felt, perfecting you the way you perfected him.

"Here's you pencil, sorry I keep borrowing from you." He lets out a chuckle as he hands you back your (his) pencil, but you weren't up for that. As much as you would like to take it and cherish it, you knew it would mean a lot to you if he had kept it.

"No, you can, you can have it." You tell him, rejecting his hand that held the pencil.

Peter gives you a quizzical look, making sure it was okay if he did and you nod in confirmation.

"Oh, thank you." He smiles that award winning smile again.

You smile, packing your things up as the bell rings, students rushing out this dull classroom. You wanted to get out of there quickly, because you had something you needed to do and you know that if you got done in time, you'd catch Peter entering his science class with his friend, Ned.

"Hey, wait, um.." Peter calls out to you before you could exit the door and you turn around, albeit, quite desperately, seeing the boy with his backpack slung over one of his shoulders approaching you.

You feared the worst, truly. If he wasn't going to confront you in the beginning of class, he sure was now. Maybe the boy didn't want to embarrass you terribly in-front of everyone. Wanting no one around when he calls you out.

"I see you around a lot and I was just wondering if you wanted to sit with my friends and I at lunch today." Peter suggested, fiddling with the strap of his backpack.

"Not that I stalk you or anything, I just, you know, you seem cool and I guess...I don't know..." He seems at a lost for words, and you find it almost ironic how he doesn't stalk you, it being the other way around. Not that the boy needed to know that.

You stare at him, for a while, thinking of a answer that didn't seem too desperate, because had you known today was the day the love of your life talked to you for more than a second, you'd had the whole day planned out expertly.

"Sure." Was the most simple answer you could come up with, and the faltering smile from Peter grows wider.

"Cool." Peter nods in joy, walking past you, his scent ten times more stronger than it was before.

You turn around, watching him walk away, a skip to each step he took and you smile at his gleaming attitude, though you feel guilty for being the prime reason.

Guilt is such a improper feeling. Why should you feel bad for being in love with someone? Yes, it was very unhealthy with the rate you were at, you weren't even above surface anymore with the way you felt for Peter, but you honestly, didn't care.

Love came in many definitions and if you had to be delusional and down right psychotic to express that, so be it.

Michelle Jones. A fellow student at Midtown School of Technology and Science. An observant person who was well gifted in being smart. She shares your math class, the top of it as well and you envy everything about her.

Not only was she drop dead gorgeous, though she never tries to dress up at all, or even wear make up for that matter, she was also friends with Peter. You couldn't understand how or why. Peter was too good for anyone, such as Michelle herself, maybe even Ned.

Michelle didn't appreciate everything Peter did. Didn't understand him the way you did. Didn't go out of her way to send him gifts you knew he'd adore.

You couldn't see pass the logic of those two people, with much different personalities being friends.

It made your skin crawl with nuisance. What could she possible bring to the table that made Peter want to keep her around?

Of course, it wasn't like they were dating, you're pretty sure at least, but why would Peter feel the need to be friends with any other girl other than you?

You were okay with him being somewhat friends with your unknown mutual one, Cindy, but being friends with a girl you barely knew was testing your limits.

You really had no right to be jealous, Peter was barely considered a friend himself, but if you two were to be together, he simply couldn't be friends with girls much prettier than you. It may give him the wrong idea and you were terrified he'd forget about your existence entirely.

Which is why you had to give Michelle the benefit of the doubt. You studied her all math class, trying to have a decent understanding as to who she was as person, and thank goodness you were a quick learner.

All it took, really, was the entire math class to scout out exactly who she is and how she worked. Maybe you could weasel your way into her small circle, become her friend and break her down bit by bit and have a guarantee she wouldn't even think to become anything more with Peter. You'd make her insecure.

Yes, it's a patent wicked plan, you knew that, but you weren't going to risk your chances at love with Peter.

"It's Michelle, right?"

The girl incuriously glances up at the source of the voice, the math problem she was working on merely forgotten.

"Who's asking?" Michelle wondered, and you subconsciously clench your jaw, showing the girl a small, forced smile.

"I am." You tell her simply, she squints curiously at you, scanning your figure.

She was trying to reading you, you could tell. You knew you weren't really an open book, and also you were well aware that she knows you don't talk much unless talked to, so it was probably strange to her that you of all people came up to her to start up a conversation.

"Do you need help with the work?" She questions, her gaze fixated on you in a way that almost makes you feel small, but you knew better.

"Um, no, I just..." You blink in confusion, trying to think of anything to say.

It was hard having conversations with people you barely knew. The only reason you were friends with Cindy was because she literally forcing herself to become your friend, which did end up going well for you. But, overall, you weren't a people person and it was obvious, painfully so.

"I know you from Peter." You grimace, and she nods slowly, noticing your delay.

Michelle gives you a long look, a look that you could interpret as a dubious gaze, one that said she didn't quite believe the words coming out your mouth. You weren't lying, you had known her from Peter, so you really had not understood why she was looking at you like you were the world's worst liar.

You lie, but you would never lie about Peter, unless you had to.

"From the stalking perspective or because you actually made the efforts to get to know him?" You think you hear her ask, you're not entirely sure, so you blink, watching the girl's face, her eyebrow raised as she awaited your answer.

"I'm sorry?" You quiz, hoping she'd repeat the question you knew you heard right.

"I said did he tell you I needed more friends?" Michelle was calm and collected, her face almost mocking you at your delusions.

You were out of your mind, it was to the point you were hearing things that weren't actually being said.

Granted, there was a certain possibility the girl had said that and you deluded yourself into believing that's not exactly what she said, hence why you had her repeat the question she asked. There was also a possibility she changed her words for your sake.

You knew you had to get rid of her.

"Not exactly.." You trail off, your mind drifted into different possible scenarios.

"Peter," You bite back a smile when his name rolls of your tongue. "Invited me to sit with him at lunch and I know you sometimes sit with him and his friend so, just trying to make friends with his friends." You tell her, hoping to cover up your growing anxiety.

"We're hardly friends." Michelle could almost laugh at your bold assumption.

If the girl wasn't so observant, you'd let out a breath of relief at that knowledge. Your body visibly relax.

Honestly, you had no idea what to say next. You wanted to say anything, but nothing came to mind. Michelle was probably the most difficult person (aside from Peter), to talk to. You wondered if Peter considered her a friend, and that thought alone did not sit well with you.

"Oh."

"Yeah, but guess it's cool he finally had the courage to talk to you." Michelle says, and this time you know you had heard her right.

Your eyes widen in the slightest, but still highly obvious way, at her words. It wasn't right to feel this amount of joy over a sentence, but you had been waiting for this confirmation for awhile.

He finally had the courage to talk to you.

Before you could ask the girl what she meant, the bell rings and you're happiness is replaced with anger, Michelle is quick to pack her things and rush out the door, and you watch her from the window of the classroom, thinking about her words over and over again.

This was probably unhealthy, very unhealthy in fact, to think such thoughts that rushed into your head. But, no, this, this was a clear sign from the possible god above.

Peter had the courage to talk to you, which meant he had some sort of romantic feelings toward you, a stark contrast from your intense feelings for him. You couldn't believe you had not noticed the signs. Maybe because you had not had the courage yourself to talk to him, and it really flew over your head of how he could possibly develop feelings for you if you watch his every move like a hawk.

Okay, maybe not all the time, but on a occasion you would gaze at him, because you loved his face, it was memorized, tattooed in your brain. Had Peter finally come to his sense that you and him belonged together? Maybe he had knew it was you all along who sent him those gifts, which made him fall in love with you even more, the poor boy just didn't know how to approach you.

Whatever it may be, you would delude yourself with the possibility of Peter having romantic feelings for you, because it was lunch time, which meant you got to sit with him, he had asked you to and it would be a crime to deny that offer from Peter.

You couldn't see it. Actually, you refused to believe it.

Peter Parker is such an unbelievable, incredible, pure soul. You needed and wanted to corrupt him, not in the same way you did with Michelle, no, you wanted to break his innocence, let him see the world for what it truly was.

He had this facade, you could tell, that the world was all sunshine and unicorns, it annoyed you. Of course, he could be masking his own sadness, which didn't sit well with you. Peter being unhappy made your heart ache in the worst ways possible. You knew that if there was any chance of the two of you becoming two souls and one heart, you had to decrypt his positive mindset.

Though, you love that about him, it wouldn't get him anywhere in life. You had to make him see that.

The lunch was admittedly, amazing. Despite your reluctance toward his friend(s), Ned was a pretty decent person, and in the future, you knew it would benefit you if you became friends with his friends, because that's what he wants.

Ned is an easy to talk to kind of boy, and he makes you laugh, a genuine laugh, sometimes you force it if you didn't understand the joke he told, for Peter's sake.

Peter on the other hand, really didn't spare you any glances unless he was talking to the entire table, and you found it weird, he had this sort of fearful glint in his eyes each time he made eye contact with you. You were worried, couldn't read him right to have an understanding as of why he was staring at you like you committed murder and swore him to secrecy.

Maybe it was because you were awfully quiet the whole lunch period, only laughing whenever Ned said something 'funny'. Truth be told, you had no faith in your voice to conjure up a proper sentence starter, so you relied on the table, and if the topic was in your interest, you'd voice your opinion.

None of that happened, Peter fiddled with his hands nervously, like he had something he wanted to say but couldn't word it right.

At some point Michelle had come over, and he eased up from the tension he felt, which didn't go unnoticed by you, your brain ticked in irritation.

"So, uh, what did you get on your science quiz, Ned?" Peter questioned randomly. Ned was on the topic of something Star Wars related, so it confused you, but you ignored it, picking at your food.

"I dunno, dude. We literally just took it." Ned points out and you glance up curiously, just in time to see Peter give Ned a wide eyed look before catching your gaze and showing you a tight lipped smile.

You don't reciprocate it, continuing to stare at him with a blank expression. Now you could see what was going on.

It wasn't that Peter had liked you, now you doubt that very much, he had felt bad for you because you had no friends, which wasn't true, you had one. Not only that, but there was this small itching, aching, feeling that he had some sense in the know of your activities, which involved him.

Maybe not all of them, but the stalking, possibly, the gifts, probably, and that's all you know he was maybe well aware of. It didn't take a genius to figure it out, but it did take a lot of backtracking to figure out when and where he had realized you were being a creep.

Or, you could be thinking into this too much, but you're and over thinker, so you're sure that the thing Michelle had definitely said was true, and she made sure to make Peter well aware of it.

It would explain why he was so nervous when asking you to sit with him at lunch, and why the boy was so uneasy when you resided at the lunch table.

You had to get away from the trio before confirmation could be made, so you throw your plastic fork on the tray of untouched food, quickly getting up from the lunch table.

"Wait, wher-, where are you going?" Peter was frantic, and you turn around, just because it was him, seeing all three of them stare curiously at you.

"I have, something to do?" You tell him, and you know it sounds more like a question, but you didn't care.

Michelle shares an unconvinced look with Ned, who tries his best to hide it, Peter glances at his female friend for help, and she shrugs before going back to her book, ironically titled, 'Notice'.

Fuck, now you knew they knew.

Peter's mouth opens, but now you're long gone. You had no idea how you could let this happen. You thought were thorough and careful, you made sure of it. It was Michelle, it had to have been.

You wanted to curse Peter for becoming friends with such an annoyingly observant person. You couldn't, and you knew that.

Despite him knowing about your stalking habits, you weren't going to let him know you knew. You were going pretend, and become the worst version of yourself you had always feared.

Just because Peter knows, doesn't mean you were going to stop, you just had to be extra careful now. You were going to make him come to a realization that you do what you do because you love him. Peter will come to his senses and soon love you.

You just had to eradicate the obstacles in his life.

part two???

#peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker smut #dark!reader #dark!reader x peter parker

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