#i mean admittedly my instinct was that he was lying about what he was saying & he was a good guy (which i was right about) but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hqbaby · 8 months

Text

twenty-five — you don’t mean it

fuck ur instincts — suna x reader & atsumu x reader

you and suna are just fooling around—so why does he care so much when you start falling in love with someone else?

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.4k content. swearing, more feelings

“Ya good?” Atsumu asks, sitting down beside you and placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “Ya didn’t eat much.”

You smile at him. “I ate a bunch at breakfast,” you say. “You made sure of that.”

“I know how much ya love ‘Samu’s omelets.” He shrugs, grinning. “Couldn’t let ya go without ‘em.”

“Yeah, but stealing Aran’s was a little excessive, don’t you think?”

“What can I say? I live to serve my girl.”

You chuckle, curling into his side as you watch your friends play Twister in the middle of the living room. You’re all heading back to campus tomorrow morning and everyone’s made it their mission to do as much as possible before returning to the drudgery that is school.

You’ve been a little out of it since last night. After your mini-breakdown and your cryptic conversation with Ayame, you haven’t been able to focus on much else.

It doesn’t help that everywhere your turn Suna and his girlfriend just so happen to be there, touching, talking, sitting, messing with your head.

“You should talk to him.”

The words are stuck in your head, repeating on an endless loop.

Talk about what?

What is there to talk about?

“The boys wanna play volleyball on the beach,” Atsumu tells you, standing up. “Ya wanna come?”

“But it’s freezing outside.”

“It’s fun!”

You shake your head, still smiling faintly at your boyfriend’s endless fountain of enthusiasm. “Think I’ll stay here,” you say. “I’ve still got that budget request to finish for the team.”

He pouts. “Will ya come swim with us later then?”

You gape. “It’s cold!”

“That’s half the fun!”

The look on his face tells you that you’re not winning this argument.

“Fine,” you groan. “Five seconds.”

“Minutes?”

“Three minutes.”

That seems to cheer him up, his features bursting into a smile as he takes your face in his hands and plants a kiss on your forehead. “Fuckin’ love ya.”

You giggle at his antics. “Love you too.”

The words come naturally to you now. When you said them the first time, you had to admit that you weren’t quite sure if you were just saying them in the heat of the moment or if you were just trying to get out of a tough situation—but time seems to have softened them. They make more sense now.

You love Atsumu. You aren’t lying when you say that.

When you wake up beside him, a little drool spilling from the corner of his lips, you know you mean it. When you find him regularly giving you his sweaters before he wears them so he “can smell like you,” you know you mean it. When you find your mind drifting in the middle of class, the only thought on your mind being his goofy little grin, you know you mean it.

After lunch, your friends start filtering out of the house and heading to the beach, all admittedly freezing but looking to savor every bit of your weekend getaway.

You head to the little study in the house with your laptop to go through the budget reports of your team's past expenses. It’s boring work and you wish you could be doing anything else, but it’s better than witnessing Suna and Ayame get all touchy-feely with each other.

“Hey.”

You look up from the screen, trying your best not to look so surprised. Speak of the devil.

“Suna,” you say quietly. “Hey. W-what are you doing here?”

He shrugs, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “It’s way too fucking cold out there.”

You hum in agreement. “That it is,” you murmur, awkwardly tapping your hands on the table. “Where’s, uh, where’s Ayame?”

He furrows his brow as he makes his way to one of the bookshelves. He picks up a knock-off Spongebob figurine, turning it over in his hands. He doesn’t dare look your way.

“You don’t like her.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t like her,” he repeats, putting the figurine down. Suna’s head turns in your direction, but his eyes don’t exactly land on yours. “You don’t like it.”

“Like what?”

“Me being with Ayame. You don’t like it.”

You furrow your brows, closing your laptop and looking at him from across the room. “What are you talking about?”

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. “You have a problem with us.”

“What? Come on. I think she’s nice.”

“Oh, nice, right.” He nods. “That’s why you’ve been so weird around her. Ignoring her. Ignoring me. But, yeah, sure, you think she’s nice.”

An uncomfortable laugh spills from your lips. What the fuck is he getting at? “I’m sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to be weird. I’ll be nicer.”

He looks at you, finally. His eyes are narrowed and his mouth is twisted downwards. “You don’t talk to me anymore.”

“I’m talking to you right now.”

He’s being impossible. You know. He knows it. You know that he’s prodding things neither of you should even be going near, trying to uncover truths that will only hurt you both. He’s being dumb. He’s being stupid.

What did you expect?

“We don’t talk, we never talk,” he says, pulling up a chair and sitting at the desk across from you. “I wanna know what you’re thinking.”

You shake your head. “You don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Suna—”

“What happened to Rin?”

Fucking impossible.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask hopelessly. “I’m sorry, okay? Things worked out well, though, didn’t they? I have Atsumu, you have Ayame.”

He scowls. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Being weird about her,” he says stubbornly. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. He knows, but he’s not stopping anytime soon. “Why are you so weird about me having a girlfriend?”

You scoff. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

There are two ways this conversation can go. You can continue to beat around the bush, never address the real questions that are hanging over your heads. Be civil. Be polite. Like mature people, sensible people. Or you can blow everything up.

And the decision to choose between these two paths seems to be entirely up to you.

You never did consider yourself to be mature or sensible.

“I think it’s mean,” you say. “I think you’re being mean.”

His eyes widen at that. He hoped you’d finally be able to talk about it, he just didn’t expect that you actually would.

“How am I being mean?”

You chuckle humorlessly. “Who the fuck is Ayame?” you ask. “You don’t even know her.”

“I do.”

“No! You don’t!”

“You don’t know everything about me.” He’s adamant even if he doesn’t believe that himself. You probably know more about him than he does himself. “What’s your deal anyway? Why are you so bothered by her?”

“I’m not bothered by her.”

“Then what is it? Why are you so against her?”

“I’m not against her!”

“Honestly, it’s a little hypocritical. You start dating Atsumu three days after you call things off with me, and I can’t start dating someone three months later?”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

You put your face in your hands and groan. This is so childish. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

“No.” Stubborn. So fucking stubborn. “What’s your problem, huh? Why are you so against my girlfriend? Why are you being so—”

“Why wasn’t it me?”

The words seem to be sucked out of Suna’s mouth. He swears his heart has stopped beating, his lungs have stopped breathing. Did you really just say that? Did you really—

“Why wasn’t I enough?”

There’s a sad smile on your face. You don’t look mad or upset or anything like that—you just look resigned. Like you already lost this fight a long time ago and all you can do now is face the aftermath of the carnage. Like you don’t even want him to answer, like you already know the truth.

“Why does she get to be introduced to your friends? Taken on a whole trip with us?” you ask, each dispirited question sticking a knife in his heart. “Why does she get to be your girlfriend and all I got to be was a secret? Did you hate me that much?”

The last question makes him shake his head furiously. “I didn’t hate—”

“No, you didn’t hate me. You would never,” you say, shrugging. “You just didn’t care enough.”

“Of course I cared. I still do.”

You look at him, unbelieving. “Then why?”

“Because I—”

Atsumu’s voice booms in his head. “If ya ever hurt her again, I’ll fuck ya up.”

“—I love you.”

Fuck.

Your face falls. “No.”

“I love you.”

“Fuck you.” You laugh, getting out of your seat. “You don’t love me.”

He just stares at you, all earnest and empty. As if this is all he has left to give. “I love you.”

You go to the door, keeping your head low the whole time, eyes away from his. You know you should be mad or terribly sad or something, anything, but you’re not. It’s like all the emotions are lost somewhere inside you, somewhere you can’t seem to understand just yet.

Right before stepping out of the room, you look at Suna one last time. “You don’t mean it,” you say before walking out and shutting the door behind you.

He just stares at the empty space across the desk, suddenly alone.

“I love you.”

notes. 😳

#hqbaby.fyi #hqbaby #haikyuu #suna rintarou #suna #suna rintarou x reader #suna x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #suna rintarou fic #suna fic #miya atsumu fic #atsumu fic #haikyuu fic

300 notes · View notes

thedo0zyslider · 3 months

Text

Generally plot synopsis of my fwhimmy tangled au. Because I have no one else to tell this too but tumblr dot com

Basically when Jimmy was young, the cod and salmon were very big enemies, and whatever was happening was making the cod deathly sick. To protect him, Lizzie hid her brother and herself in a tower. But as the years passed, the problem was slowly solved, and now all the fish folk get along pretty well. But Lizzie had always told Jimmy the outside was dangerous, and he had to stay inside. She wasn't she how to tell him otherwise, but considered doing so. Eventually she starts lying, so things won't change and she can keep him close forever, while also enjoying the life she'd started to build outside the tower. (I have more thoughts and ideas for Lizzies character here don't you worry. She's very complex and I can't wait to dig into that more >:])

For his whole life, Jimmy is stuck in the tower. He doesn't mind it really, but he can see a river just outside his window. His instincts are always telling him to go to the water!! Go to the river!! But he's a little scared, admittedly. But but, he's also eighteen and maybe it would be a good birthday present. Maybe Lizzie would let him leave the tower, just once, on his birthday? She doesn't, but it's a good attempt, and it only makes Jimmy more motivated to leave no matter what.

And then we have fwhip, the prince of their kingdom. The royal family has its own issues, but in short they leave the prince feeling a more than a little slighted. Like his sister Gem gets more attention than him. So naturally, he starts acting up, starts doing petty crimes, because they can't arrest him. The only thing they can do is scold him and lock him in the castle, which he can always sneak out of.

One day, when the summer festival is being set up, fWhip almost ruins it. Which means he's in pretty good trouble and currently being chased down. (the two thieves flynn allies with in the movie are replaced by sausage and joey, guards who are very close to the head guard, xornorth) So he runs from the guards, and manages to loose them in the woods. And in the woods he finds a tower with a boy in it, who knocks him out lol. But once fwhip is awake, Jimmy seizes his opportunity. If fwhip takes him to the water, then he'll keep the prince out of trouble. And fwhip agrees, because its the only way to get back into town without being arrested (and maybe he thinks jimmy is kinda pretty)

and then he learns about lizzie, whos his friend, and how he's been keeping her brother hostage and lying to him for what has to be a decade at this point. safe to say fwhip is. greatly horrified. he realizes he cant let jimmy go back to the tower, and starts workshopping a plan to get them both back to the castle safely. he doesn't care about whatever trouble hes in anymore, jus getting jimmy out of his horrible living situation.

You know the bar they go to in the movie? Yep, that's fill of hermits!! fwhip frequents the tavern when he cans, so he knows they can help him. [insert the i got a dream song here. btw.] He talks to Grian about jimmy's situation, and manages to sneak both of them out. But they are chased by sausage and joey again, who have started working with lizzie after she returned home to find jimmy missing. she says fwhip kidnapped him, and sausage is doubtful, but he believes it, if only a way to get his friend in custody temporarily. Lizzie also overhears what happens at the tavern, so she starts making her own plan to stop fwhip and jimmy before they get to the castle.

also gandalf, gems cat, fills the sidekick animal role. he just shows up randomly to help them/be a problem. he helps them get away from joey and sausage, and then the cat is gone again. after that, fwhip and jimmy manage to get into the town, and enjoy the summer festival. they meet the rest of fwhip and lizzies friends, the empires crew, and all of them adore jimmy to bit. he bonds with joel especially, not having any idea that he's dating lizzie.

eventually, they have to leave the festival, because both lizzie and the guards have caught up to them. they manage to slip away that evening as everyone prepares to send the lanterns out, but gems onto them. probably because of her magic act tbh, who bothered them the wholeee festival.

The lantern scene happens. Jimmy and Fwhip, on a boat all by themselves with lanterns around. And yes, unlike tangled they do kiss! But the moment is over once they get to shore sadly. lizzie is there to take jimmy home, all while fwhip gets taken into custody a few feet away. jimmy does start protesting that he doesnt want to go home, but lizzie is too scared to let him leave the tower forever, and starts dragging him back anyways.

in the meantime, fwhip manages to convince sausage and joey of whats really happening. they're both a little reluctant, but they give him a palace horse and let him go after lizzie and jimmy. they're to go find xornorth at what remains of the festival, and fill them in before heading out to the tower themselves. gandalf leads gem and joel over to them as theyre talking to xornorth, and the two of them join in on going to the tower.

back at said tower, jimmy is fucking miserable man. he just wants to go back to the water, and fwhip. As soon as lizzie has her back turned he's sneaking out the window, only find the little intervention party waiting for him outside. i wont go into full detail of the scene, but quite a lot happens. i could do it more justice when i actually write it, compared to this quick little summary (its not the only detail im admitting haha)

in the end, all of them go back to the palace, lizzie being held as a prisoner for a little bit. but eventually, she requests to go back to the tower. they let her, figuring it better if she's further away from jimmy right now. he still cares about her, but he's pretty traumatized from what happened that night. but he heals with time, and by getting closer to fwhip and the empires crew. (at first fwjip isnt sure if he should try to advance the relationship anymore, but they get there eventually, once jimmy has healed enough <3)

i think im going to end it with lizzie saying sorry. jimmys not going to accept her back right away, nor is everyone else, but that will take time. shes going to finally leave that tower herself, and thats all that matters. that theyre both our of the tower for good.

i have a lot more planned but again, this is just a general summary. very excited to finally get writing it hehe

#ron.txt #the tangled au #I had to stop myself from tangled info dumping at points. So this is understandable even if you don't remember the movie #I am also open to more of this au based off the tangled series :] (<-- old hyperfixation leaking thru)#fwhimmy #once again flooding that tag. sorry guys lmao #feel free to talk/ramble about this to me its been rotting my brain!!#empiresshipping

32 notes · View notes

kodraken · 3 years

Text

dark necessities.

pairing ✮ eren jaeger x fem!reader

synopsis ✮ you're too good for his liking, so eren shows you a thing or two about being bad

wc ✮ 2.5k

warnings ✮ nsfw, modern!au, dubcon, marijuana use, manipulation, reader is a smart little lamb and eren hates it, shotgunning, corruption kink, degredation, praise, daddy kink, dry humping, fingering, overstim, squirting, cream pie, dumbification.

Eren Jaeger had never seen you like this.

Knee deep in the billowing haze of smoke emitting from the worn down joint resting comfortably between his fingers, you compliantly straddled his lap with a dazed simper on your face. No matter how hard you tried to mask it, the unpleasant fumes pricked your skin, causing the slightest tremble in your mouth and an uncomfortable feeling of tears welling up in your dilated eyes. But Eren was a natural, watching amusedly as you choked on your upcoming cough.

How did you even end up here?

You should’ve known not to agree to Eren’s proposal to work at his apartment instead of the library; but you didn’t. You wouldn’t. You obviously preferred to please people, and Eren happened to take notice of that the second he saw you squirm uncomfortably in your seat when your professor mentioned your unlikely partnership with him. Instead of asking to switch or maybe even work alone like the smart girl he assumed you were, you froze like a deer in the headlights and followed along.

Halfway through your work session, Eren pulled out a corroded lighter, lining it up with the small joint that sat slack in between his teeth. You didn’t say anything, opting to fold your hands in your lap and ignore what you just saw.

“You don’t smoke?” He rose a brow at your sheepish mannerisms. Just when he thought you couldn’t act any more innocent, you never failed to surprise him; this was just the cherry on top of the cake. He shrugged nonchalantly before igniting the stuffed tip with a hint of feigned disappointment in his voice. “Probably couldn’t stand it anyways.”

Poor you was so eager to please that you were unaware of the fact that you’d fallen right where he wanted you.

A tiny giggle escapes from your lips as you feel Eren’s smoke fan your face, the mixture of mint and seared weed making your nose scrunch up cutely. The same large frame glasses that made your doe eyes appear ten times bigger seemed to slide down your heat flushed face with every passing minute before finally stopping at the tip of your nose bridge. He takes the initiative to carefully pull them from your face and set them down nearby before placing his free hand on the curve of your waist.

“Gimme my glasses ‘ren…” You slur out, dragging your hips against the crease of his crotch with hopes that he’d fix them back on your face himself.

“You don’t need them.”

“Really?” You look up at him through your fluttering lashes, trusting every word that comes out of his mouth. At this point, it’s as clear as day to him that you currently don’t have a proper thought running through your head – too immersed in the new feeling of being high to care much about anything. He hums in response to your question, securing his unyielding grip on your waist and steadily grinding you onto his hardened crotch.

“Can I take another hit?” You breathe out.

A sigh doesn’t fail to escape from Eren’s lips as he gives you a worried look, running a calloused hand through his hair. “You want another one? I’m not sure you can handle that.” In reality, he’d pay to see the priceless expression on your face when you inhale too much and sputter out air – but he keeps that to himself.

“I can!”

Eren concludes that it wouldn’t hurt to indulge you. He takes a drag of the nearly lifeless joint, accentuating it with a dramatic heave and holds your face in between his ring clad fingers before smashing his lips against yours, letting the haze drift into your mouth. He feels a sense of pride watching you capture the smoke and leisurely exhale it back in his direction with a playful giggle. He can’t help but think you look prettiest like this, slumped against his torso with blown pupils and a slightly ajar mouth, babbling incoherent nonsenses that would normally never leave those pretty lips of yours. Truthfully, he likes you stupid, pure and white hearted — leaving him with the perfect chance to corrupt and turn you into a cock hungry whore.

“How about that baby?” He coos, brushing the stray strands of baby hair out of your face. By now, the skirt you’re wearing is bunched up at your hips, putting your white panties right on display for his prying eyes. He hungrily palms at the fat of your ass, dragging you across his lap like a ragdoll.

“Don’t– don’t call me baby....’m not your baby Eren.” You shake your head while bringing your hands to his naked torso in an attempt to steady yourself. A loud whimper falls from your mouth as you instinctively jerk against his body; you were growing more sensitive by the second, hyper aware of the defined bulge straining against his pants.

“You don’t like that?” He quips teasingly. You can barely even process when he pulls you off of him and turns you around. The force is enough to put you on all fours, propping your lower half up for him to see the damped spot resting in the middle of your crotch. You swallow thickly, feeling his fingers dig back into your ass. Eren is unpredictable, and you learn this the hard way when his index finger innocuously dips beneath your panties and teases your puffy cunt. He groans as he drags your slick along your folds. “Do you prefer this instead? Yeah? Fuuuck, look how wet you are for me.”

“Feels good Eren…”

“Well would you look at that?” His voice is heavy with lust as gently tugs your panties to the side and watches his two fingers scissor your hole. “Getting off on my fingers like a fucking slut. I knew that little innocent shit you had going on was an act.”

“S-shut up! You’re so mean… hah–!” You can barely even come up with a sensible retort–his fingers feel like a foreign intrusion. You’d gotten yourself off before but his fingers were so much bigger than yours, dragging against your gummy walls and hitting usually unreachable places with each thrust. It’d be a lie to say that you weren’t enjoying this as much as the next person, mewling and whining for as much as you could possibly take, much to his pleasure.

“Mean? Oh you haven’t seen mean.”

Eren watches your face through a nearby mirror, basking in your dazed out expression and heavy lidded eyes. He knows that you need him by the way that you rut yourself back in a desperate attempt to fuck yourself; but you’ll never be satisfied with just that, so he takes it upon himself to help you. It’s hilarious, truly, watching you wiggle and move your hips in search of his retracted fingers; you usually never sought out what you wanted, yet here you were, practically begging for it.

You want to say something but the way Eren’s hands travel across the expanse of your body to shrug off your top forces the words bubbling up in your throat back down. It’s a laughable contrast, how his calloused hands fit around your soft curves and crevasses – you shouldn’t be doing this. Eren doesn’t seem to care too much, unclasping your bra and quickly tossing it to the side, taking a mound in hand and kneading it harshly.

“What are you doing ‘ren…” You ask with a strained voice, feeling his heavy tip leisurely drag along your folds, gathering slick before prodding at your constructing hole.

Fuck – he’s growing impatient, his tip an angry red with tiny beads of white smearing with your wetness. Eren’s unashamedly fixated on the difference between your tight cunt and his veiny cock. “Calm down baby, I’m gonna make you feel even better.” He murmurs, making sure to be gentle as he presses your upper half into the mattress – an ironic contrast to his plans to fuck you dumbber than you currently were.

Eren wastes no time in grabbing his cock by its base, sliding it into your hole. He spreads your ass, watching contently as it disappears into your puusy inch by inch. “Shit, your cunt looks fucking pretty taking me in, I love it baby.” It’s difficult for him to resist the burning urge to piston right into you and hear those pretty moans.

“So big...feels huge.” You’re not lying; you can barely get accustomed to the stretch, eyes widening at the feeling of every prominent vein brushing your fluttering walls.

“Aw, don’t tell me that you can’t take it?” He chuckles when you squirm around him, tiny whines falling from your mouth when he bottoms out. He stills himself inside of you, admiring how you frantically shake your head “no” – you’re trying so hard not to mess up and be good enough for him. “That’s my girl.” he marvels, pulling out to the hilt before languidly thrusting, hips rolling hard against your ass. The pace is agonizing to him; admittedly, he wants to hear you sob, and he’s come too far to stop now. Growing impatient, he gradually picks up the pace, quickly snapping into you and filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin slapping.

“Oh fuck, Eren–!” You moan, clinging to the sheets as he rammed into you, your juices coating his cock and spilling down your folds onto the bed. While you’re unable to see his face with the way his hand sits on your head, pushing you down even more, you can practically sense the grin on his face – so sweet that it's almost sinister.

Every thrust is harder than the last, sending you teetering forward as his pelvis juts against your bruising ass. You can barely contain your loud sobs, his cock was brushing your cervix – you could barely imagine how big he was.

“‘S good, s-so big!” You breathe out. God, you look pretty like this, splayed out beneath him with your back in an irregular arch and drool seeping out of your mouth to soil the fabric.

Eren leans down until he’s flush against your warm body, hands placed on both your sides and caging you in. His pace doesn’t let up as he brings his mouth to your ear, his hot breath that fans across your skin feeling like electricity flowing straight to your clit. “You’re gonna take it all, right? You’re gonna be a good slut and let me fuck you as I please– you want to please me dont you?”

“Yes daddy!” You aren’t even thinking as you wail, reaching out to hold one of his arms as he continued fucking into you. You’re way too gone to even register the way his hips momentarily falter.

He smiles wickedly at the new name you’ve given him–he always knew that you had it in you, but you just needed a little push. “Daddy? You’re so fucking nasty.” His words are so insulting and vulgar, yet they only leave you wanting more, clenching around his cock and sucking him back in. “I’m fucking you stupid and thats the first thing you call me.” He laughs at your needy stature, licking a stripe up your neck and biting at the soft skin.

“G-gonna cum – gonna cum on your cock daddy.” You whimper pitifully, feeling yourself closer to your edge as you become more twitchy against him.

“Go ahead and cream on my dick pretty girl, cum right on me.” His pace doesn’t let up, slipping right back into your sopping cunt and fucking your weak hole. The loud and long mewl that your let out when you reach your high is so erotic – pornographic, even. You claw your fingers into his skin as your body locks up, causing him to hiss from the sudden pain.

“You should be thanking me for giving you my cock.” He starts coldly before wrapping a hand around your neck and pulling you upright against his body to show you how slutty you look in the mirror in front of you. Your eyes are trained on the place where your bodies meet, the way his cock slips into your cunny with a loud squelch and the translucent ring of your slick around his girth. It’s safe to say that you can barely recognize yourself when you take note of your face; there's drool strung on the bottom half of your face, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and onto your swollen lips, and your tits are bouncing with every sudden motion.

Eren can’t help but smile cockily at his handiwork; you’re only listening to him, babbling small ‘thank you’s and ‘please’s. Your head is in a fog, unable to even process what you’d originally come here for, only focused on getting stuffed full by your project partner. He stretches his arm across your shoulder to bar you to his body as his thrusts become more frantic, balls rhythmically slapping up against your clit.

Your head lolls back against his neck and you’re able to look into his darkened eyes with nothing but adoration. “Love your cock daddy– fills me up!”

He could cum just at the sight of you, feeling you grind your hips in desperation. “Addicted, aren't you? You’d die for this dick without a second thought yeah?” Not even waiting for a proper response, he catches your mouth with his own, biting and tugging at your lips; he’s going to ruin cock for you to the point where you can only go back to him in order to feel this way – for real satisfaction.

His free hand dips down to your cunt, two fingers circling at your clit with the slightest amount of pressure. “Too much, too much! ‘M gonna cum again–!” You beg, desperately trying to move his hand away, but your efforts are to no avail – he’s shown you that he’s stronger than you, continuing his attack on your overstimulated bud.

“Shhh baby, take it like a good girl.” He coaxes; your cunt is too addicting for him to give up.

Your tightening walls milk him for all that he’s worth as he rutts into you at a mind-breaking speed and soon enough you’re tensing up again; but this time it feels different, eyes widening in surprise as you feel your juices squirt all over his cock and thighs, making a noticeable mess on his bed. “Daddy” is all that follows after your loud moan, slumping against Eren’s body like a fucked-out doll.

He knows that you can hold out, which is why he peppers kisses to your neck and jaw as his hips become more erratic against your worn out body. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum baby.” You don’t miss his moans as he pounds into you a few more times. You tiredly nod at his words as they all blur together into one incoherent mess.

“Gonna fill up your pretty cunny– shit.” He groans, stilling himself and shooting thick ropes of his load into your cunt, staining your walls white. He slowly slips out of you, muttering soft praises against your skin as he watches his cum languidly drip out of your abused hole. To say he’s satisfied with the way that you jerk and twitch is an understatement;

he thinks that you’re fucking stunning.

#attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #eren x reader #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #aot smut #eren yeager smut #snk smut #snk x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager x reader #tw.dubcon #tw.manipulation #tw.drugs #attack on titan smut

804 notes · View notes

the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

RE8 Ladies + Love Languages

While this isn't terribly long per character, I am putting it under a read-more for the combined length. Some characters have more details than others, partially due to how much I've written for them (and therefore had time to think about how they show their affections). For once the contents are not in alphabetical order. Crazy, right? PS there's a very, very brief implication of NSFW in Daniela's section.

Features the entire Dimitrescu family, Mother Miranda, Donna Beneviento, and as a lil bonus Ava.

Cassandra Dimitrescu:

Primary Love Language: Physical touch

Secondary Love Language: Acts of Service

Examples: Constantly wants to be touching some part of her lover, even if she sometimes pretends otherwise, from hand holding to making them sit in her lap. So goddamn touch starved. Preferably sleeps with her lover sprawled out on top of her, weighing her down, soothed by the constant pressure. Seriously, this woman needs someone to hold her as close as possible, running their fingers through her hair, pressing soft little kisses along her neck + shoulder. And then repeat. Every single day. For life.

Treating her lover’s wounds, or bringing them tea to soothe their nightmares, or monitoring their health when they're sick (see: Bound Blood + We Don’t Talk About That). Cassandra hates feeling like she owes someone, and isn’t fond of others owing her (because when they pay her back, she might end up owing them “the difference”). When it comes to love, however, all debts feel paid as soon as they are incurred. She does things for her beloved because she cares for them, expecting nothing in return. Sure, she’ll complain about the effort, but it doesn’t really bother her, and she truly hopes her lover knows that.

Mother Miranda:

Primary Love Language: Acts of Service

Secondary Love Language: Gift Giving

Examples: Despite the decades she has spent as a Goddess, commanding the willing masses, Miranda doesn’t put much emphasis on words. Instead, she values actions above all else. She doesn't care if someone says that they are devoted to her, she wants to see the effects of that devotion. In turn, she much prefers to show her affection rather than voice it, even if it leaves her lover less sure of her feelings. One must keep in mind that she is the leader of an entire region, and the fact that she chooses to personally take care of something for you means a hell of a lot. Even if it’s just making you a cup of tea whenever she brews some for herself, or something as big as setting up a studio for you and your personal projects, or simply ensuring that your favorite meals are added to the rotation.

Similar, in some aspects, to her preference to showcase her love rather than announce it, Miranda takes pride in her ability to select gifts. She remembers just about everything you ever tell her, easily memorizing things you express interest in. Though she won’t make a big deal out of it, you’ll often find little gifts from her lying around, casual reminders of how much of her attention is devoted to you.

Daniela Dimitrescu:

Primary Love Language: Words of Affirmation

Secondary Love Language: Physical Touch

Examples: What can she say, she loves to be worshipped. Having someone look at her with eyes full of adoration, one hand cupping her cheek, as they list a thousand reasons why they love her? That’s all she wants. Or sitting with her lover’s head in her lap, listening to them recite poetry that reminds them of her, while she runs her fingers through their hair. Ooh, or hearing them cry out her name like something holy as she all but buries her head between their legs. But don’t worry, she’s just as eager to return the favor, singing soft praises dedicated to her beloved. Admittedly, her compliments are sometimes a tad roundabout (so to speak).

“Mmm,” she’ll hum, “I’m the luckiest woman in the world. Living in a castle, my every need catered to, endless life, and, of course, the most darling little pet I could ever ask for. What more could I want?” Then she’ll pull her lover close, a kiss against their pulse point to claim them as her own. It’s impossible for her to determine her favorite place to touch her lover. There are little spots that elicit sweet sounds from them, then there are places where their warmth is a tad fiercer than normal, pure bliss against her own freezing skin. Wherever she touches them, it’s a silent declaration of her love.

Bela Dimitrescu:

Primary Love Language: Quality Time

Secondary Love Language: Words of Affirmation

Examples: It doesn’t matter what she does with her lover, as long as they are together, in the same room if not actively pressed against each other. Any hobby of theirs is one that she’ll instantly take interest in. An academic at heart, she loves to learn, regardless of the subject, and takes endless delight in learning from those close to her. There’s something incredible about the feeling she gets when she gets a chance to show her lover how much she remembers, and she sees that spark of joy in their eyes.

Considering her fondness for classical literature, it’s no surprise that she adores using language to convey the depths of her affection. Whether she’s quoting Sappho or Shakespeare, she often relies on dead poets to express herself. In turn, she cannot even begin to describe the feeling she gets when her lover returns the gesture, especially if they go so far as to write something original for her. More than once she’s tried to craft her own poetry, but has found herself lacking (at least to her own standards). One thing she enjoys is memorizing poetry written by someone from her lover’s home country, assuming that they’re not from Romania.

Alcina Dimitrescu:

Primary Love Language: Gift Giving/Physical Touch

Secondary Love Language: Quality Time

Examples: Considering the era in which she was born, it’s not terribly surprising that Alcina’s affection often manifests in less obvious ways. A hand on her lover’s back, guiding them along, or letting her knee touch theirs when they sit next to each other, or gently reaching out to give one of their hands a soft pat during quiet conversations. On top of that, she gives out gifts almost constantly. Oh, her lover very briefly mentioned enjoying a local artist? Well, Alcina will be certain to purchase several (or most) of their recent work. Did her beloved muse out loud about not having much jewelry? That won’t do! She’ll get them a large assortment, including plenty that bear the crest of House Dimitrescu. Everyone will know who her lover is, if only for the way that they are adorned with her loveliest finery.

Much like her eldest daughter (who likely takes after her mother), Alcina also enjoys the barest of interactions with her darling. With the endless stretch that is her potential lifespan, she knows that she has all the time in the world to learn new skills, or experience all that the village has to offer. Nothing warms her heart quite like the idea of getting to enjoy those things with the people that matter most to her- namely her partner and her children.

Donna Beneviento:

Primary Love Language: Quality Time

Secondary Love Language: Gift Giving

Examples: An odd mix of shy and calculating, Donna Beneviento is not one to rely on words, nor does she often take grand actions where others may observe. Instead, she works (and weaves) within the shadows. When it comes to love, she prefers to let her priorities reveal her feelings. Day after day, she chooses to spend time with her partner, regardless of the activity. If they ask for her company, she gives it without hesitation. She invites them to join her in the garden, or give input on her latest creations, and ensures that they are readily involved in just about every aspect of her life.

Being as talented as she is with crafting (both the overall art of doll-making and the somewhat related ability to sew all sorts of clothing), ‘tis not surprising that she also turns to gifts to express herself. From knitting hats in winter to soft blankets when her partner is sick, she provides for them in the easiest way she knows how.

Avaskian Caldwell:

Primary Love Language: Physical Touch/Words of Affirmation

Secondary Love Language: Quality Time

Examples: Arguably the most touch-starved person ever to exist, xer only possible rival being Cassandra. Struggles to strike a balance between hating being touched unexpectedly and wanting constant physical attention. Will give affectionate shoulder/back pats, loves forehead kisses/bumps, literally cannot sleep without cuddling someone/something (such as a stuffed animal). At the same time, a lifetime of severe anxiety has made it so that xe often relies on verbal encouragement from others to feel good/motivate xerself. Xe craves compliments, and defaults to poetry as a way of expressing love for others. One might think that being selectively mute might put a damper on this. However, if anything, it just furthers the value of xer speech. You know that xe cares about you if xe not only writes you poetry, but reads it aloud for you.

In true introvert/anxiety-riddled-bean fashion, Ava is also more than content to just chill with loved ones. Xe grew up in an admittedly fucked up family, but some of xer happiest childhood memories are of xerself sitting with xer brother, watching while he played through videogame after videogame, or sitting together on the big couch and reading. Years later, xe has a strong instinct to want to recreate those moments with xer new (slightly less fucked up) family.

#alcina dimitrescu x reader #bela dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #daniela dimitrescu x reader #mother miranda x reader #donna beneviento x reader #original character x reader #oc x reader #avaskian caldwell #resident evil: village #re8 village

322 notes · View notes

young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 9

Fun fact: when I was like eight I got an ultrasound done on my chest because of some non-descript heart anomaly. Got to miss a day of school and everything.

Anyway, on the day of cult girl’s twenty week anatomy scan, Hannibal has second thoughts about putting the baby up for adoption.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: pregnancy and lactation, medical examination

It was a small victory, but a much-needed one.

You kept in close touch with Max and Archie over the next few, crucial weeks. Before you knew it, your first trimester ended. You tried your best to push all worries about your rapidly changing body aside, in favor of your studies. To a point, it worked. You cranked out a few research papers and kept up on your reading, but not as efficiently as you may have wanted. Your body was operating at 100% all the time and you felt like an overheated laptop with the fan running at top speed.

The morning of your twenty-week checkup arrived far quicker than you hoped. You were noticeably pregnant, having put on a good ten extra pounds to support your passenger.

Your phone alarm sounded, telling you to greet the day. You'd been in and out of an uncomfortable state of half-consciousness all night.

"Good morning, my goddess." Hannibal cooed in his admittedly very sexy morning voice. He turned on his side and faced you.

Seeing him with bedhead was definitely the best part of waking up. But the delight quickly faded when you tried to turn on your side and realized you couldn't. You plopped back onto your back, seriously considering if any amount of money was worth this.

"Don't patronize me." You pouted, folding your arms.

"Patronize you?" He chuckled, pulling you into him. "Now why on earth would I do that?"

He cupped your head in his hand and stroked your cheek. "The most divine woman in the world is carrying my baby."

Before you could say anything, he brought his lips to yours. His other hand ran down your body, tracing the outline of your firm, round belly.

"And what an honor-" He whispered, weaving his fingers through your hair. "To have Venus herself descend from Olympia to carry my child."

You didn't want to unpack what he was saying. All you knew was you liked it. Your aches seemed to melt away under his touch and your worries dissipated with every word.

"My breasts are so swollen and heavy." You complained. "And they ache so much."

"Is that so?" Hannibal smiled hungrily and propped himself up on his elbows above you. "Well, what is to be done about that, Mrs. Lecter?"

You unbuttoned your pajama shirt, revealing your significantly larger breasts. You blushed and instinctively covered yourself.

Hannibal chuckled and effortlessly pulled your hands off your chest. He lowered his face to where your neck meets your shoulder and took a deep breath in. A pair of warm, gentle hands cupped your breasts.

"You're starting to produce." He observed, a little smile creeping on his face.

Before you could really register what he meant by that, his thumb began to stimulate your swollen nipple. A small drop of milk leaked out, dampening his finger. All you could do was turn red and whimper in embarrassment.

He brought his finger to his lips and tasted it.

"It's a bit thin, but my goodness, it's sweet." He said, as nonchalantly as if he were sampling ice cream.

"Only the best for our baby." You said.

That caught him off guard in the best way. Whether you were playing along or feeling genuinely maternal, he didn't care. He wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to gratify his crippling desire to feel like a father.

"Fuck, [F/N]." He cursed, looking at your protruding belly with awe. Not awe, but worship.

He cleared his throat, chasing away any strong emotions he may have let reveal themselves. "Never mind. Let's get ready to go to the doctor."

You swung your legs over the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Absolutely nothing, my darling." Hannibal said, lying professionally. "Everything is wonderful."

You push yourself to your feet and follow him into the bathroom. "Hannibal, please."

He turned around and leaned against the sink. "It's nothing that concerns you, love. Don't worry about it."

You folded your arms. "You don’t need to be a doctoral candidate to recognize deflection."

"So you don't." Hannibal said. "Darling, please understand that I have your best interests at heart. Even if it is at the expense of my desires."

"I see what this is." You nodded. "You want to keep the baby, don't you?"

"I didn't know how much I wanted a child until now." He admitted.

"But you know the emotional and physical toll it'll take on me." You finished.

"I don't know, actually." He corrected, face contorting with frustration. "Thus the basis of my hesitation. There are so many facets of life that can be molded to one's liking, but parenting-"

"I get it." You sighed. "So many things could go wrong, or right, and either way it would throw me off track."

"If I could relieve you of all of the burden of parenting this child, allowing you to step away and finish your schooling unfettered with domestic duties, I would." He said. "But if we're being honest, it's not like you would let me."

"Ruth Bader Ginsburg studied law at Harvard while taking care of a baby." You offered. "And her sick husband."

"I have no doubts in my mind that it is possible, nor that you're capable, darling." He assured you. "But I would never forgive myself if I let you burn yourself out before you even get a chance to take off."

"Okay, look." You took a deep breath. "Let's see what the obstetrician says, assess the risks, weigh the pros and cons and talk to Max and Archie. We will figure this out."

You were counting on the assumption that going for your twenty-week checkup would scare you out of any desires to keep the baby. They often did. The more time you spent with an ultrasound wand in your vagina, the more you became convinced that you'd become implanted with an alien parasite determined to destroy you from the inside.

"Good morning, Dr. And Mrs. Lecter." The obstetrician greeted you as she always did. You hadn't bothered to correct her to save yourself an awkward conversation. "Here for our twenty-week ultrasound, are we?"

"No, I'm here for the taco truck in the parking lot." You said, half-jokingly. The other half was thinking about tacos. "I just thought I'd lay down on this surgical table for fun."

"Good to see you're still hanging on to your sense of humor, [F/N]." She smirked. "Should we take a look under the hood?"

You fought the overwhelming urge to smack your belly like a car salesmen and say "this bad boy can fit so many fetuses in it". But given that there was only one fetus, that would be inaccurate.

The doctor emptied a tube of extra-freezing gel onto your stomach and readied the ultrasound wand. "Have you been feeling any kicks, Mrs. Lecter?"

You shrugged. "Maybe? I wouldn't know what that would feel like so I don't know."

She smiled warmly. "Trust me, you'll know. But don't worry about it. First pregnancies tend to take their time. When you have your next children, it will happen much faster."

"I think you mean," Hannibal said, voice hardening. "If she decides to have more children. Let's not be presumptuous."

The doctor noticed her mistake. "My apologies, Mrs. Lecter. I didn't mean to assume."

You kept your eyes on Hannibal, too afraid to look at the screen as the doctor searched around for a clear image.

“Oh my goodness, here it is!” She exclaimed with an ear-to-ear grin.

It took you a minute to make out exactly what she was pointing to. It looked more like a fucked-up Rorschach test than anything resembling a person. You didn't want to say it out loud, but she sensed your confusion.

"This big round part is the head." She said, pointing to the opposite end of the screen. "There's its spine, and there are its little hands and feet."

It hit you all at once. There was a person growing inside of you. And it had limbs, bones and a brain. You finally had the answer to the question "how did something come from nothing". It was right there in front of you.

"Wow." You said, dumbfounded. "My body made that?"

"Amazing, isn't it?" The doctor smiled, clearly still as enamored with her job as she was on day one.

"And it made that without my brain even thinking about it." You continued, trying not to go into a ramble. "That's actually pretty insane."

"I told you that you're a goddess." Hannibal whispered into your ear. "My divine feminine."

"Would you like to know the sex?" She asked.

“Sure.” You said, without really thinking about it. You looked back at Hannibal, who seemed pretty indifferent too.

“Congratulations, you’re having a girl.”

#hannibal x reader #hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal lecter x reader #pregnancy #domestic fluff #lactation #body worship #cult girl #cult girl 2 #cult girl doctorate #more cult girl

112 notes · View notes

sunmoonandeddie · 3 years

Text

oh, captain, my captain

pairing: professor!steve rogers x reader

word count: 2,090

summary: Steve Rogers got bored in his retirement, so he picked up the hobby of teaching art. But he still feels restless until his missing piece comes along.

warnings: swearing, little bit of smutty smut, dub-con, drinking, manipulation, steve is a little dark but reader is into it in the end

a/n: This is... a little darker than what most people expect from me. But I wrote this for a dear friend, so I really, really hope you all enjoy it!! Also, please read the warnings. I'm not responsible for your media consumption <3

Life after the Avengers was mundane.

Not that Steve didn’t like the quiet days, where he knew he wasn’t going to be running off and risking his life at any moment, mind you. In fact, he was finding that retirement rather suited him.

Except for the fact that he was bored.

Bucky and Sam were always busy on some kind of mission together, saving the world and splitting their time between Brooklyn, Washington D.C., and New Orleans. Or NOLA, as Buck liked to call it now.

Perhaps the boredom was why he took up art again. He did go to art school, after all, and had even graduated. It was after his first official professional art show that the university contacted him.

They wanted him to teach young minds how to make art.

It was the perfect solution to his boredom problem.

Of course, he should’ve realized that getting a new job wouldn’t make him feel complete. No, unfortunately, he hasn’t found the missing piece in his hundred years.

At least until you walked into his classroom on the first day.

Steve’s eyes focused on you immediately, enamored by the curve of your legs and the Cupid’s bow of your upper lip. “Hello, you,” he mumbled softly under his breath as he watched you sit down to what appeared to be a friend of yours. He scrolled through his attendance on the school supplied computer in front of him, raising his brows as he found the name next to your university ID picture.

A perfect name for a perfect girl.

Suddenly he felt the need to have a few figure drawing classes. Privately. With you. With your clothes off.

And maybe his clothes would be off, too.

He stood up as the clock finally hit one in the afternoon, holding his laptop. “Alright, please let me know if you’re here as I call your names,” he said, before going through the roster quickly.

When he called your name, and you responded with a soft, “Here!” he almost fucking came in his pants.

“Alright. In this class, as with many art classes, we’re going to get very… personal,” he said as he started to walk through the easels and those sitting in front of them. “So on the first day, rather than reading through the syllabus that’s readily available on your phone, I like to do some ice breakers.” He couldn’t help but grin at the collective groan that rang through the class. “I know, I know. But like I said, this class is going to get very personal. So come on, let’s all get in a little closer.”

“Do you mind?” You asked quietly as you scooted her stool in between two others that he couldn’t remember the names of. You gave them a blinding smile as they made room, perching in your seat like a little angel.

His little angel.

Everything seemed to be a blur as he led them in a series of questions, but he barely retained any information from anyone except you. At least he had his phone secretly recording in his pocket so he could go back and relisten later (even if it was mostly just to hear your voice.)

Favorite color?

“Green.”

Favorite holiday?

“New Year’s Eve.”

Favorite artist?

“Marilyn Minter.”

That was interesting to him. That showed that you had a naughty side.

A side he so desperately wanted to get to know.

The only issue was that he needed to find a way to get you alone, and that was going to take trust built up over time.

He was truthfully, absolutely amazed that it only took a few weeks before you were coming to him with wonder-filled eyes, asking him if you could please schedule some time during his office hours to go over some of your portfolio.

Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Hey, you made it,” he said when you walked in after a light knock on the door, your portfolio in hand. Steve stood and immediately pulled out the chair for you like a proper gentleman. Subtly, he took in a deep breath as the cloud of your perfume enveloped him like a warm hug.

It was something classy. Something you had clearly splurged on.

Perhaps Gucci or Valentino or something.

“I’m sorry for being late,” you said as Steve glanced at the clock.

You were maybe three minutes late at the most.

“The subway was delayed, and unfortunately, I can’t control when the subway stops and goes,” you continued, letting out a nervous laugh as you opened up your portfolio. “Did you get my email with my previous pieces?”

“Yes, I did!” He said as he sat back down at his desk. “And honestly, I haven’t been this impressed in a long, long time. I would love to possibly mentor you? Of course, that means a lot more hours spent with an old man like me.” Eyes crinkling, he couldn’t help but laugh when you laughed.

He was sure that he almost had you right where he wanted you. The corner you were backing yourself into was almost too perfect.

You seemed… amazed. Absolutely flabbergasted by his offer. “Really?” You breathed out, leaning closer, elbows resting on your knees. “You’d really do that? That would be… I… Thank you.” Shaking your head, you scooted your chair a little closer. “How much should I pay you? I’ve never had a personal mentor before.”

And there it was. The corner he wanted you in.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry about money,” he insisted as he looked deep into your eyes. It would be so easy to just get lost in them… “But, I do need assistance with something.”

“Of course!” You were like a doe-eyed little fawn, chasing him—the magnificent stag—through a field of wildflowers. “Whatever you want!”

Steve put on the most bashful, boy next door look he could muster. “Well… I’ve been trying to get back into figure drawing, but you’d be surprised at how hard it is finding a class to take that won’t freak out that I’m… you know. Steve Rogers.”

The look on you face let him know immediately there was no way you were going to say no. Hell, you were looking at him like he was the last puppy on the side of the road in a box that had ‘FREE’ written on the side.

In the rain.

“When do we start?”

Steve got everything set up in his home studio that night, only to sit until Friday night, when he’d planned for you to come over. Admittedly, he may have gone a little overboard with the mood lighting and the bottle of red wine that he’d left open on the counter to breathe, two crystal wine glasses resting next to it.

The good crystal.

He practically ran to the door when he heard the doorbell. “Hey, I was a little worried you would have trouble finding it,” he said as he guided you inside, a large hand coming to rest on the small of your back.

“Oh, I just Ubered,” you said, ducking your head as you let him lead you into his large home. “I don’t have a car. It’s too expensive and there’s no point when I live in the city. Though, the drive out here was absolutely gorgeous. I can see why you got a place a little bit upstate.”

Steve grinned, fighting the urge to say that it could also be your place. But that was for the future. “Yeah, the views and the quiet is worth the forty-five minutes or so I commute everyday.” He opened up the door to his home studio, all the windows wide open.

You wandered around the room, looking at the various art supplies and canvases scattered haphazardly around the room. In the very center was a chaise lounge with a blanket draped across it. “This is amazing… God, if I had my own art studio at home, I don’t think I’d ever leave.”

He poured out two glasses of wine, gently pressing one into your hands. “Well, you can always use this one. I have more space than I could probably ever use.” He sipped at his own wine, watching the way the glass pressed to your lips, watching the way you swallowed down the sweet liquid.

He couldn’t get drunk, but you certainly could.

It was around your third glass that he finally got to the point of why you were there. “So, I really want to paint you lying on this chaise,” he said as he guided you back. “But… Would it be possible for you to pose in the nude? You have just… the most natural beauty. I want to be able to only focus on that.”

“Oh my god, yeah!” You said as you set your glass of wine on the little table. With your inhibitions lowered, there was no hesitation as you stripped out of your clothing, tossing it all to the side. “You just move me how you want me.”

Oh, he would.

His own wine glass was set to the side before he moved closer, his eyes locked on yours. “Yeah?” He guided you to lie down on the bed, letting his fingers drift over your soft skin. “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous… Could just look at you forever…” His thumb brushed over one of your hard nipples, teasing the little peak as his cock ached inside his sweats. “I could never paint anything else except for you… and I’d die the happiest man in the world.” Carefully, gently, he moved your legs so one of your knees was bent, your legs spread wide for him.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your skin feeling flushed from the wine and the excitement of this god-like man touching you. “Mmm… Professor…”

Steve’s eyes were locked in on the prize, that blooming flower between your thighs, glistening with sweet nectar. “I always love a hands on approach,” he cooed as he ran a single finger through your folds, gathering up your slick.

The taste was exquisite.

Pretty moans fell from your lips, your back arching as your legs instinctively spread wider for him. “Please…”

He knew you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. It was fate, you walking into his class.

“Do you want me to touch you, baby girl?” He asked, loving the purr that rumbled in your chest as he found your swollen clit. “So needy… When’s the last time your pretty little kitty got so much attention, angel? You’ve been neglecting her, haven’t you?”

At your nod, you tried sitting up a bit, lip caught between your teeth. “Y-Yes. Please… Please.”

Steve quickly realized you didn’t even know what you were asking for.

“So innocent. So sweet,” he said as he wrapped his hands around your waist to pull you to the edge of the chaise. He leaned in and took in a deep breath, groaning. “I wanna be able to smell you for days.” At the first lick of his tongue, he knew he had you wrapped around his fingers.

And when you finally orgasmed, soaking his beard with your juices? Fuck. He was even more of a goner than he was before.

Steve loved the way that you laid limbless on the chaise, foot lazily bouncing as you dozed. It was easily a sight that he could get very, very used to very quickly. This was going to be so much easier than he thought it was going to be.

While he knew he was the right one for you, being able to know that you weren’t going to fight him gave him an amazing sense of relief.

The next week, he stood at his desk, making notes on his laptop. At five minutes to one, the door opened as the first student to arrive entered.

Immediately looking up, his heart sank. It wasn’t you.

Did you panic after you left his place the next morning? Nothing more had happened that night. Surely getting an orgasm wouldn’t freak you out, right?

His hands were starting to tremble when the door opened again, and he felt someone standing right next to him.

“Professor Rogers?”

His head snapped up, relief flooding him when he saw you. “H-Hello. How can I help you?”

A mischievous smile spread across your face, even though you were clearly trying to contain it. “Is there any possible way you have some free time during your office hours for me to swing by? I’d love to schedule our next figure painting session.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve x you

122 notes · View notes

thedeathdeelers · 3 years

Text

in your starlight (AO3)

“I had a dream about you once,” he said quietly into the dark room, the sleeping girl in his arms stirring awake.

“Mmfmm,” was the only reply he got.

“Yes, very much, mhm.” His lips twitched, eyes twinkling with the amusement and affection he felt for the girl.

A weak hand lightly swatted at his chest, then remained there, fingers curling into and bunching up his t-shirt. He smiled, entirely content with the way she was clutching onto him.

It was quiet again for a while, lying on Julie’s bed with her warm body draped haphazardly over his, the sound of her gentle breaths coming in and out extremely calming to Luke. If he really strained his ears, he could even hear her heartbeat - which was admittedly his favourite sound in the world.

“I thought ghosts didn’t sleep,” came the muffled answer a few minutes later, her face soundly pressed into his chest.

“Mm, you’re right. Ghosts don’t sleep.”

“Then how did you dream of me?” He’s not sure how, but Luke could just feel her brows furrowing as her sleep muddled brain tried to work through his words. He chuckled, the vibrations lulling Julie into a deeper sense of contentment.

“I dreamt of you back when I was still alive, back in the 90s.”

“That’s not possible. I wasn’t even alive back then.” She giggled, going quiet for a second. “Old man.” She continued laughing at her own joke, shaking slightly with the mirth escaping her body.

Luke couldn’t help but feel his chest warm up, his smile stretching even further across his face at the joy radiating off of Julie.

“Ha ha, you’re so funny, Julie-bean.” He pulled her closer against him once, her giggles intensifying before his arms slackened once again, still wrapped loosely around her. He waited for her giggles to subside, before continuing. “I’m not really sure how it’s possible, but I know for a fact that you were the girl in my dream.”

“Oh? How so?” She turned her head facing him, her face no longer pressed against his chest.

He shrugged, not seeming too worried about the improbability of his statement. “I just do.” Luke lifted an arm off her waist, reaching over to move a few curls blocking Julie’s face from his gaze. “Remember that night the other week, when we spent it lying on your terrace, stargazing?”

“The night we finally figured out our ‘interesting little relationship’.”

He hummed in reply, the arm still wrapped around her tightening its hold on the girl with his heart.

“Yeah.” Even in the dark he could still see the incredible depths to her eyes, staring back at him. He could even convince himself that he sometimes got glimpses of her soul, a pure shining light guiding him out of the darkness.

“I had a dream the summer before we- well, the summer before the Orpheum. It’s the only dream I’ve ever managed to vaguely remember. In it I remember lying down on a blanket, next to this beautiful girl as we stargazed on that same roof terrace. Back then I was confused, it felt like it was Bobby’s house, but at the same time I knew it wasn’t.”

He paused for a few seconds, remembering the feelings that washed over him in his dream. His hand, still wrapped in her curls, let go so he could trace the soft curve of her cheek, his eyes intent on hers.

“Turns out I was right - it was Bobby’s house, but also wasn’t. It was Bobby’s house 26 years into the future.”

She sat up a little, shifting and coming to rest on her elbow so she could look at him better, still careful not to move away from their embrace.

“Wait, hold on - What do you mean? As in you had a dream about the future? The future where you are a ghost?”

He shrugged again, a soft smile on his lips as his eyes roamed her face.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. I was somehow lucky enough to get a sneak peek at what was waiting for me.” His hand lightly trailed her jaw line before coming to rest against her cheek.

“Death? Living life in limbo as a ghost?” Her voice quiet, a sad tinge to it. Her head tilted, snuggling her cheek against his palm.

“No. You.”

“But...”

“No, none of the rest matters. I have you, and that’s the only thing that matters to me.”

Julie lifted the hand that rested against his chest, placing it over the hand that still held her face. “But how are you so sure?”

“When you, dream you, future you, turned around to look at me, your eyes - I don’t know if I can explain it but I- it really felt like I finally found my way home.”

Luke shook his head slightly, still in awe of the feelings Julie pulled out of him.

“It’s hard to explain but yeah. Everything about that dream felt natural, and everything I did or say was just guided by instinct.”

“But that doesn’t mean it was me. Just a dream girl your mind conjured up for you.” She flopped back down, her cheek coming to rest on his shoulder. His hand followed suit, still cradling her other cheek.

“I mean sure, but I’ve only ever had one dream girl, and that’s you. Plus I’d like to think I’d recognise those eyes and that smile anywhere, even before knowing who you were.” Luke paused for a second, eyeing Julie’s skeptical look, before trying again.

“Alright, you know how I’ve told you that you make me a better writer?”

“We make each other better,” she mumbled into his shirt.

“Yes, sure. But I really meant it - these last few months, writing with you has made me feel like I’m invincible. Every song I try to tackle I somehow manage to finish, because you’re there with just the right word, or the perfect melody.” He stopped to make sure she was still following, her gaze unwavering.

“I remember waking up from that dream, being the most inspired I’d ever been in my entire life. It was like I couldn’t write fast enough, the words and the chords and the melodies just...flowing out of me.”

“That doesn’t mean anything...”

“It would if you’d let me finish.” He stuck his tongue out at her, and she returned the favour barely a second later.

“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, I couldn’t stop writing. And the minute I took a break and just pictured your eyes staring at me in the dark, another wave of inspiration would hit and I’d be scribbling away like my life depended on it. By the end of it I had like 4 pages full to the brim with ideas, which lead to the first song on the EP.”

It was quiet for a while, Julie seemingly processing his words, while Luke was happy just to watch her, his own personal muse. His hand shifted, letting go of her cheek so that his fingers could trace down her jawline.

He broke the silence, wanting to make sure she fully understood what he was saying.

“You’ve been my inspiration from the very beginning Jules. Way before you were even born.” He bopped her on the nose, for good measure.

“You wrote a song about me?” Her voice was small, almost shy. He laughed.

“I’ve written many songs about you. But yeah, In Your Starlight was one of the 5 songs included in Sunset Curve’s first official EP. I know Alex said I wasn’t a romantic, and I’m not, or at least wasn’t - but that song’s the closest thing I’ve ever gotten to writing a love song.”

“I’d like to hear it.” A yawn made its way out, her hand quickly smacking itself against her mouth.

“We’ve got all the time in the world, Jules. But I think for now it’s time for the human to go to sleep.”

“But I don’t wanna go to sleep,” came her automatic reply. And although Julie was very obviously tired, she still managed to inject a little whine into her voice, ending her sentence with an adorable little pout.

Luke had to try very hard to restrain himself from kissing away her pout, knowing full well that she needed her sleep, first and foremost. He could pepper her face with kisses as much as he wanted to the moment it was time for her to wake up. For now though, he had to make sure she got enough sleep.

So he did the one thing he knew was a sure way to nudge her into unconsciousness: he slowly started rubbing circles on her back, sometimes switching and drawing little stars with his finger, constantly keeping up with the repetitive movements.

Not even five minutes later, the girl of his dreams was asleep, her hands back to gripping onto the front of his shirt, her head snuggled onto his chest.

He may not understand the way of the universe, but he knew one thing for certain: he had somehow managed to dream up his dream girl, and have her waiting for him on the other side.

——

you were like a shooting star,

blazing across my darkened sky,

i closed my eyes and made a wish,

now here you are in front of me,

please let me stay close by your side,

forever basking in your starlight

——

taglist: @moreflowersthanweeds , @thesunsetcurvephantom , @fanfics-she-wrote , @pink-flame , @molinashimbos , @ourstarscollided , @ace-bookworm , @williexmercer , @star-astro , @phantomsandsunsets , @heademptynothoughts , @i-thought-i-knew-what-love-was , @candycornmgg , @blush-and-books , @radioactive-rosh, @tmp-jatp

#jatp #juke #jatp fics #julie and the phantoms #otp: you’re music to me #luke patterson #julie molina #julie x luke #luke x julie #my fics #shoutout to ophelia & snædís for their feedback #and major shoutout to t for helping me with the lyrics 🥰♥️#thedeathdeelers fics

92 notes · View notes

morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Note

request for you -> no. 65 💗💜💙

holly's august extravaganza day 20: can't smile without you

thank you! this is a follow-up to my previous fic a hole where your memory goes

65) “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can barely fucking breathe because they’re gone and it’s my fault. And god knows what they’re doing to them right now and I’m just sitting here doing nothing!” (from this list)

ao3 | 1.6k | angst with a happy ending, supportive firefam, kidnapping, mentioned amputation

before.

Carlos would be lying to himself if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him before. He has always worried for TK’s safety, and the knowledge that a serial killer is on the loose in Austin has sent that worry skyrocketing. Especially because he’s the lead detective on the case; he’s spent hours poring over horrific crime scenes, examining all the facts until they’re burned into his brain.

Admittedly, the killers seem to be mostly indiscriminate in who they take, meaning the chances of it being TK are slim.

But there’s still a chance.

Carlos doesn’t like the thought of TK going out alone anymore, but he tries to push down his protective instincts to normal levels, for TK’s sake. TK thinks he’s being ridiculous—but then, TK only knows what the news has said about the case. Carlos has refused to talk about it at home, mostly because he’s not supposed to, but also because he doesn’t want to scare his husband.

He won’t admit it, but Carlos is scared enough for the both of them.

But as the case wears on and no new leads appear, things change. The fear… It doesn’t get lesser, or disappear, but it becomes something he’s used to; something, really, he’s been used to ever since they first began dating all those years ago. And the thing about being a detective—the person who investigates and solves the crimes—is that it’s easy to believe that these are things that happen to other people.

Carlos knows he’s not invincible. But there’s something about his job that has him marking out his home as a safe bubble, where the horrors he sees on the daily can’t enter.

Later, when he thinks back on it all, he won’t remember the moment he let himself get so lax. What he will remember, all too clearly, is the moment he lost everything.

“Babe, I’m going out!” TK shouts, his voice reaching Carlos where he’s washing up in the kitchen. “I’ll be back soon; don’t wait up.”

Carlos smiles, but doesn’t turn around, knowing TK will probably be halfway out the door by now anyway. “Have a good run,” he says instead. Seconds later, he hears the door shut and lock, and he carries on with his night. His shift had been long, so he goes to bed pretty quickly, certain in the knowledge that, when he wakes up, TK will be by his side again, as always.

He wakes up at two am to a cold bed, and Carlos’s world crumbles.

during.

Seventy-three days after TK’s disappearance, Carlos is sitting in the firehouse kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee and wondering what, exactly, he’s doing here. He should be at work, going over the case, doing everything he can to find TK; not here, the one place he hasn’t set foot in since that awful day.

“Carlos,” Paul said, surprise colouring his voice. He narrowed his eyes, clearly noting the grief hanging heavy around Carlos, and a brief fear flickered across his expression. “Is everything okay?”

Carlos swallowed, unable to meet Paul’s eyes. “I, uh. Is Owen around?”

“Yeah, he’s in his office. You can head on up if you want.”

He nodded and took a step forward, before being suddenly hit by a realisation. “Actually, Paul?” he asked. “Could you gather everyone? You all deserve to hear this from me, but I don’t think I have the strength to say it twice.”

Paul’s eyes widened, the fear returning in full force. Carlos knew he must have joined the dots by now—TK not showing up for work, Carlos appearing, looking, probably, wrecked… There was only one conclusion to be drawn.

Even so, Carlos didn’t think any of them would have imagined something this bad, and the looks on their faces when they found out broke him all over again.

He sighs and stares down into his coffee, swirling the cooling dregs around the mug. He doesn’t want to be here; even now, seventy-three days afterwards, part of him still thinks he’s going to look up and see him walking around the corner. The feeling is even worse at home, but Carlos only really goes there to sleep and, occasionally, eat. TK’s nightstand is still occupied by the book he was reading, his shoes lie abandoned by the front door, his shampoo going untouched next to Carlos’s own.

The memories there threaten to suffocate him, so he chooses to let them gather dust.

The firehouse is quiet, and there’s an itch in Carlos’s bones telling him to get up and get going. He grits his teeth and tries to force himself to stay put, for his friends’ sake if nothing else, but it’s an impossible task, and he ends up shoving himself out of the chair. For once, no-one is around to spot him, so he turns, fully intent on sneaking out, when his eyes catch on the 126’s memorial wall.

It’s the same as it has been for years, Tim’s photo right alongside those of the old 126. A thought enters Carlos’s mind, unbidden, and it sticks in his head, keeping his gaze locked on the wall.

How long until TK ends up there too?

Carlos’s breath trembles, his hands bunching into fists at his side. The rest of the firehouse fades into background noise until all Carlos can see is the wall of photos and the memory of TK’s voice on the night he left.

Judd appears from seemingly nowhere, Carlos jumping when his hands land on his shoulders. “Sit.”

“No,” Carlos protests, shoving at Judd. “No, let me go.”

But Judd just folds his arms and refuses to budge, looking down at Carlos with a mixture of sympathy and determination in his eyes. “Look, Carlos, I have no idea what you’re going through,” he says, “but you’re running yourself into the ground and you’re going to burn out. TK—”

“Don’t.” Carlos grits his teeth, glaring at Judd. “Don’t say it. You all—You all keep saying the same shit, but I’m pretty sure the only thing TK wants right now is to be away from wherever they’re keeping him. And it’s my job to do that for him! Judd, it is literally my job to find these people and I just keep failing and I should be out there; I should be looking for him, so just—just let me go!”

“Carlos, you need to calm down.”

“Calm down?” There’s a sob building in Carlos’s chest, the ever-present ache growing until it eclipses anything else he has inside him. “I can’t calm down, and you know what else? I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can barely fucking breathe because he’s gone and it’s my fault. And god knows what they’re doing to him right now and I’m just sitting here doing nothing! I’m sitting here, drinking coffee, when he’s—he’s—”

The words stick in his throat and Carlos gives in to the tears, letting the emotion overwhelm him. His legs give out and he slumps back down in the chair by the kitchen island, saved from sliding to the floor by Judd, who cradles Carlos’s head against his chest. Judd’s uniform is probably getting soaked, but he makes no complaint, simply holding Carlos as he cries.

“I know,” he shushes, rubbing a large hand in circles on Carlos’s back. “I know.”

He doesn’t, but Carlos takes solace in it anyway.

after.

Carlos chews on his lip, anxiously watching as TK is settled in his wheelchair. It’s been a month since TK came home from the hospital, and the first time he’s going out without Carlos.

“Ready, Strand?” Judd asks. TK nods, and time feels like it slows down as Judd grips onto the chair’s handles, muscles tensing to push.

“Wait!” He seizes a blanket from the couch—TK’s favourite—and rushes over, kneeling down in front of his husband. “You’ll get cold.”

It’s true; after all the weight he lost, TK feels the cold so much more these days. He knows that TK, and probably some of the crew, thinks he’s being over-protective, but Carlos is terrified of him getting sick. Of losing him, for good this time. So he tucks the blanket around TK’s leg, the other one’s absence still glaring after all this time, giving more attention to the task than it warrants.

He’s stopped by a hand slipping into his, and he looks up to meet TK’s eyes, brilliant green shining with understanding.

“Carlos,” he murmurs, squeezing his hand gently. “It’s okay. Y—You don’t—have to—w—w—” TK frowns, his face scrunching up in frustration as his tongue refuses to cooperate, and Carlos reaches out to caress his face.

“I know,” he says softly. “I’ll see you later, okay? Love you.”

Every instinct Carlos possesses protests as he watches TK disappear out the door once more, and he takes an involuntary step forward. But Paul and Grace, both of whom insisted on keeping him company, place a hand on each of his shoulders, gently but firmly guiding him towards the couch.

“I—I don’t…”

“He’ll be fine, Carlos,” Grace says, sitting next to him. “Let us take care of you, now.”

Paul walks over with a bowl of something steaming, practically forcing it into his hands. “I’m gonna tell you right now, I’ll be real offended if you don’t eat that, Reyes. I didn’t spend hours slaving over it for you to turn your nose up because you got used to all that gourmet shit they serve in the hospital.”

Carlos laughs weakly, taking the proffered fork. Between the hospital and TK’s strict diet while he gets used to food again, he hasn’t had a proper meal in a while; he didn’t think he had the appetite for one, but the spicy aroma wafting from the bowl sets his stomach growling.

They eat, and they talk, and it seems like normality might be in reach once more.

An hour later, TK comes home.

And Carlos finally starts to feel safe again.

43 notes · View notes

thewhumperinwhite · 3 years

Text

And Then You Kill Me (part 5)

story masterpost

TW for: referenced dubcon; guilt and self-hatred; suicidal behavior; angst and misunderstandings; under-negotiated sexual behavior. Nothing directly nsfw here but it is very much The Morning After.

@whumpitywhumpwhump @favwhumpstuff

----

Usually, the morning after he eats, Karim sits on the roof with a cup of coffee and watches the sun rise.

It’s half indulgence and half penance. He can’t actually drink the coffee, which makes the smell exactly halfway between comfort and torture. And, depending on the…volume, he guesses, of the person he’s fed from, he can only stand the sun for about an hour on a clear day. Though sometimes he stays longer than that, to feel it prickle and burn against his skin. It depends on how much he feels like a thief, how much his mouth still tastes like lies.

This morning, of course, is different.

On the one hand, he isn’t as full as he normally is. It’s cloudy out, but he still needs the sunglasses he borrowed from Diana ages ago, that take up half his face; and he pulls a cap down low over his ears and forehead, too, for good measure.

On the other hand, he didn’t say a thing last night that wasn’t true, and that feels so good he’s almost drunk on it.

There’s warmth in his belly that’s more than blood.

Karim leans forward, cradling the still-hot mug against his chest, and squints down at the street below him. There’s a little shop on the corner, where he goes for batteries sometimes; they sell some simple groceries. Karim’s never had a reason to buy them before. He can’t think of any reason he’d like better than this.

----

Art wakes up with a screaming headache and absolutely no idea where he is.

Which. What he’s learning—what it feels like it’s taking him forever to learn—is that no matter how many times you wake up naked on someone else’s couch and don’t remember how you got there, it never gets easier or better.

And then he does remember. And that’s much worse.

----

Karim pauses inside the door, in the act of setting down the single bag of food and drink he’s bought. He’s just realized that orange juice belongs in the refrigerator, and he doesn’t actually have one of those. He doesn’t eat, and it hadn’t seemed worth the electricity.

Possibly the boy can drink it all in one go? It’s been so long since Karim’s drunk anything that comes out of a bottle, he isn’t actually sure how much—

He’s still standing there, in the doorway, holding Diana’s sunglasses in one hand and the carton in the other, and then a lamp hits him in the side of his head.

It doesn’t hit hard enough to rock him backward, but it does crack in half, and land at his feet in three big pieces.

Karim stares for a moment, down at the wreckage, and then up to the bathroom doorway, where the boy he picked up from the docks is standing. He’s wearing his sweatshirt again, and he’s trembling.

“What was that for?” says Karim. The boy’s face twists.

“We had a deal,” the boy says, and that’s when Karim realizes that the boy is shaking because he’s very, very angry.

“…Huh?” Karim says. It’s the wrong answer, apparently; the boy makes an unintelligible noise and lunges for a ceramic vase sitting on a nearby end table. Karim scrambles to set the orange juice and sunglasses down (Diana likes these glasses, and she’s terrifying when she’s angry) and throw his hands up in surrender. “Woah—Hey wait!” The boy pauses, holding the vase like a grenade. He’s swaying slightly under its weight. Presumably like someone who’s lost about a liter and a half of blood. Karim kind of can’t believe he’s even on his feet right now.

“…I bought you some orange juice,” Karim says, hesitantly. “The internet says it’s good for—”

The boy throws the vase.

“Oh my god!” Karim says, ducking into the kitchen, more by instinct than any actual fear of injury. (He is full of blood and almost indestructible; and also the boy aims like someone who has lost thirty percent of their blood by volume.) “What is your problem?”

The boy gapes at Karim, and has to grab the bathroom doorway to steady himself.

“My problem,” he gasps, sounding like he wants to shout it but is too out of breath. “Did I fucking stutter last night, you asshole?” He presses his hand to his temple and closes his eyes; his head must feel like a rotten melon by now. “What part of dead by sunrise was too fucking complicated for you?”

Karim blinks at the boy. Feels borrowed blood rise into his cheeks.

“Oh, that,” Karim says. “I, um…” He has no idea what to say. “…Sorry?”

His apology—which is half-hearted, admittedly; for once it hadn’t even occurred to him to feel guilty about this—hits the boy like a blow to the stomach, and the boy covers his face with one hand and slides down the bathroom doorframe until he’s sitting in a little heap on the floor. Wearing his still-damp sweatshirt and nothing else, his bare legs splayed out to either side. He looks—small, and less alive, and ah yes, there’s the guilt Karim has been missing.

“—so fucking stupid,” the boy mutters, into his hand.

Karim puts the juice down on the counter. He wants to move closer, but that cannot possibly be what the boy wants right now.

“God dammit,” the boy says, and he turns away from Karim, and climbs forward, easing himself back up to his feet against the wall. “Fuck this,” he says, and then Karim realizes he’s crawling-stumbling-falling toward the door, like he’s going to leave that way, swaying and half-naked.

“Woah,” Karim says, darting out to catch at the boy’s shoulder, “Hold on a s—”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” the boy spits, spinning away from Karim’s touch. His back is against the front door again, like it was when he opened up so sweet and easy under Karim’s mouth and hands—what, six hours ago? Less? The boy is incandescent with rage for a second, his eyes—they’re green, an ordinary alive-person green, shot through with brown, and achingly pretty—almost glowing with it, and then his face shutters like an empty house and he says, voice cold and precise, “Get out of my way.”

Karim hadn’t even realized he was in his way. But the door opens in, so the boy really can’t get out unless Karim moves. Karim holds his hands up instead, leaning back out of the boy’s space.

“Just—just wait a second, okay?” Karim says. He tries to pitch his voice as low and nonthreatening as possible, like he isn’t looming over the boy whether he wants to or not. “Let’s just—can we just talk about this for a second.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” the boy says. He’s supporting himself against the door, but if Karim didn’t already know he wouldn’t guess how unsteady on his feet the boy is; his voice is steady and flat and colder than Father’s basement in January. “It’s my own fault for being so fucking dumb and gullible, fair enough, glad that worked out for you, now back the fuck off.” That last part is said with so much sudden venom that Karim actually does stumble back a step without really meaning to.

“Gullible,” Karim repeats stupidly, like if he can understand just one word of what the boy is yelling at him this will all make sense suddenly. And then—suddenly—it does, and he gapes at the boy.

“Wait,” Karim says. “Do you—you think I was lying?” He almost expects the boy to deny it, except the boy is still giving him that same flat, blank look (with incomprehensible emotion underneath it, disgust and anger and maybe even hurt). “What—why on earth would I have—”

The boy looks at him. There are splotches of color in his cheeks, and his eyes are slightly too bright, and when Karim stares at him he tugs the hem of his sweatshirt down just a little farther, like he’s trying to cover his ass.

Karim takes a step back, dropping his hands to his sides.

“I wasn’t,” he says, nonsensically. “This is—Boy. I swear to you. I did not say a single thing last night that wasn’t true.”

There are big raised welts on either side of the boy’s throat, where Karim’s fangs went into him last night. The boy must have seen them, if he was in the bathroom; his reflection works just fine. They don’t look like hickeys or bruises or anything other than what they are. There’s no way the boy shouldn’t believe him, this one time when he only took what was given willingly, and not even all of that. There’s no way—

“Then explain it to me, asshole,” the boy says, and his voice is shaky with unshed tears. “Explain the world where everything you said is true, and I’m not dead yet.”

Karim wants—Karim wants. Karim wants to reach out and touch the boy. Karim wants to hold the boy gently, wants to wrap him up in something warm and safe until he tells him why he talks that way, why he wants to give his life—this thing he has that Karim doesn’t, that Karim won’t ever again—away so badly his voice trembles like that whenever he talks about it.

“It’s,” Karim says. His Father is always in despair about how bad he is with words. “Well, it’s just—I like you.”

Karim hasn’t told a lie in almost eight hours, now. This isn’t a lie, either.

The boy’s eyes go wide, surprise and then fear and then anger, and then without warning he dives down, flops onto his knees, grabs a shard of the shattered vase, and jerks it toward his own throat.

“No!” Karim grabs the boy’s wrist, too hard; it creaks alarmingly in his grasp, but the jagged ceramic piece falls from his hand and clatters to the ground. He wants to let go—the boy is far too still, his eyes too wide, and Karim already knows his wrist will bruise—but he can’t. There’s too much broken pottery and glass, and the boy is such a fragile thing.

The boy stares up at Karim. He is kneeling wide-eyed at Karim’s feet, and Karim can hear his shallow too-fast breath and his hummingbird heart, and it is almost more than he can bear.

The boy doesn’t scream, though; he doesn’t even call Karim a monster, or any of the other things Karim deserves. What he says, his voice tight, is, “They’ll find me,” and then, soft and desperate, meeting Karim’s light bulb eyes with his pretty dull alive ones, “Please.”

Karim doesn’t let go of the boy’s wrist. He gets carefully to his knees beside him, instead, meeting the boy’s gaze like it doesn’t even hurt.

“I’ve been killing in this city for nine years now,” he says, and there’s fear in the boy’s eyes, but still no fear of him. “They’ve never caught me.”

The boy’s eyes flicker. Karim has no idea with what. But this is the moment. He throws caution to the winds.

“Give me a week,” he says.

The boy stares at him.

“I like you,” he says again. The boy’s pounding heart hasn’t sped or slowed, so Karim keeps going. “You’re—I’ve never met anyone like you.” That’s true, like everything else he’s said, but he knows the boy won’t like it, so he presses ahead, fighting hard not to trip over his words. “I want to spend a week with you. Not to—we can do whatever you want. I won’t touch any way you don’t want me to. I know how to hide in this city better than anyone, no one will know where you are. And at the end of the week—” He swallows; he doesn’t want this to be a lie, but also the thought of it turns his stomach; he makes himself say it anyway. “And at the end of the week, I’ll kill you any way you ask me to. I promise.”

There’s a too-long moment of silence. The boy’s heart flutters painfully, and neither of them blink.

“…a week,” the boy says slowly, after an eternity.

Karim nods, maybe frantically.

The boy pulls his hand delicately out of Karim’s grip; Karim, useless heart pounding, lets him.

“For a week,” the boy says, “you’d better give me the flashiest murder scene in history.”

Karim grins, so hard it almost hurts his face. “Flashy,” he says, giddy and stupid. “I can do that.”

#and then you kill me #vampire whump #emotional whump #blood loss #suicidal whumpee #guilt and self hate #misunderstandings #the morning after #self destructive behavior #sexy vampires #whump #original whump #suicide tw

28 notes · View notes

joyandthephantoms · 3 years

Text

please don't hint that you're capable of lies

Words: 1.3k

Rating: teen and up (for language)

Characters: Bobby Wilson, Luke Patterson

Pairing: Luke/Bobby

Summary:

“Right, because it’s much better to hear me bitch about how my best friend spent 3 months slipping notes into my journal and walking me to class and sticking his tongue in my mouth because he pities me,” Luke spits.

In Bobby’s defense, this isn’t where he thought asking Luke out would land them.

(ao3 link in reblog)

“Seriously, dude, what the fuck?” Luke says. “How could you do that?”

Bobby’s fought with Luke plenty of times before—can’t even imagine what their relationship would look like without the constant push and pull that comes from being too stubborn and too proud and caring for each other too much—but he’s not sure that he’s ever made him this furious.

“You told me you liked me,” Luke says. “I didn’t ask, you just said—this was your idea. You made me think you wanted this.”

In Bobby’s (admittedly very weak) defense, this isn’t where he thought asking Luke out would land them. He’s not sure he thought about it much at all, just that he’d seen Luke, two weeks out of a bad breakup with a worse girl, making eyes at that asshole Michael from across the cafeteria, and he’d snapped.

The words were out of Bobby’s mouth before he had time to think about later or about whether or not this was a good idea at all or about the fact that he wasn’t actually into Luke and that might be a problem. “So, Patterson, are you gonna let me take you on a date or what?” As if they’d been talking about it the whole time. As if his reasoning was something beyond I can at least be a better boyfriend than Michael fucking Hoffacker.

What he should say now is “I’m sorry.” It’s “I don’t really know what I was thinking but I just didn’t want to see you get hurt again and I guess I figured this would only last a couple months before you found someone better and moved on so it wouldn’t matter anyway, but either way you’re right and I was an asshole and I should have been honest with you and I’m sorry.”

It’s definitely not: “I don’t know, maybe I was sick of hearing you bitch about people who clearly aren’t good for you all the time. Maybe I wanted a fucking break, okay?”

It takes effort to not bite back again, to not say something else that he doesn’t mean—because he really didn’t mean it like that, didn’t mean it like caring about you is a burden, like it’s your fault they hurt you.

He’s trying hard not to do what he always does, acting like the asshole the other person wants him to be because it’s simpler for everyone that way. But without that, he’s lost, and he really has nothing to say for himself here. He’s stupid, he’s so stupid, and he should have thought this through for even half a second before he went and fucked everything up.

He wants to tell Luke he’s got it all wrong, that no, he does like him like that, he does now, but he can’t, because—because Luke isn’t wrong. Whatever Bobby feels now doesn’t make it untrue that he lied when he asked Luke out in the first place; it doesn’t make him less of a dick.

Every half-baked explanation and apology gets jumbled together and stuck in his throat and all he can get out is a too-quiet “I don’t pity you.”

“Then what? You were trying to protect me? I’m not a fucking kid, Bobby.”

Something twists in Bobby’s stomach, because how many times has Luke had this same fight with his parents? How many times has Bobby sat beside him and listened to him recount those fights and affirmed the same things he’s repeating right now?

He might be the worst friend on the planet.

Luke keeps talking. “Look, I get that I don’t—I’m not—I know I made some bad choices with who I dated, I know they sucked. But you and your savior complex don’t just get to swoop in and lead me on for months to try to fix me.”

“Luke, I—”

“How long were you gonna let me think it was real?” Luke’s an angry crier, and honestly, it’s a miracle they got this far without any tearshed. But his voice is thick now, his eyes wet and his jaw clenched tight.

It makes Bobby feel helpless, the way Luke’s looking at him. Hurt and angry and pleading, like he’s simultaneously begging Bobby to say something to make this right and daring him to speak another word. Bobby reaches for his hand, because it’s instinct, and because he’s an idiot.

Luke yanks it back, glaring at Bobby like he slapped him. “Forget it. Fuck this, I’m done.” He pulls his flannel a little closer as he ducks past Bobby to shove the door open with his shoulder.

He pauses halfway out and turns back. “You know that pretending your feelings don’t mean anything doesn’t make you a hero, right? It just makes you a different kind of asshole.” He wipes his eye with the heel of his hand. “Save me some trouble next time and don’t fucking lie to me.” He turns back around and lets the door fall shut behind him.

Bobby sinks onto the couch, buries his face in his hands.

Fuck.

It’s past midnight when Luke lets himself back into the studio. He didn’t want to come back at all, but it’s not like he had any other options. Going home is off the table, for obvious reasons; Reggie’s parents are . . . volatile, to say the least; and Alex’s will flip if they catch him with a guy in his bedroom.

He thought about staying out all night, chasing music and doing everything he could to push Bobby from his mind. But Bobby thinks he’s an idiot who can’t take care of himself, and Luke isn’t going to prove him right by going on a self-destructive spiral at the very first chance he gets.

So he’s back in Bobby’s garage. There are clean sheets on the couch and a stack of neatly folded extra blankets beside it, and every angry feeling comes rushing back because fuck Bobby for taunting him like this, like: Wow, see what a fucking perfect boyfriend I am? Too bad I don’t love you for real, huh?

There’s a note on top of the blankets. Luke’s tempted to crumple it up and toss it away without looking at it, but he knows there’s no chance in hell he’ll be able to sleep if he’s wondering about what it says. So he reads.

Luke,

I fucked up. I’m sorry.

I don’t have an excuse for lying to you. I was an idiot because I didn’t want to see you get hurt again, and I hurt you, and I’m sorry.

I’m not trying to make this about myself, but you were right that ignoring how I felt made me an asshole. You know I hate being sappy, but I owe it to you to at least tell you that none of this is pretend.

I started everything out all wrong, but I meant it when I said your energy is magnetic, onstage and off, and I meant it when I said that being around you makes me feel like I belong in my own skin, and I meant it when I kissed you last night and the night before that and the night before that.

You don’t have to give me a second chance. You don’t have to ever talk to me again. But I wanted to make sure you had the facts straight first. So. Now you know.

Ball’s in your court.

Love, Bobby

Luke stares. He didn’t know Bobby Wilson was even capable of that much vulnerability at once.

He groans and shrugs his flannel back on, because he needs to go have a long conversation with his boyfriend.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #my writing #lukebobby

53 notes · View notes

fernsplaysthings · 3 years

Text

Another continuation of my YW x Crow fluff from here.

Definitely suggestive this time.

By the time Kestral had reached street level they were beginning to wonder if Roost was right and that this was an ill thought out idea. Yes, the conversation with the other two members of Fireteam Mayhem (and their nosey Ghosts) had been somewhat emotionally charged and had opened the floodgates on a rush of feelings that they weren’t exactly ready to approach in a measured way but they still felt the need to try and…

Kestral didn’t even know what they were going to say to him when they eventually found themself at the H.E.L.M. Not even just what words to use. They hadn’t exactly worked out what they were trying to convey. What needed addressing. Everything was fine as it was, right? They hadn’t felt as connected with another person as they did with Crow. Not since Artemis and Salome and that was lifetimes ago. He tugged on their heartstrings in all the best ways. They cared for him in ways that made their chest ache, their stomach flutter, and their brain go fuzzy.

Again, Roost wasn’t exactly incorrect when he’d suggested that perhaps those feelings ran a little deeper and in a different direction to how Kestral expressed them out loud but they couldn’t see themself throwing out the ‘L word’ on a whim either.

With enough drink they knew it could be a possibility that it’d just slip out by accident and ruin a perfectly good thing, but that could be avoided.

Did that mean it was true if they were more likely to say it while drunk?

Realising they’d now walked several times around the block to burn off their nervous butterflies and straighten out their thoughts Kestral stopped, hating the direction their mind had headed, and looked up towards the Tower. There would never be a good reason to keep guessing and speculating on these things while the solution was right there. Even if some of the fear was because somewhere deep down they were afraid of rejection. Even if a lot of the fear was because they knew that there’d always be the possibility they could hurt Crow in so many ways without even meaning to.

A little voice in the back of their head reminded them that they could trust the other Hunter with anything, this included, and that was exactly what they needed to get their feet working again to push them towards the Tower.

-----

Without their armour and weapons to hand, Kestral felt out of place in the H.E.L.M. It was a weird sense of vulnerability to walk through a place dedicated to battle, survival and strategy as a civilian when they’d usually be one of the larger presences at the wartable. Vulnerability was exactly why they were here though, and while admittedly of a different kind it did seem appropriate in a round and about way.

As expected Crow was in his shadowed alcove at the back of the main hall, perched on the bench nearby with Glint at his side chattering away brightly.

The sight brought a goofy grin to Kestral’s face as they approached, widening even more as the other Hunter looked up at the sound of footsteps and cleared the space between them in a couple of strides. Although he tried to hold back, to seem cool and collected as he stood before them, the softest look of adoration made itself clear on his face when he noted the other’s smile.

“You’re in a good mood,” chirped Glint, popping himself between the pair and looking from one to the other.

Crow pushed back his hood and rubbed at his neck, taming his expression enough that Glint probably wouldn’t tease him about it later, “It’s...nice to see you smiling.”

Their heart did something messy and fluffy at his awkwardness and for a moment that fuzzy feeling took over their thoughts enough to give them pause and cause Glint to take a longer, more concerned look at them.

“Sorry, just wanted to swing by and see you guys.”

“We’re glad you did! Aren’t we Crow?”

He’d gathered himself enough to nod, “Actually I was going to talk to you later anyway. Zavala’s got me doing some recon stuff.”

The fuzzy feeling subsided rapidly and their heart dropped, “Oh. Anything interesting?”

He shrugged, “I’m not really allowed to share the details. I’ll be off-world for a while though.”

It really shouldn’t have bothered them as much as it did. They were off on other planets and moons all the time and it’d never bothered them before. Not that they didn’t miss him before they got back or think about him during the quieter times but still…

“That’ll be Zavala’s way of looking out for you,” they sighed, that vulnerability seeping in deeper, making them want to tug their hoodie around them and hide, “It’ll be some good experience. Doing a bit of field work for the Vanguard and all that.”

Something about their body language had obviously given away their unease to the other Hunter even though they’d thought they’d hidden it particularly well. His gloved knuckles brushed over their cheek, pushing back the stray hair beside their face, fingertips running down their neck to rest his palm against their shoulder.

Despite the heaviness in their chest, the gesture still sparked a shiver across their skin.

“I didn’t want to head off without letting you know,” he added softly, “I know you do this all the time so it’s probably no big deal and...am I being stupid?”

Kestral’s chuckle was one of relief. It didn’t make up for the time they’d be apart - ugh, when did they get this sentimental? - but it was reassuring to know he felt similarly. They moved closer, looped their arms around his waist and looked up to meet him face to face. Crow rested his own arms over their shoulders, around their neck, instinctively returning the hold so he could lean down and press a chaste kiss to their lips.

“I’ll take that as a no?”

They laughed more confidently this time, “You’re not being stupid. I’ll miss you too. Always do.”

A mingling of concern and affection crossed his features and he pulled them in again to plant a firmer kiss against their forehead, only to tuck their head beneath his chin so he could rest his lips against their hair. It was sappy but there was something about being wrapped up in Crow, warm and safe, that put them at ease in a way they never thought they’d feel. It wasn’t often that the fabled Young Wolf felt protected, vulnerability be damned.

“Maybe we can spend some time together before you go?”

Eyes meeting again, Crow smiled, “You have something in mind?”

Kestral hesitated. No. No they didn’t. How did this work? What if it wasn’t fancy enough. What if it was too impersonal? Did they need to impress him?

“Wanna get takeout and spend an evening at mine watching movies?”

Oh no that was the worst idea. He was definitely going to…

“A quiet evening in, hm? I’d love to. I’ll bring snacks.”

Perhaps it was the heat that had engulfed their face or they way their heart was now light and fluttering but without thinking they stumbled over their tongue, words falling out, “You could stay the night too if you wanted…”

“Ooh.”

Glint’s teasing sound startled the pair, both realising that the Ghost hadn’t actually gone anywhere and the poor guy was front and centre to their awkward sappiness. Kestral’s opinion changed from ‘poor guy’ to ‘almost as bad as Roost’ when his shell flickered and his holographic eye morphed from smug to a cheeky wink. Crow didn’t seem to think too much of it, probably used to his Ghost by now, and rolled his eyes before settling his sights back on the Hunter in his arms.

“I’ll bring some snacks and a toothbrush then.”

-----

A movie and a half in Kestral started to wonder why they’d been so nervous about spending some time alone with Crow. Their takeout, a very large, very cheesy pizza, had arrived just as they’d started their first movie and Crow had made short work of scarfing back a healthy number of slices while immersed in some equally cheesy action flick Kestral had pulled out. They’d eventually settled back into each other, Crow reclined across the sofa with the smaller Hunter, their back to his chest, comfortably laid back between his legs.

Somewhere during the second movie, something slower and a little more sappy, his hand had come to rest on Kestral’s bare stomach. A warm weight on warm skin but they’d still shivered when his fingers found the raised silvery line of a scar and traced it idly until Kestral eventually placed their hand over his to still it.

“Ok, that tickles.”

He laughed under his breath, sliding his palm upwards and feeling for other scars, “Do they all tickle? Or is this one just...new?”

“Not gunna lie, I don’t really remember. You get so many scars by being a Guardian.”

“Can I see them?”

Kestral paused, eyebrows raised in amusement, turning just enough to catch a glimpse of Crow’s face, “Excuse you. Are you asking me to undress?”

A deep purple flush rapidly covered the Awoken’s face even on noticing the playful smirk that the other Hunter was wearing openly. They’d turned further in his lap, lying chest to chest and looking up at him expectantly.

“I…” he swallowed hard, “I mean yes. I guess I am...If you want to.”

Kestral’s smirk turned shy, “You know you can’t unsee this if I do?”

“The only reason…” he leaned down, pressed a sweet lingering kiss to their lips, “That I’d want to unsee anything about you…” Kestral pressed up closer, deepening the kiss between his words, “Is so that I could see it again for the first time.”

He’d barely finished his sentence when Kestral had let out a soft breath, a slight hint of a whine, and snaked their arms up around his neck to tangle their hands in his hair, to kiss him with all the affection and warmth that his ridiculously romantic sentiment had sparked in them. Crow briefly forgot all about the scars and undressing and the shy awkwardness, and focused on not becoming completely overwhelmed by the flood of sensations. Heated lips, the gentle tug on his hair, sharing breath, the long line of contact between their bodies…

Gently cupping Kestral’s face he pulled back reluctantly, “Sec…”

“Was that OK?”

He grinned dreamily, running his thumbs over their reddened cheeks taking in the sight of saliva wet lips and eyes that seemed darker with their dilated pupils, “Yeah. ‘OK’ doesn’t cover it, actually. It was great. Really great, and we should definitely continue but…” he shuffled to sit up straighter across the sofa noticing Kestral’s attention drop downwards and a wolfish grin spring across their features when it returned to him, “That. And I’m not sure if I’ve done - I don’t remember if I’ve done this before and I’m not sure if that’s going to make it weird for you…”

“It’s not weird for me,” they replied quickly, “Crow it’s been ages since someone’s seen me as something other than a ferocious god slayer and too legendary for something as human as...as…” their mind reeled with words, the one they refused to say, ones too impersonal, some that just weren’t enough, “...as connection. As emotional and physical affection. Even before that. This though. I like this, even with all the weird bits. Especially the weird bits. I like you too. Kind of a lot.”

The Awoken simply stared at them with the most open look of adoration they were pretty sure they’d ever seen, completely silent.

“Shit. Too sappy?”

His response was to move his hands down around their waist, tug them to straddle his lap and kiss softly from their lips to their neck, smiling against their collarbone.

“It was very sappy. And I think, if we’re on the same train of thought, we should think about relocating to uh…” he looked up to see Kestral’s barely restrained smile, “To somewhere with a bit more space.”

“Bed?”

The second they said it, Crow lifted them, their legs wrapped around his waist, “I wasn’t going to say that but since you’ve suggested it…”

“Crow, you ass.”

“Bed it is.”

-----

Lola had seen some shit in her life but walking in to her friend’s apartment to see said friend, half naked in a shirt that did not belong to them, perched on the kitchen counter with a man that looked remarkably like the Prince of the Reef - not him anymore, it was Crow now - also half naked between their legs having an intimate conversation…

Well, it topped the list of things that made her lost for words.

It was only when the front door slammed behind her that the couple looked up, Kestral like a deer in headlights and Crow looking very proud of himself, that they noticed they had an unexpected visitor.

It took Lazarus launching himself into the side of Salome’s head to snap her back into the present, dazing himself in the process.

“Uh. Shit, Lola this is Crow. Crow, this is Salome, a good friend and part of my fireteam. This is a bad time, maybe you can…”

“Am I gunna have to start knocking?”

Kestral blinked a few times, “I...would like that. Yes, please do.”

“I cannot believe this is being turned into an actual love nest. Last thing I need seared into my brain is the image of my fireteam leader getting railed on the sofa.”

“Lola!”

“It wasn’t the sofa.”

Kestral’s head snapped back to Crow, face cheeks and ears all a deep red and slowly creeping onto their chest, “Don’t.”

Lola’s cackle drew their attention back again, “Ok, he can stay. I’ll catch up with you both when you’re not all loved up and shit.”

“Might be waiting a while,” muttered Crow, turning his gaze back to the other Hunter and running his knuckles lightly over their cheek.

Lola loudly faked some retching sounds as she left, slamming the door behind her.

#young wolf x crow #guardian x crow #kestral //

22 notes · View notes

wannabe-fic-writer · 4 years

Text

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Prove Me Wrong

Summary: She can trust you, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

Warning: 18+ Mental Health, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Smut

Chapter 4

******

It’s a bit of an adjustment to now being seeing Natasha.

Yes, she has followed through with coming back. Though at first it was spotty. Some days she came and others she didn’t. But now she’s much more consistent with it.

Admittedly you’re grateful that she sticks to her appointments on Friday’s. She’s proving to be equally as cooperative as she is difficult and you just aren’t sure you could handle that along with Steve, Bucky, and Wanda on the same day.

Still you’re not sure how to get her to truly open up. It’s clear she’s holding back and at this point you aren’t sure if it’s from you or from herself.

Either way, you decide that a change of scenery could be of some good, how good you aren’t sure but it’s worth a shot. So when Friday rolls around you wake up early to shower and fix yourself and Natasha to-go cups of tea and wait outside your office for her.

The second she sees you outside the door her eyebrow raises.

“Are we not meeting today?” She asks the second she’s in front of you.

You smile brightly at the woman, taking in the fact that her hair is damp. You recall her telling you that she goes to the gym before anyone even wakes up.

“We are, just not in my office.” You extend her cup towards her and she eyes it before accepting.

Like always she hums cutely as she takes the first sip, her tongue running over her full pink lips. Wait why are you watching her lips? You shake your head to refocus.

She tilts her head to the side a little,“ and where are we meeting?”

“The park.”

Nodding for her to follow, you make your way down the hall. Her soft footsteps confirm that she is following you and you suppress a smile at that. Does this mean she trusts you a little, maybe not but you hope.

When you get in the garage you walk right up to the BMW Tony insisted he buy for you, after you turned down the Audi, thinking you’re going to drive. Only for Natasha to scoff.

“If we’re going anywhere I’m driving.”

You turn to the sound of her sultry voice, finding her standing beside a space grey corvette, and quickly disappearing inside it. Knowing not to dispute this with her, you go and get in as well.

You almost instinctively run your fingers over the black leather interior, appreciating how it feels on your fingers. Only to look up and see the proud smirk on Natasha’s face.

It’s not far fetched for you to figure out this is her baby.

“Central?” She asks, reversing out of the garage and taking off, the engine roaring loudly.

Shrugging you say,“ unless you have somewhere else you’d feel comfortable going.”

That perfectly arched eyebrow quirks in a way that you’ve grown overly familiar with.

For the next couple of minutes you ride in silence, Natasha focused on driving while you focus on the things you’re driving by.

Despite having been in New York for years there’s some much you haven’t seen or even become familiar with. It still fascinates you seeing the way everyone moves around in seemingly the same pace and in the same rhythm. As chaotic as it appears to be you’d be lying if you ignored the uniformity of the city.

Eventually Natasha is pulling to a stop in an parking spot. You follow after she’s gotten out.

The woman moves with purpose and familiarity. She steps on to the curb and walks down the concrete path, straight through the small surrounding park. The sign just outside the place read Battery Park.

It’s not until she’s on the wide pathway that she stops, leaning on the railing that overlooks the upper bay.

You lean beside her, leaving enough room for both your personal spaces, and wait a moment before speaking. Instead taking in the way her eyes look fondly toward the horizon.

Funnily enough you aren’t the first person to speak.

Natasha flicks her red hair over her shoulder and glances at you from the corner of her eye.“ It all started out there.” She returns her gaze to the water.“ Fury brought the team together on the helicarrier.”

No, you don’t know much about the helicarrier, aside from what the news said of it way back when Bucky was the Winter Solider. But you understand, at least now, that the Air/Water craft must’ve been situated out on the water in the bay.

“I didn’t know back then what it all would mean.” Her voice is softer than you’re use to and you don’t want to disturb her openness so you don’t pull out your notebook.“ It was just a group of a few of the world’s threats joined together to fix a temporary problem.”

You watch her watch the water.

“Somehow that one disaster gave me the people I call family. After years of thinking I’d never know what that concept truly meant, I’d gotten it in the form of the Avengers. Now they know me better than people I’ve known my whole life. And I trust them.”

Making a mental note to ask about those people at a much later date, you focus on what she’s revealing to you now.“ Does it still scare you? Having people know who you really are after all those years of hiding yourself?”

For the first time since arriving she looks over at you,“ it terrifies me. And I tried to prevent it. Stop it even but they never let me. They gave me reasons to trust them and in turn they trusted me.”

“Which was harder.” You noticed the way she frowned when she said it.“ It’s harder to be trusted than it is to trust.”

“If they trust me they count on me. I couldn’t mess up, couldn’t disappoint. Suddenly people needed me in the way that I needed them and I wasn’t ready for that. I’m still not.”

You smile a little,“ yes you are. I see you doing it every day. Being there for them even when they don’t know you are or think they need you to be. And I understand that having people depend on you is pressuring but you do it in an unexplainable way Miss Romanoff.”

Turning to face the woman fully you tell her,“ you need to need yourself. You need to trust yourself. Be even more dependent of yourself than they are of you and trust yourself to follow through with it.”

Somehow you’d managed to surface some of her deepest insecurities.

“Natasha, I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am.” You take a deep breath.“ In the past you were held to near perfect expectations, told that you weren’t good enough unless you exceeded them.” Her lack of response is answer enough so you continue,“ nobody is perfect. Not even you Miss Badass Super Spy. And you don’t need to be. One I imagine you’d be even more annoying if you were-”

Holy shit.

She laughs.

Natasha Romanoff actually laughs at your joke. And not a little chuckle, an actual laugh. One that makes a smile stick to her lips afterwards. One that makes you want to hear it again.

Once she’s stopped you finish, fighting a smile,“ and two, you have people who make up for what you don’t have. You all are a team for a reason. Where you may not be able to do something, Steve can or Wanda or even Sam. And they know that. They know you aren’t perfect but you are more than good enough to them as long as you trust in yourself to do what you are able to.”

It’s quiet after that.

Natasha looks at you for a moment longer, eyes flickering over every part of your face. Until she looks away, eyes catching a boat sailing in. You follow her gaze.

“Also, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind you confiding in them. I know you have your reputation to protect but it’s okay to tell them how you’re feeling every once in a while. You said yourself you trust them, more than me, so at least tell them.”

“I don’t-” Natasha rolls her eyes.“ I don’t not trust you.”

Having talked enough today she turns to walk away, not missing your comment of “I can work with that” as she does.

Luckily for Natasha she is an excellent multitasker. It allows her to think about everything you’d said as she safely drives you both back to the compound.

Truthfully speaking, and if you ever found out she’d deny it, you scare her.

Your ability to dissect and understand everything she tells you is frightening. At first she simply thought it was you using your powers but you disproved that during your second meeting.

She’d off handedly accused you of cheating with your powers and you told her she would be able to tell if you were using your powers. For a few briefs seconds she allowed you to use your powers on her, simply reading her emotions, and you were right.

Your powers felt like a third party in her mind. Not intrusive, since she’d let you in, but it felt unfamiliar. There was no way to describe how it really felt but it was different.

Which just means you can read her well, and that you actually do understand what she’s telling you. Before she assumed no one ever would, understand her. Having made exceptions with Clint and Steve since they experienced similar things.

She knows that’s not the case with you and it’s pretty, well, scary.

She’d never tell you, but she was, and still partly is, reluctant to see you because you are undeniably approachable. Yes you’re quiet and sometimes overly observant, but maybe that’s why she’d found herself wanting to know so much about you when she first met you. And not being reserved to talking freely with you.

Only to panic when she found herself wondering where you were and what you were doing over your first couple of days there. She took it upon herself to cut off any thoughts you had towards speaking with her.

That didn’t hold, obviously.

After she’s parked in the garage and you both get out, you turn to her.

“I still have some free time if you wanted to keep talking.” You offer.

But she shakes her head,“ I have somewhere to be.”

You smile, that one she’s becoming use to, and say,“ alright. See you around Miss Romanoff.”

As she watches you disappear into the building, she inaudibly groans and lays her head against her car.

One thought plays in her mind: What the hell have I gotten myself into?

******

taglist: @username23345 @muffliat-o @aaron-despair @natasha-danvers @nat-km-mh

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #prove me wrong #reader insert

233 notes · View notes

twomanyideas · 3 years

Text

The Way To A Man’s Heart

A collaboration by @mdelpin and @oryu404

Gratsu Weekend 2021 Prompt: First Pairing(s): Gray x Natsu, Gray & Loke

AO3

Summary: Gray has long held feelings for Natsu, but it takes finding out that Lucy is planning to make a move to convince him to act first.

Chapter 1

Gray had been about to open the door to the Fairy Tail guild when he heard a rustle in the bushes.

“Pssst, Gray.”

He recognized the voice right away and could already feel a headache forming in response, but he dutifully walked towards the bush, fighting the urge to just freeze it and head inside the guild. Loke crouched behind the bushes, looking uncharacteristically serious.

“Do I even want to know who you’re hiding from?”

“I have some important intel, and it affects both of us.”

“Intel?” Gray was admittedly curious, but he stopped himself before he could get caught up in whatever this was. “Look, man, I just got back from a job. All I want is to relax and grab a beer.”

“Would you still think that if I told you it’s about Natsu and Lucy?”

Well, that certainly changed things a little. Natsu and Lucy were his teammates, and if they were in trouble, then he wanted to know about it. However, he knew from experience that Loke’s definition of trouble was markedly different from his. But what if it was serious...

Ten minutes later they had made it to Gray’s small apartment. Gray dropped his mission bag, and subconsciously his shirt, by the door and led Loke to his living room.

“Alright, so what’s this about?” he asked, getting two beers from the fridge and giving one to Loke.

“Gray, don’t take this the wrong way, but I need you to grow a pair.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“Look, the situation is desperate. Cancer told me Lucy summoned him to do her hair and help her pick outfits this morning.”

“Is that all? She does that all the time.”

“Yes, but this time she was getting ready to ask Natsu out.”

Gray ignored the tightening of his stomach at those words, outwardly shrugging them off.

“Still don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“So you’re perfectly fine with Lucy dating Natsu? That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“I don’t care what the Flame Brain does,” Gray was lying through his teeth, but he’d gone years hiding his feelings and he wasn’t about to let them out now.

“You’re so cute when you’re in denial,” Loke snickered.

“Fuck off.”

“We both know Natsu will end up saying yes, even if only because he won’t want to hurt her feelings, and who knows how long that will last. We’d both be screwed, and not in the good way.”

Loke was right. Natsu hated hurting his friends, except for him of course, but Gray couldn’t fault him for that. Not when he was just as bad. Natsu wouldn’t want to disappoint Lucy, so he’d likely say yes. Not to mention there was almost as much pressure on him to like Lucy as there was on Gray to like Juvia.

And what if Natsu ended up marrying her? That tightening in Gray’s stomach worsened, making him want to doubl over to ease the pain. He’d experienced plenty of crushes over the years, but his heart had long ago decided on Natsu. Would he be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try to stop this?

But what about Lucy? She was his friend too. Should he really stand in her way?

His eyes narrowed at the thought. Fuck that, he’d hadn’t known her that long, but he’d been waiting for the flame brained dimwit to wake up to romance for years. If she was planning on making a move, then it was as good as a declaration of war. And Gray wouldn’t give up without a fight.

“Alright, let’s say, for the sake of argument, that you were right. What is it you have in mind?”

“I think it’s about time you asked Natsu out. Don’t you? If you get him to date you, then maybe Lucy will finally take me seriously.”

“I can’t just ask him out. He’d probably think I was messing with him and punch me on the spot.”

“True, he’s a tough nut to crack, but there’s always something,” Loke muttered, his expression turning thoughtful.

He snapped his fingers a few minutes later, startling Gray out of his panicked thoughts.

“Okay, so the basic problem is that Natsu’s oblivious, right?”

Gray nodded, thinking that summed it up quite nicely.

“So here’s what you’re going to do.”

Loke explained his plan and Gray instinctively knew he was doomed. There was no way anyone could be that oblivious.

He knew the likelihood of this working was slim at best, but that didn’t matter one whit because Gray had already resigned himself to doing whatever it took to keep from losing Natsu forever.

0-0

“I’m back!”

Gray tensed the moment he heard the guild doors bust open, followed immediately by Natsu’s loud greeting. It was time to put their plan in motion, but he didn’t feel ready. He hadn’t really had enough time to process that he was finally making his move. Loke squeezed his shoulder before sitting down next to him at the table, and that was all the encouragement he could give because Natsu was likely to hear any words they exchanged.

“I can’t believe you got a reservation for The Spice Grill!” Loke sounded enthusiastic. Way too enthusiastic. Gray cringed at the loudness of his voice.

“Oh yeah, it was part of the reward for that job I went on today,” Gray recited his lines, feeling incredibly stupid. “I hear all the food is super spicy there and they cook it on a grill right in front of you.”

“Don’t they have that magical bartender too?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right! She makes special drinks that you can infuse with your magic. I wonder what ice-magic tastes like?”

Loke made a few crass comments in response, but at least they made him laugh, soothing his nerves a little. Gray hoped Natsu was listening, but it worried him that he’d remained silent so far.

“So who’re you taking?”

Gray thanked his lucky stars that Juvia had yet to return from her job with Gajeel, because that had been the trickiest part of this plan. If she’d been here to overhear this conversation, there was no chance he would’ve gotten away with not taking her. Voluntarily or not.

“Hey, Levy!”

Shit, that was Lucy. If he couldn’t lure Natsu over before she got to him, it would be all over.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Gray stuck to the plan, doing his best to sound disinterested even though inside he was desperately screaming at Natsu to take the bait. “You like spicy food, don’t you? Wanna come along?”

Loke rubbed the back of his neck, “I guess I could go.”

“I like spicy food, I’ll go with you, Ice Block.” Natsu finally joined the conversation, and Gray almost cheered.

“Why would I take you out to eat?” Gray sneered, knowing he couldn’t make it too easy or Natsu would suspect something was up. “You have the table manners of a boar.”

“Didn’t you say the reward was for all you can eat?” Loke threw in the last incentive.

“All you can eat?” Natsu’s enthusiasm bumped up a notch at the news, and now he was practically salivating. “Oh, come on, don’t be a jerk! I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Alright, I’ll tell you what,” Gray proposed after pretending to think it over. “I’ll take you, but only if you can beat me at arm wrestling.”

“As if I would lose to you,” Natsu scoffed, sitting across from him and propping his elbow on the table. He peered at Gray expectantly. “Bring it on, Ice Princess, I’m all fired up!”

Elfman had just checked their hands and elbows when Gray heard Juvia enter the guild already calling for him. So rather than complete the challenge, he got up, dragging Natsu along by the hand he was already holding and making a beeline for the exit.

“Change of plans, Pyro, let’s go!”

He glimpsed Juvia’s disappointed face on their way out, but it didn’t bother him in the slightest. Lucy’s, however, was much harder to dismiss. He felt a bit guilty, knowing what she’d planned to do and how much effort she’d put into it, but not nearly enough to abort his mission. All was fair in love and war, right? And this was both, so doubly fair.

“Hey, you can let go now,” Natsu tugged his hand free of his grasp. “What got into you, anyway?”

“I didn’t want to have to deal with Juvia wanting to come along,” Gray answered honestly, and Natsu didn’t question him further.

“So where is this restaurant?”

“Akane Beach.”

“Aw man, you didn’t say we’d have to take a train to get there!”

“You didn’t ask.”

Gray held his breath while Natsu glared at the train station as if it were somehow responsible for his motion sickness. A minute later his shoulders slumped, and he began walking. “Ugh, fine. Let’s just get it over with.”

He couldn’t believe it. Loke’s stupid plan had actually worked! He was going on a date with Natsu! Well, fine, he’d tricked Natsu into going on a date with him, but it was still more than he’d ever thought he’d get.

0-0

The train ride went about as expected. They had the compartment to themselves since Natsu’s agonized groans and dry heaves scared away most of the passengers. Gray watched over him while he thought of the dinner ahead.

The restaurant was pretty trendy, much more so than any place they usually went to. Loke had pulled some major strings to get a reservation on such short notice, and adding that all you can eat option was going to cost Gray almost the entire reward from his last job. He was a little worried that they would stand out from the other guests, and while he’d teased Natsu about his manners, it wasn’t like his were that much better. However, the hassle would be totally worth it if things went the way he hoped, but if it didn’t... Well, it was all you can drink too.

This wasn’t the first date Gray had been on, but it was the first one where he felt this nervous. Had they ever done anything like this together before? He didn’t think so. Most of the times they’d gone places together, it was at Erza’s behest - one of her attempts to get them to get along better, and she was usually there to run interference.

And they still almost always ended up in disaster.

The train slowed down, signaling their arrival and pulling Gray out of his thoughts. Once it rolled to a stop, he nudged Natsu that they had arrived, carrying him off the train on his back and walking onto the busy platform of the Akane Beach Station. He soon found a bench outside where they could sit while Natsu recovered.

The breeze brought with it the smell of the ocean, making him feel like Ur was wishing him luck. Gray couldn’t help but smile in response. Natsu stirred next to him, perked up by the sounds of live music and the bustle of excited tourists.

“You ready to move?”

Natsu responded by springing off the bench, grabbing Gray by the arm and pulling him up, “Come on Ice Block, I want to check out the music!”

That was easier said than done. It was a Friday evening, and people had come to Akane in droves. Natsu held on to Gray’s arm as he tried to force them through the crowds, making sure they wouldn’t lose each other in them.

Gray rolled his eyes at his friend’s usual blunt approach, lowering his core temperature instead. He laughed at Natsu’s surprised expression when people moved away from them, clearing a path.

Natsu grinned, but rather than letting go, he tugged harder, wanting to get to where the excitement was at. They quickly crossed the boardwalk, getting their first view of the resort and amusement park.

The Spice Grill, the restaurant they were going to, was inside the resort, but they still had some time before their reservation. Natsu headed straight for the street musicians that played outside the hotel, tapping his foot to the beat and clapping louder than anyone when the song was over. He threw some jewels into their open guitar case.

“After listening to Gajeel, I’d almost forgotten what proper music sounded like.”

Gray snorted in agreement. “We should probably head inside now, wouldn’t want to miss our reservation.”

“All you can eat, here we come!” Natsu cheered, holding the door open for Gray, and following him inside.

@fuckyeahgratsu

#fairy tail #gratsu #gratsuweekend2021 #gray x natsu #media #natsu x gray #Gratsu Weekend 2021 #prompt: first #other #fics

47 notes · View notes

egoludes · 4 years

Note

ok. so my concept for ransom is maybe ransom trying to get the reader to know he likes her? like maybe he does small things at first but the reader is a bit oblivious and isn’t catching on until ransom gets frustrated and kisses her or maybe suddenly blurts out he really likes her?? no pressure if you don’t have inspo for it but I haven’t seen a lot of soft! ransom fics! and i really love your writing.

this is so, so late, but i didn’t forget about you and this wonderful concept anon - i hope you like this! i really enjoyed writing it and musing about this side / kind of ransom :) no real warnings beyond rich kid antics!

wc: 1.2k

honestly? ransom can’t think of many times he hasn’t gotten what he wanted. world at his fingertips from an early age, he’s a spoiled sort. proud of it too.

then, there’s you. you with that crooked smile and willful personality ---- maybe you’ve been in his life since childhood, one of the few people to know him before he soured from parental indifference. and even as you’ve grown older and gone down different paths (he teases you about it — “law school? what a fucking waste of time.” — but that passion is a good look on you. it always has been.), you’ve never considered cutting him out. there’s a vulnerability in him when he’s with you - an openness that only comes with people who know you well. and you, despite the efforts of every friend you’ve introduced him to, reciprocate in turn. from teenage years on the sprawling campus of andover to adulthood drunk off country club champagne, you’ve been each other’s constant.

yet you’re the only thing he can’t seem to keep under his thumb; the one thing he can’t have simply because he wills it. it’s a foreign feeling, no doubt; women come to him as easily as everything else, and the fact that nothing has ever quite gone his way with you makes his stomach ache.

it takes him thirty-something years to figure out why.

once he does, ransom doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. as far as he’s concerned, love - that infuriating, spiraling feeling you inspire in the far reaches of his chest - is all about what you give. with his parents, it was one outrageous present after another to make up for the milestones they missed; with his grandfather, it’s a steady stream of funds when he does fuckall to earn it.

with you, he starts small; anklets and handbags that, admittedly, suit the other women he spends time with more than you. but it’s what he knows, and he showers you in them any chance he can get.

before long, you’re coming home to something new nearly every other day. the spree is confusing to say the least, even if you accept the presents graciously. smiling that smile he’s come to yearn for. but, to ransom's dismay, it always ends there - niceties and tenderness he’s used to. thank you’s and ransom, you really didn’t need to’s that fit the friendship that you have, not the intimacy he covets.

not where he wants to be.

if it were anyone else, he’d reach his limit after that - patience has never been his strong suit. but, the more his affections go over your head, the more ransom yearns for you. he tells himself it’s the challenge in it all — but, really, it’s the relief.

it’s knowing, affirming that you’re not like the starry-eyed girls at the parties, or the preening fuckers on over-groomed golf courses. you don’t bow for dollars, or cave for things —and it’s all he could do not to beg for your hand right then and there.

eventually, though, he just has enough. he’s tired of trying to drop hints and be subtle because it clearly isn’t working.

i could see it happening with the most extravagant gift yet. boat perhaps? not so large that it’s excessive, but enough presence to make it obnoxious.

and you’re in the middle of saying just that, looking the boat over from its lower deck, when he scoffs, arms folded over his chest as he watches you through tinted shades. “well, you better get over that — this is for you.”

you’re so shocked at first, you snort. a full fledged one at that; so unbecoming you fight the urge to check over your shoulder for a disapproving glance from your mother. “sure, ransom,” you snicker, stepping past him to peek over the boat’s railing. the water’s surprisingly pristine for such a busy harbor and for a second, you’re actually mesmerized by the way it moves.

ransom cuts in with a pull on your hand, grounding you in yet another moment of unusual generosity. “i’m serious - it’s in your name already and everything.”

you don’t ask him how he managed that (though it’s a valid question you’re not sure you want the answer to) - your disbelief is too strong for you to do anything but blink at him, searching his face for the inevitable crack of a shit-eating grin to let you know he’s lying.

but it never comes. instead, ransom is watching you with a face that stiffens by the second, and you realize in one fell swoop, heart stuttering in your chest, that he’s absolutely fucking serious.

your reaction after that is the same it’s always been - you shaking your head and waving your hands in refusal, backing away from him instinctively. “ransom, holy shit — this is too much, are you kidding me?” you look over the boat with a renewed eye and can hardly handle the lavishness he’s trying to bestow on you. you can’t even make sense of it, this generosity that’s become so commonplace. “where is all this even coming from? i mean, the boat, the jewelry, the bags -- you’ve been doing this for months, i don’t get it."

at any given moment, ransom is like a brewing sea - emotions ebbing and flowing like high tide. and right now, he’s at full rage, frustration, exasperation, desperation all taking him at once. but somehow, he doesn’t bow before it the way he usually does; no childish anger, or snide comments. instead, he does something that shocks even him: he laughs.

the sound of it shakes his whole body, shoulders bending back some from the force of it. you’re confused by it to say the least, struggling to find the words to even react — but it turns out you don’t have to. ransom fills the space for you, stepping closer and speaking up. “you’re really going to make me say it, huh?” he scoffs a bit, pink staining his cheeks as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his brown peacoat.

you can’t tell for sure, but there’s something beyond the glare of his thousand dollar sunglasses that you don’t recognize. at least not on him. it makes you nervous in a way, the sound of your heartbeat growing in your ears; and he seems to pick up on it, reaching to press a thumb into your cheek as if in a taunt. if anything, though, it’s playful; you can tell by that grin he seems to only give to you most days.

“for someone so smart,” he hums, thumb moving from your cheek to the fullness of your bottom lip, “you sure are fucking dense, hon.”

you’re frowning, poised to retort, when he stops you with lips over yours. the kiss lasts a few seconds at most, but it feels like much longer. perhaps it’s the years of waiting giving it such weight - the vivid memories of nights forcing yourself to accept he would never feel for you what you did for him. whatever it is, it does you in; when he pulls away, you stay dazed and processing, even as he swipes his tongue out to taste what you leave behind. “are we getting it now---?"

the way you lunge for him, his voice lost beneath your mouth and the crash of the water below, answers his question.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom thrombey x reader #chris evans x reader #ransom blurbs.#tags in comments!

225 notes · View notes

no-whump-on-main · 3 years

Text

Apartment 307-8 (Grabbed by the hair)

Hi guys!! I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. School and work have been crazy but luckily I'm out of school next week so I'll have much more time and be posting more frequently! Apologies for the short chapter, I have no idea why but it just kicked my butt lol. I tried doing some cool multimedia stuff, I hope you enjoy! This is @sableflynn's BTHB request, grabbed by the hair.

TWs: Creepy, possessive whumper, mention of branding, also this chapter made me sad bc I love my mom and Elora's mom is sad so warning for that lmao

Elora was still lying there crying hours later. The tears had slowed from her initial keening sobs, but they still fell steadily down her face, accumulating in a small puddle on the tile by her head. She could see a bit of her reflection in the salty water; just her eyes, mostly. She saw green eyes that had once been so full of hope and life that were fading, the slow abandonment of hope almost making them gray out. She wanted to lie there forever, staring into her own eyes, until oblivion took her. If she cleared her head enough, she could pretend she was elsewhere, somewhere warm and loving; the blanket draped over her body did help with the fantasy, though she always knew somewhere in the back of her head that it was just that: a fantasy. She was still here. With him.

Clyde tried to give her time to recover, but his patience wore eventually. He began to get antsy after a few hours of watching her lie there, doing nothing but cry. Admittedly, he did enjoy it at first-seeing her so weak, so docile, because of him-but it eventually grew tiresome. Watching each tear drip down into the puddle became like watching paint dry.

He stood up abruptly. Elora was startled by the motion, flinching before stilling and watching him very carefully. What was he going to do?

“Get up,” he said simply.

Elora froze. She still felt sick, dizzy with pain and the lingering scent of her burning flesh in the bathroom. But why would he care about that? Why should she disobey him, when she knew what would happen?

Yet pride and pain got the better of her again.

“I can’t,” she whimpered. She felt weak. “I hurt. You hurt me.”

The piercing sound of a loud, sudden laugh began to echo through the bathroom. It reminded Elora of the laugh of a hyena. She winced.

“Darling, did you not think that was the point?”

Her expression hardened and her heart thumped in her chest. That was the point. She wanted to say something, but her mouth suddenly got dry.

The man simply grinned. “Get up,” he repeated, but she didn’t. She just laid there, dumbfounded.

He groaned angrily, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Be that way.”

He gathered up her hair in his hand, locked his fingers in a tight fist, and pulled up. Elora yelped and scrambled to get to her feet to relieve the pain, but he didn’t give her the chance; he carelessly dragged her off, out of the bathroom, through the hallway, and into the living room. She screamed and thrashed wildly, her hands desperately trying to push him away as her scalp burned like fire. Again and again, her feet scraped the ground to no avail, kicking and kicking but never able to gain enough traction to stand as she was mercilessly dragged. The man finally dropped her on the floor at the foot of a worn leather couch, releasing his death grip on her hair. Her hands immediately flew up to her head, applying gentle pressure to her scalp to try to ease the burning pain as she looked around the new room.

The living room was barren, like the man had half moved into it then given up. There was a dusty box in the corner, the couch, a worn coffee table, a small stand, and an old TV. Other than that, it was empty, in an eerie way. The aged carpet spanned the floor like an ocean.

The pressure didn’t do much and Elora dropped her hands, still wincing as the man plopped himself on the couch behind her, the leather making a loud crackling noise as he sat. She whipped her head around as her shoulders raised up to her ears instinctively. The man made a sour face, his features twisting into an ugly frown.

“Relax,” he commanded, forcefully pushing her shoulders down. At first, she tried to wiggle away, but that idea was abandoned when he tightened his grip, clearly as a warning. He grabbed the TV remote from the arm of the couch and turned it on. It started on some history channel documentary about cars, but Clyde quickly flipped through channels until he found the local news station.

A grin spread across his face as he read the blue banner spanning across the bottom of the screen. They were just in time.

UP NEXT: CAPE COD GIRL GOES MISSING; DESPERATE MOTHER PLEADS FOR HER RETURN

His hands wandered to Elora’s scalp and began to gently card through her hair. She inhaled sharply, and it took everything she had in her not to immediately shove him off. Somehow the gentleness felt worse than the pain; the false sense of care disgusted her. He was a maniac. He hurt her, he branded her, and now he was sitting on the couch petting her hair, pretending like none of it happened. It didn’t escape her attention how he set her on the floor instead of the couch, below him, like a dog.

The banner was bad enough, but she felt sick to her stomach when the station cut to a reporter sitting at a desk with a picture of her on half of the screen. It was the picture her mom took of her at the orchard last fall. It was candid; she remembered it. She was intently focused on a butterfly off on a tree, ignoring her mom as she snapped the photo. It was one of her favorite pictures of herself. And now, it was plastered all over the news.

The reporter on the TV began to speak. “Tonight, a desperate mother pleads for her missing daughter’s safe return. Elora Larkin, nineteen, of Barnstable county, Massachusetts has been missing since Friday night. She was last seen walking home from her job at Agathangelou’s bakery, wearing khakis, a black t-shirt, and black sneakers. The police have opened a tip line and are offering an unspecified reward for any information that leads to Miss Larkin.”

Elora felt a lurching sensation in her stomach, so visceral she wanted to throw up. That was her. On the news. Gone. Missing.

Behind her, the man chuckled.

“Look at that, baby. You’re all over New England.”

“I’m not your baby,” she snapped, turning around. But her head was spinning. All over New England? It wasn’t the Cape Cod news station on the TV. It wasn’t even a state news channel. It was entirely unfamiliar, the reporter’s face one she’d never seen.. So he’d taken her across state lines, making her chances of being found lower yet.

The man shushed her and put a finger up to her lips. “Watch.” She almost bit him, but decided it wasn’t worth the inevitable punishment that would follow. Besides, they might say something useful, something that could help her. She needed to pay attention.

The screen changed, and a missing persons poster popped up. Hers.

It was up for a minute before it faded away as the reporter came back on the screen.

“Such a sad story. Everyone in the studio is hoping and praying for her safe return. Unfortunately, vigilance is so important in this day and age. Up next, we have a recording of a press conference with the girl’s mother.

The girl’s mother. Her mother. Elora felt her heartbeat thumping in her chest.

And there she was. Jodie was standing at a podium in a building that had to be a police station. Demetrios was standing by her side, offering support by merely being present. While Elora hadn’t seen him cry even once in all the years she’d known him, he now looked like he was on the verge of tears.

Her mom started to speak. She looked so sad. Withered, like the life had been sucked out of her, from fear and overthinking and sleepless nights.

“My daughter-My daughter Elora has been missing since Friday night. She’s got-she’s got blonde hair, and green eyes, and she’s real tall. I’m sure pictures have gone around by now. She was walking home from work and-and then she disappeared. We were supposed to have dinner Sunday and she never came. It was supposed to be her weekend off. I- If someone has her, please, I’m begging you, let her go. Bring her home safe. She’s a good kid, she works hard, she rescues cats in her spare time...she doesn’t deserve this. And Elora, if you’re seeing this, I love you. I love you so much, honey. If you chose to leave, please just tell us you’re okay. It’s okay. You can go see the world, just tell us you’re okay. And if something-something bad happened, we’re gonna find you. I promise, baby, I love you and we’re gonna bring you home. Promise.”

At that point, she set the microphone down and began to cry, tears streaming down her face as she hurried off to an exit, the cameras following her for a few moments. Elora’s heart twisted in knots. Seeing her mom’s face brought her so much joy, yet knowing how worried she had to be made her feel sick with guilt.

But she promised. She promised she’d find her.

“That your mom?”

Elora stilled. He already knew the answer.

"She’s kinda pathetic. Could barely keep it together long enough to tell them about you.”

She went cold. “Stop,” she seethed. Her voice was eerily calm, given her anger.

"Or what?” he replied, twisting her hair up in his hand and giving it another tug.

Elora was silent. There was no or what. She knew that.

The reporter came back on the screen.

“Well, folks, that’s all we have on the case for tonight. Remember to be safe and vigilant. This has been Hannah Brown with News12.”

The man released her hair, picked up the remote, and turned off the T.V.

“Notice how they only talked about you, not me?”

Elora turned her head around. She was crying.

“What?”

He scoffed. “I said, notice how they only ran their mouths about you the whole time. Never said a word about me. You know what that means? They don’t know jack shit about me. They don’t know who you’re with or where you are. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but we’re in Connecticut. We crossed state lines twice. They’re never going to find you, you know that?

She tried to hide it, but he could see her expression falling with every word he said, hope beginning to seep out of her. She shook her head vigorously, her bottom lip trembling.

“N-no! No, they will, you’re just crazy! You’re just fucking crazy!”

A scowl formed on his lips. “No, they won’t.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but in a split second, his hand was gripping tightly around her throat, cutting off her air. Her eyes went wide.

“No one is coming to save you.”

Elora swallowed, fear bright in her eyes. She tried to rip herself away, but the man raked his fingers across the fresh brand on her collarbone, sending her to the ground, keeling in pain.

“We could’ve had a nice evening if you behaved. Listened,” he grumbled, standing and once again grabbing her hair tightly before dragging her off towards the bathroom.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas @all-whumped-out @badthingshappenbingo

#bad things happen bingo #whump #whump fic #whump writing #my writing #whumper #human whumpee #possessive whumper #creepy whumper #Elora #elora larkin #lady whump #whump blog #psychological whump #physical whump #apartment 307

21 notes · View notes