#life is kicking my ass from every direction nowadays

[w1lmuttart]

Drawing minish cap link everyday til I no longer have artblock™️

What difference three days make lol

#life is kicking my ass from every direction nowadays #playing mc is my current comfort <3 it’s so cute and tiny and small and a #so ye anyways i’d give this link everything he is so important to me #I love Zelda too she stole my heart within the first half minute #minish cap #loz mc #the legend of zelda

[deluluass]

all yours; all mine

71 and 58 with Atsumu pleaseeese. I just love this man and I would appreciate it if you wrote something with him. Youre so talented!💕 — anon

sidenote: anon, i hope u know that u have a very special place in my heart for being the first ask ive ever received. i hope u are well & having a gr8 day ;U;

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; daddy kink; mild angst; implied post-breakup depression; toxic relationship/s

Breakups are a messy business. A lot of crying, begging, screaming (if it's that type of a breakup). Whatever it is, breakups generally inspire intense— so-intense-it-could-get-you-kicked-out-if-you're-in-a-public-place, high-strung, and the most unpleasant kind of emotions. 

It’s understandable, considering you’re losing the person you love. 

But he doesn't even look upset.

"Aah," Atsumu sing-songed, twirling the plastic stirrer between his fingers. "Ya wanna call it off?"

The heat from the mug bit your skin as you gripped it. 

"What?" you choked, shaking your head. "I didn't say that, Atsumu. I only-"

He scoffed. "Fuckin'- ya just did."

You finally looked up at him, porcelain clinking as you placed your drink back on the saucer. Ball cap on,  muscles filling up and straining his hoodie and jeans; even in an outfit that almost concealed him he never fails to take your breath away. 

Only, it's for a different reason this time.

"I said that I-" you cleared your throat. "I want- I want you to-"

"I get it, I get it." Atsumu sighed, waving his hand nonchalantly. "Let's break up, then."

He was already standing up and he didn't even deign to meet your eyes. You didn't expect much when you'd travelled all the way to Tokyo just to have a talk with him. After all, the last conversation you had was over the phone. (And that, too, did not go well). 

Though, is it too much to expect he'd at least listen to what you have to say?

"Tsumu-kun! Wait!" 

Some customers were already staring, urging you to hide, hop on the next train, and run back home; away from the cold scrutiny of strangers. 

But not now. Not when what you have with him is hanging on a balance.

"Please, sit down and- and let's talk," you huffed, voice and hand trembling as you held onto his.

Breakups are a messy business, you heard.

A lot of crying. A lot of begging. A lot of screaming. Whichever kind it is, don't breakups usually inspire only the most intense emotions?

But he doesn't even look upset, doesn't even look like he feels anything other than a passing irritation, as if you were a fly buzzing in his ear, when he told you, "I know this is ya first rodeo, but yer gonna find someone new eventually, hm?"

It's been a long time coming, Atsumu thinks. He'd known for quite a while now that his relationship with you would end, actually, ever since you'd wanted to include "feelings" and "trust" and "opening up" into the mix. 

"Why?" he'd laughed at your face once. "What? Ya ain't happy? That it? We got somethin' good goin' on don't we?"

He didn't get it, at first. You'd always been your cheerful, bubbly self; never failing to be that one sunny spot when his day gets too pesky and such a pain in the ass. You were happy.

Until you weren't. 

"You don't.. tell me things," you muttered, fiddling with your hands on the kitchen table. "Which is fine! I'm not- go at your pace, but- but know that I'd listen to you. Always. I'm here, 'Tsumu."

And it wasn't as if he didn't try. It's just that Atsumu realized, a few months later, that he wasn't any good at it. 

Every time he'd lay it all out in front of you⁠— every tiny and pathetic and gritty part of him, you would eventually take him in your arms. So much smaller, weaker than his and yet Atsumu did not mind if it could be his entire world. 

Then, a thought would creep in, like a thief that'd stab him in his sleep. In the safety of those tender arms, with those guileless eyes peering at him, Atsumu would think that he'd rather stay there forever, cling onto you until he bites the dust.  

It disgusted him. 

Atsumu couldn't stand it. Because if he could be anything in this short life, he'd choose to be perfect. And that- that wasn't it. 

So he avoided it when the occasion arose. Diverting the subject to mundane stuff was easy, at first. The weather, the new show you're binging, your slacker of a boss, what happened back in the game. When that didn't work⁠— well, there were other ways. 

(His favorite was sticking his tongue in your wet cunt, to prod at the soft walls with the tip, and to lap and suck at the clit until you're begging for the stretch of his fat cock.)

The break up was understandable. When you'd greeted him in the café as if you'd spent the entire time you were apart crying, Atsumu knew it was over. 

You just repeated what you'd always said. It's okay to be vulnerable. If he needs some time to work out the right words then you'd always wait because I love you, 'Tsumu. 

(But there was that feeling again. Like he could die on the spot if you would so much as leave his sight.)

(Ending it was the only way out. When poison seeps itself into the bloodstream, you're left with no choice but to cut off a part of you.)

Unlike others, he can say that it was a clean parting. You wanted something and he was bad at it. And because he hated fucking up, Atsumu decided to leave. Easy. 

Really, the only people who didn't understand were his teammates.

"That's strange," Hinata spat, rice bursting to his chin when he suddenly faced Atsumu. "I don't think I've seen her for weeks now."

He could hear barely suppressed groans  behind him, no doubt from Bokuto and the others, before their spiker blurted out a confused, "What?"

Because, of course, Hinata could only mean one "her.” (There had only ever been one that Atsumu Miya allowed inside the team's gymnasium; inside his circle of friends; inside his life.)

Apparently, except for Hinata Shoyo, everyone had caught on that the both of you had thrown in the towel, so to speak. (And here they thought the guy's finally in it for real.)

"Nah, it's fine," Atsumu smirked, addressing it to everyone gathered around Samu's onigiri stand.  

"We broke up." 

He clicked his tongue. "It's not like there ain't no other fish in the sea."

The remark, casually said in between sips of cold coffee, was met with a gaping silence. 

That turned out to be right, like everything else that he'd predicted. 

A hole is a hole is a hole is a hole. No disrespect meant to you. But before you there had been many others who'd helped warm his bed. It just so happened that you got to stay for far longer. 

(Because waking up next to you meant waking up to that dreamy look, as if whoever's in charge up there has finally given you everything you've ever wanted.)

(And when he greets you with a hoarse good morning you say it back with eyes that tell him he's worth it, simply for being there.)

Anyway, going back to that old routine hadn't been difficult. 

(Except when he finally does it with someone new, for some reason he keeps searching for a different touch, expecting that endearing combination of inexperience and enthusiasm.)

(And when they cum he can't help but put a hand on their mouth, around their throat, because he's hearing the wrong voice, seeing the wrong face.) 

It's obvious, looking at him. Everyone can see that life's going pretty well for Atsumu. He can only hope that the same goes for you.

"You're miserable."

Peeling your attention away from the mother braiding her young daughter's hair, you hurriedly brought it back to the two women sitting in front of you.

"See?" Aya swung her hand in your direction. "Not even listening."

"No, no," you giggled sheepishly. Kaori was already pursing her lips.

"No, seriously. I am."

You sat upright, setting the chopsticks on your bento box. 

"Then what was it she said?" Kaori pressed. She folded her arms and you knew you were in trouble. 

"Uh..huh." You nodded. "Right. So. Um...."

"You didn't catch it," said Kaori.

"I didn't catch it," you winced.

Both girls sighed. 

The first three buttons of their blouses were open, the heat of the afternoon getting to them. And as they leaned back against the wooden bench, you had a feeling that they were about to give you the Conversation that's been waiting to happen for two long months.

That's why you'd decided to start it before they could. Just so it won't linger anymore painfully so.

“I know what you're going to say."

They only raised their brows, a mere "okay, go on" than an actual expression of surprise. 

"I've been sad. I haven't been..fine. That is true," you inhaled, preparing yourself for the agonizing part. Then, you released your breath.

"Ever since..'Tsu-" you gulped. "Ever since breaking up with Atsumu I haven't been feeling like myself but nowadays I'm getting back on my feet and I'm still working see so really there's no need to worry okay? Okay."

Aya grinned, but it didn't hold her usual devil-may-care humor to it. 

"You say that," she started, "but we’ll probably always be if you keep at that- at that⁠—"

"You're rarely in the moment," Kaori supplied, to which Aya replied with a harsh thank you. "You're distracted. And we know you're trying your best to be okay on your own. We've given you space, but remember that you have us."

Something was lodged in your chest and you found it hard to breathe. You'd missed them. You hadn't realized it, but you missed your friends. 

So much.

"Thank you," you whispered, forcing back  tears. "I- I wouldn't know what to do if it not for you two-"

"Hold it." Aya raised a palm. "Before you get corny again. Can I just say, I know he's your first dick-"

"Aya," Kaori murmured.

"And we all know it was good-"

"Aya," you hissed.

Your face burned as you searched from left to right, making sure no innocent being heard her.

"But can I just say," she slapped a palm on the surface of the table. "I don't care what you or the TV or his fans say about him! But the man's a walking red flag since day one!"

Kaori rolled her eyes. And despite yourself you couldn't keep a chuckle from bubbling. 

"Here we go again."

Aya almost rose from her seat. "When he sent that poor dude from accounting to the ER for just, I don't know, breathing your way, I knew something was up!"

You felt your smile die. 

That had been the first time it happened. You'd asked him what's wrong, after you'd rushed to the hospital, and all he gave you was silence. A whole day of it. He hadn't spoken a word about it, only that he'd warned you not to talk to that bastard again, or else.

(You'd learned, much, much later, that he doesn't do well with people that annoy him. That's what he said. You wanted to know more, but he suddenly decided that he had to make it up to you between the sheets.)

Kaori touched your hand. "Talk to us," she whispered.

You hummed as you shook your head. "I just remembered him," you said, only half of the truth.

If they knew it, they didn't let on. But Aya did say, "Tell you what. Company outing's upon us. So you know what that means?"

"Oh, I don't know," you mumbled apologetically. "I might sit this one out."

"No," Kaori gritted. 

Aya held your face with both hands as she  stared you down.

"You will buy yourself a new swimsuit. You will enjoy that cheap beach resort." 

The heaviness was lifting, bit by bit, as you felt your stomach ache with laughter. And with each silly word uttered by your friends, you could almost see the gray clouds overhead disappearing. Even for a little while.

"And you, you beautiful person you," Aya beamed. "Will finally, finally get laid."

Having best friends who are dead set on helping you get over an ex is a fearsome thing to behold, indeed. 

You couldn't even get a word in edgewise as they took you in a whirlwind of spas, salons, mani-pedis, and shopping bags. 

"Calm down. You rarely spend for yourself," Kaori told you when she'd caught you peeking forlornly at the frightening bill you'd amassed. 

But, try as you might to miss owning a fat wallet, you couldn't deny that you have no regrets wasting your money away. Not even for a single cent. Because you did feel amazing.

And when the day arrived, you couldn't help at the giddiness of having compliment after compliment thrown your way. 

"Is that really you?" said a co-worker when you'd boarded the bus. "You're glowing!"

During the games, as well, you'd often hear "Love the new look!" and "Have I ever told you before that you're so pretty? Because you are." And you'd preen with a soft-spoken thank you, having been taught by Kaori that denying a compliment makes one look stupid.  

It was so silly, honestly. Though not the part where, after a lovely comment, you'd be emboldened to strike an actual conversation. Learning that a coworker has a new baby now, or that so and so has recently moved up the corporate ladder; learning that, during your period of grief and self-pity (and even during the blissful time you’d spent with Atsumu), there were so many things you hadn't noticed.

You basked in it: the shower of pleasantries and anecdotes that had you feeling soft and fuzzy inside. The same way you lazed on the sandbar, clutching tiny conch shells in your hand, as you watched the sun tinge the sparkling waves with warm light.   

"Hey."

You jolted, turning towards the person who'd called your name. It was him. "Poor dude from accounting" as Aya dubbed him.

"Sano-san," you gasped, reaching for the towel beside you to cover up. "How- how are you?" 

Of all the people in your office, he was the last one you wanted to see. Solely for the reason that things have been awkward between you ever since that incident. A working relationship characterized by the literal turning of the other cheek whenever you two bumped into each other.

"Oh, pardon me," he scratched the back of his head. "Do you..want me to go?"

Yes. 

"No..!" you blurted out. "I think-"

The sun was almost setting. You wrapped the towel around you as you took in the balmy sea breeze. 

"I think I'm done hiding," you whispered, meeting his gaze for the first time in a long while, head on and baring the tiniest hint of shame, like how you did with your friends and other coworkers.

He didn't say anything, allowing you to continue. "I- It's nice. Talking to people again," you giggled. "Look, Sano-san. About before, I'm really sor-"

"Actually," he smiled. "That's why I'm here. Well, my partner pushed me but-"

You grinned at the blush that rose to his cheeks. 

"But I wanted to tell you: No hard feelings."

Sano-san extended a hand. You stared at it for a few seconds. His hand, then his face. Back to his hand, then his face again. And when you'd finally accepted it, it felt like witnessing the cage that’s imprisoned you for centuries finally open.

"By the way," he added, walking back towards an obviously amused fianceé. "It's a good look on you, being happy."

Atsumu entertained the possibility that maybe— just maybe, not everything was  fine the night the Jackals went home after an overseas tournament.

As soon as the plane landed on Japanese soil, the hunger he felt throughout the journey morphed into some kind of  anticipation, palpable through the thrill that electrified him into wakefulness. He might have left in a hurry, only half of his mind present when the Coach ordered for a short meeting. 

His foot tapped endlessly on the way⁠— while in the car; during the tedious elevator ride⁠— and when he'd finally entered his pad, slamming the door open with much eagerness than usual, Atsumu felt his heart plummet down his stomach when he was welcomed by a dark and empty hallway. 

You're not here. Not anymore.

Hasn't it been almost half a year now? Why did he expect you, face brightened by a grin that went from ear to ear, to materialize in front of him, with the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen? As if a magician with a hat trick.   

("Welcome back!" he was aching to hear.)

(You always insisted on eating with him when he got home; sometimes opting to just stay by his side⁠— munching on a midnight snack while you babbled on, if he arrived later than usual and you'd already had dinner.)

("It's lonely having a meal on your own," you explained. "Don't you think food tastes better if you have someone with you?")

Perhaps it was the jet lag. Or, it could be that the abrupt change in time zones was starting to mess with his head. Either way, Atsumu was sure that sleep would eventually cure him of the momentary delirium. 

But then he woke up the next day feeling like someone had pissed in his morning drink. The day after that, too. Even the next had been the same, persisting onto the following weeks. 

Until one game, after a winning streak that had the crowd chanting their names and with blood still roaring in his veins, he condescended to survey the numerous people occupying the bleachers. 

And when he couldn't find one⁠— one person that had always stood out to him despite being constantly drowned in an ocean of spectators— it was only then that Atsumu Miya decided that enough was enough. 

You hadn't really agreed with Aya when she told you that you'd be getting "laid" during this short vacation. 

Reason number one: it's a company outing. And you're sure you'd be breaking some protocols by fooling around with any of your coworkers. Reason Two: as you'd sagely imparted to a miffed Aya, "I don't think it's nice to cure a broken heart with sex; strings attached or no."

That being said, the lingerie she'd chosen for you did flatter your figure. It didn't matter that "no one would see it," as Aya grumbled. It was enough for you that you yourself saw it, you thought as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror. 

The way it was tailored made it seem like it was made just for your body. The details of lace also made it look so pretty that you felt kind of sad that you'd have to cover it up with a summer dress soon. 

Nevertheless, you allowed yourself to strike a few poses in front of the mirror; feeling like a teenager on their first date as you admired how you looked in it. 

You smiled to yourself, humming a tune, before you opened your makeup kit and prepared the necessities you'd be bringing for the bonfire dinner. 

"Wipes: check," you murmured, rummaging through your bag. "Hygiene stuff. Where are you hygiene stuff, hygiene stu⁠—"

You froze.

Something rustled. Outside. As if something had moved. 

Putting a robe back on, your heart thundered against your chest as you stepped out of the bathroom and into the dimly lit sleeping area, illuminated only by a small reading lamp.

"Be careful there, girlie," the old caretaker warned as she guided you to this room. "Lots of mean spirits lurking about."

You didn't believe in ghosts. For some reason, however, your coworkers did. So you'd taken it to yourself to move here after a room assignment mishap, leaving Aya and Kaori behind. 

It didn't seem like the cursed chamber that she purported to be. Sure, it was isolated at the furthest wing of the beach house, away from the other rooms and separated by a too dark hallway. But that had been the creepiest thing about it. Besides, you heard from logistics that renting the house didn't cost much, despite its size, so maybe it's just that they lacked the resources to renovate. 

The floorboards creaked beneath you. "Aya? Aya, I know it's you," you called out as you squinted, catching a faint silhouette reclined at the corner of the bed. 

It was too large to be Aya, but you chalked that up to the shadows playing with your eyes. You puffed out a chortle, resting a hand on your hips when she finally stood.   

"Very funny, Aya," you snorted when she sauntered towards you. "Just you wait until Kaori hears about.…" you trailed off.

"......this."

You drew in a breath as she moved closer, revealing a build that was much taller, towering almost in the small room, shoulders that are way broader than the ones your friend has, and a face that clearly wasn't Aya's.

"Evenin'," Atsumu yawned. 

Your legs refused to listen to you.

"Been a minute, hadn't it, darlin'?"

You don't know why he's here. 

And even if you wanted to ask, you find that no sound could escape from your mouth when you tried to open it.

You do know this, as he gave you a lopsided grin that used to have you eating at the palm of his hand, along with a lazy gaze that was belied by a bird-like focus:

That although he told you that all he wants is a little chat, you knew that he didn't come here just for that.

You ran.

Atsumu had been the worst boyfriend.

He's aware of it now, realized it fully when he knocked on Samu's door, shit-faced, and it only took a single look and a consoling arm from his brother to break Atsumu into tears and snot, as well as Samu's voice telling him, "Yer a big baby. Ya need her, dontcha?"

That's why he followed you here, figuring that you'd love a thoughtful surprise. Because you always have. He didn't expect you'd take to it kindly, of course, not right away. But he also didn't expect that you would be doing the surprising.

You were talking to that man when he arrived. 

Didn't he tell you not to?

His intentions still haven't changed. He's here to bring you back, but before anything else Atsumu's sure it's only normal that you guys clear things up first. 

And if you're going to do that, he can't have you running away now, can't he?

Grabbing you by the waist, Atsumu's palm tingled at the feel of your body, pulling you closer to him as he pinned you to the wall and stifled your shrieks with his hand.

"Everybody's gone, angel," he whispered, losing himself in your skin, though covered in silk; lips and fingers roaming every which way because finally, finally, fuckin' finally you're here and you're real.

"Just wanna talk." He stroked the curve of your ass, middle finger tracing the lining of the crack. "Ain't this what'ya always wanted? S'let's talk," he murmured against your collarbone.

You were already crying, shaky hands weakly grasping his back and tears wetting even his cheeks. Atsumu couldn't help but smile. You'd always been a crier. It's one of the many things he loves about you. Always so honest with your emotions.

"I missed ya," Atsumu groaned as he grinded his cock against your pussy, feeling it harden when he mouthed your tits.

There was something peeking out of your robe, he noticed as it became more rumpled. 

"D-don't," you breathed, your attempt to swat his hands away thwarted when he seized your wrist.

It was lace. The color pulling the eye to your body like a siren's song. And when he stripped the robe off of you, silk swishing down your elbows, Atsumu saw that it was a piece of lingerie. One that he hasn't seen before.

Because he didn't buy this one. It wasn't from him. You weren't the type to get one yourself. 

Until now.

"This for him?" he murmured, pressing a kiss against your pulse, beating like a drum against his lips. 

"Wh-who?" you whimpered.

"The ugly piece of shit. Saw you guys gettin' chummy earlier."

He was close, too close to you, back at the beach. You smiled at him, laughed and showed him what he isn't supposed to see. And when he touched you— when the fucker touched you, Atsumu wanted blood on his hands.

"Yer gonna fuck the guy whose face I busted?" 

You squeaked as he dug his blunt nails against your wrist. Atsumu licked the red impressions they made.

"And what- what about it?" Your voice was so brittle and small. God, he just wanted to hold you. "It's none of your business, who I spend my time with. And don't- don't tell me you're jealous because-"

He chuckled, the sound of it making you shrink back into the wall. "Jealous? Doll, ya wouldn't wanna know what I'm feelin right now. But, sure." Atsumu lightly nipped at the tips of your fingers. 

"'Course I'm jealous," he rasped. "You're mine."

Then, Atsumu looked at you. And what he saw in your eyes made him stumble that when you shoved him away, all he could do was stand and stare.

"I'm not your thing, Atsumu," you cried. A light-year difference from the girl who'd always stare at him so tenderly. "I never was and I never will be. I'm not yours."

You didn't run this time. You should've. 

Atsumu clenched his jaw. "Like hell ya ain't," he snarled.

People say that breakups are a messy business. Atsumu was so sure he wouldn't have to endure that, before he met you.  Now that he's had the experience, though, Atsumu can say with confidence that breakups are, in fact, a goddamn mess.

But you're over that now. It's time to turn over a new leaf and return to one another. And Atsumu's finding out, in the process, that making up can be astonishingly reminiscent of the breakup.

You started crying when you woke up, screaming for help as you tried to budge the rope that was tying your hands to your knees. You got louder when you found out that you were naked and not in the rickety confines of the beach house. 

"Welcome home, baby," he beamed, eying you from between your legs. 

The begging started when you realized how drenched your little pussy was, his tongue lapping and slathering the cum dripping from your twitching hole, against  your swollen folds; his calloused thumb massaging deep circles on your clit. 

And when he stuck another inside your puckered asshole, you writhed out of your binds and squealed, "T-tsumu-kun…!"

Fuck. 

"Babydoll," he growled. "Daddy's gotcha, daddy's gonna treat ya so fuckin' good."

He slapped your damp cunt with his long fingers, thrusting them inside to rub and feel at your walls, at the bump that never failed to make you screech. "Daddy's been mean hasn't he? Hm? Been a bad daddy to ya, baby?"

You could only gasp out wordlessly as he slurped the juices off your clit, not stopping until you were gushing, sloppy cum drizzling on the bedsheet, every muscle in spasms, incapable of even stretching out your legs although Atsumu knew you wanted to, you really wanted to so fuckin' bad, resorting to curling your toes instead. 

"E-enough, please, please, stop!"

How adorable, Atsumu thought. "My little slut," he cooed, tapping the tip of his hard cock on your pussy. "My good 'lil fucktoy."

He relished it, wanting to draw this on forever, so he slides it against your folds, pussy lips wrapping the meat of his cock, gyrating his hips back and forth, as if he were fucking you, and grabbing your tits to play with your nipples. 

"Atta girl," he laughed, licking his teeth when he finally sunk inside your tight cunt, pushing you so far down into the mattress until his chest was rubbing against your tits, your feet dangling against his shoulders.

"I don't-I don't want this, 'Tsumu," you sobbed. "Don't want this!"

Oh, of course you don't. Atsumu knows you don't. He'd fucked you against your will, after all. 

But you were taking him so well, darlin'. Your walls were hugging his cock so fuckin' nicely that he couldn't help but shove deeper inside you, craving for the way your pussy twitched rapidly around him. 

If you weren't bound, he's also sure that you'd be pushing his hips away. But that's not what's getting to him. Because as he pistoned his cock into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass, you instantly turned your face away.

Did you know that you were breaking his heart? Shattering it to pieces, when you close your eyes like doors, locking them to prevent him from ever reaching you again. 

So he gripped your chin. Forced you to meet his eyes as you wept and shook your head. 

"Am gonna be better, baby," he groaned.  "No more keeping things from ya. None of that bullshit, now."

Atsumu shivered as you came around him, convulsing under him and strained voice still begging him to stop. Because he wasn't. He would never stop. Not when it comes to you. 

"Am all yours, angel. All yours." He pounded your fucked out cunt, chasing his own high as he kneaded your tits. 

A tear fell from your eyelids. And when he kissed you, it felt like everything in his life shifted back in its rightful place. "You can have it all," he sighed, cupping your cheek.

"So give me all of you now," Atsumu pleaded. "Come back to me."

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x female reader #dark content haikyuu #prompt

[semischarmed]

Clarity

My hot roommate Zach is the perfect man. I think I won the cosmic lottery when we got paired freshman year. “Roommates for life!” he shouted, as he wrapped a tone arm around me in a side-hug. I chuckled, of course. Who knew the cutest guy in our dorm was such a dork. I remember that moment vividly, committed every last detail to memory. In what he likely only barely remembers, I recall to the last detail. I play it back often -even moreso, nowadays: The crisp autumn breeze. The filtered sunlight through amber trees, bathing us both in golden afternoon. The warmth of his touch, and the unintended taunt from his arm pulling me towards him and his jacket ever so slightly wrapping over my back. The slight, dense smell of coffee wafting from him and his minty breath cutting through. Thats how I remember him. Warm. Sincere. Safe. Zach would probably say that was the moment we became best friends. I, on the other-hand, would say that was the exact moment when I fell for him.

We did everything together from then on: Ate together, joined the same clubs, signed up to the same classes- that first year we were inseparable. Best friends to a tee. I’m not even sure what he saw in me- the guy was a hell of a lot more sociable than I was. He could literally find anyone else on campus, yet I had the privilege of being his roommate and friend. I commit that wonderful first year to my life. It is my happiest year to date. I commit that version of Zach to myself as well.

Trouble started early in our second year. He spent all summer back home, hanging out with his high school friends and his brothers. When we finally met back in our new room, he seemed distant. Still, I made the effort, getting closer and closer to him every day. He’d been sending signals too, I think. A stray touch, just a half second too long. A lingering stare in my direction. A gentle smile when I ask him a bout his day. I had to know for myself with certainty. 

So, one terrifying October night, I asked him straight up.The fucker laughed. Cruel, hideous, insensitive laughter. I’d never felt more alone in my life than when he laughed at my confession. That broke something in me. I quickly ran to my bed, crying myself to sleep. Without skipping a beat, Zach left the room to grab a bite to eat, seemingly unchanged by my outright confession. I had never been so humiliated in my life, yet only he would ever know. Still I felt him hold that over me in the weeks to follow like a dark cloud. Of course he’d still offer hangouts. He’d ask for help with some dumb assignment or try to get me to open up by faking some issues about himself. He was mocking me. I felt his sneer, ever-present from behind. Thats when I began researching alternative methods to exact what I needed from him.

Why a private university had a book like this is beyond me. It was a spellbook. A dangerous one, at that. All manner of incantation and processes regarding the human soul. I poured myself the next few weeks on its pages religiously. Translation is a massive pain in the ass but it gets done.

“Love cannot be created by spell,” it stated. Leave it to a fucking book to let me down too. I wiped away stray tears until I caught sight of the last batch of spells. I sighed at its contents. Fine. I couldn’t make him love me through magic, but I could have him the next best way. His body. The final section of this book of spells is, of course, the curses and enchantments required to possess another being.

———

The preparations have been made. It’s another late, awkward night in our room, where he just passes by, gives me a nod and a grimace and then heads to bed. This night would be different. I chant the words. The price is steep. Half of my body’s lifespan for the ability to take someone over in their sleep. That’s the one I settled on. Of course, there were more permanent spells outlined, but this seemed to be a happy medium.

The magic is dark in nature, and I feel the cloud over me deepen. I feel myself detach. It’s weightless, but grounded. Makes sense, given the purpose of this spell. I watch my target and lick my astral lips. There he was, happily dreaming without a care in the world. I study every curve, like sculpture. He is muscled, but tone. Zach likes to sleep with his shirt off, so I get to see what powerful chest up close. I watch as powerful lungs, drawn in air before gently dispersing it. Perfection. I watch that beautiful face lie still in a satisfied smile. Angelic. This body is power, incarnate. My power, soon.

I follow closes until I am but inches from his face. I stir around him, slightly. I want him to know it’s me. Bleary eyes open and he gives a weak smile when he sees me. “Dude-” the smile quickly fades to shock. “Wait what the fuck...” in sinful glee I push into my man. He involuntarily absorbs my particles, my spirit. He tries to push me away, to get me off him. Hands are useless to stop me. I phase through them with no resistance. His breath quickens as he begins to panic. This only further brings me into him, as he is forced to breath in the only air around him-me. 

Then, he starts choking, trying to force the parts of me in him out. I am unfazed. Instead, in I keep filling into him until all of me is inside. This is the way we were meant to be. He pulses and convulses and chokes while I align myself into him. I revel in Zach. In being Zach. Despite all the shit he pulled this year, he still is perfection. My perfection, now. 

I command his lips mine. “Invoke me. Become me. Manipulate this body. Explore us. Stay, in me. I want you here, forever.” They’re not words he usually uses. I rile in a frenzy when these phrases leave his lips at my behest. When his voice becomes my own and I make us moan. When his body complies with my every whim. When Zach’s flesh is mine. It is euphoric. Orgasmic even. I intend to follow through, to reward it. To pleasure it. God it feels good being in him. Being him. He may not love me, but love me he will, even if indirectly. Every waking moment I spend inside this man will be a moment of him loving himself, loving me. Now, And then I feel it. I clutch my head in pain. Zach.

Veins strain in his forehead as he puts every last effort to exorcise me out. Resistance almighty in this body. In tears I feel myself stripped from momentary heaven. He chokes as a dense fog that is me escapes his mouth. He is successful.

When I am kicked out of his body abruptly, I flare in anger. How could he do this? How could he? I look back at my slumbering form. No matter. My resolve is steel. Somehow, somewhere deep inside me, I knew somewhere it had to come to this. I chant the final curse mentioned in the spellbook. The price is the steepest of them all.

I watch as my physical form dissipates. I writhe as I am renewed with newfound energy. Potency. Virility. I’ve put in everything. Everything I ever was into becoming him. Zach would be mine, no matter what. 

Before he can readjust, before he can even think about what had just occurred, I flood back inside my man. Inside my body. My one true body, now, given what I had to sacrifice. I make him smile while he takes me in. Smile in preparation of a new, permanent driver. I thrust my astral form inside its new home. It’s warm. Roomy. muscular. We make this body grin, shout, cry, writhing all the way in its sheets in our battle for control. I’m not even sure he knows what he’s doing when he fights me- but he always was a natural in everything he picked up. I feel our shared muscle contract and relax as it is forced to accept its two masters- soon to be one. Soon to be me. Zach’s soul was strong but no one was a match for the full force of an entire human body-turned-spirit. I feel his soul start to lose footing. Jackpot. Immediately fill take its place. My place.

I was far deeper in Zach now than I was before. His essence struggles, trying to escape me but I keep us steady, hold us tight. Our minds begin to connect this time around and we sync. The book said this was a necessary step. I blink away our tears into a satisfied smile. Our face is flush from the fight, flush from my greatest victory. “You’re mine forever,” I think to myself, My words. The verbalization of my invasive thoughts in his head- they’re spoken in his tongue. In his jock-like inflection. I even now think in his voice. Of course, it’s relatively minor in the grand scheme of things. Yet it is undeniable proof. The finality of it all. Proof that my body no longer existed in this world. Proof that for me, forever, Zach would be my default. Just one last step to it all. One last push- I’ve already given this much, there was no going back. I would displace Zach as the true owner of this body. It’s as the final line in the book states: “Encapsulate their soul, devour it, digest it, make it yours. Then, true control at long last.”

Tears stream down our shared cheeks as we both realize the true gravity, the true consequences of my actions. We are synced now, but I haven’t yet completed the process. So, our emotions are a mix. So, it’s bittersweet. He’s mine. We’re one. I’m finally with Zach in a way most intimate. Despite it all, he isn’t fighting back. Why?

I rage inside him, wanting him to be mad, wanting him to hate me, to give me justification my ultimate transgression. He offers none. Instead, I am hit with borrowed clarity. More of his memory floods into me and I begin to cry. 

I watch my every worst moment through his lens, relive the demons of my past and yet, from his perspective they never looked quite as dark or traumatic as I had made them out to be. Even my confession itself, my initial catalyst, had merely been a blip in Zach’s mind. If anything, he had been more concerned that his own nervous laughing was the cause of my spiraling. I quickly realize how much wasted time I spent, building up Zach into this god in my head. My god. In the end, he was human after all.

I feel Zach pull instances of himself from my memories in turn. It turns out he had many, many insecurities as well. Many moments where he needed validation or support. Many moments, even in recent memory, where I had never picked up on on his fear and self doubt. An offhand comment here. Some self-deprecation there. Of course, stupid me always there to respond by telling him to quit joking around. I felt the months of torment he felt in my coldness after my confession. He wasn’t making fun of me or being an ass, he wasn’t even patronizing (well, he wasn‘t trying to at least)- he thought he was losing a friend. The guy was just a bit oblivious. God I was so dumb. Of course, he blames himself for my eventual actions. Poor guy. Zach didn’t deserve any of this- he never did. “Thank you” he cries in new clarity.

In mental tears I begin to undo my connection to him. It’s not something he had the capacity to do himself- I made that a reality when I used my physical form as tribute. I know the price which must be paid, for my greatest sin, born from misunderstanding. There wouldn’t be much left for me- the price for the spell was my physical body after all. It didn’t matter. I made that choice for myself when I recited the spell. But Zach... he had no choice at all. He still had a chance at a life. A life well-lived with knowledge and confidence gained from my memory. It was the least I could give him.

I begin to drift away as I balance the cosmic scales. I detach the last of myself from Zach, ready to give him back his body, ready to return him to his life. It’s merely a reverse of the process from before, yet it all feels lighter somehow. I take it as a sign of karmic justice. Of course, I am scared. Who knows what awaits me? Maybe I can find another body to inhabit. Maybe one in a coma. Maybe i’ll be reincarnated. Maybe nothing. Maybe I’ll just vanish on the spot...

Zach doesn’t give me the chance to find out. I feel his astral hand holding on to mine. His face is sympathetic. Kind. Warm. Like it used to be. Like it always was. His body leans up to pull me into a warm embrace. I start crying in spirit. “You, you don’t have to do this-” 

“I know” he says. He pulls me tighter. “Roommates for life, remember?” Now he’s crying. “There’s no way to go back- we both know that, but you still got a life to live-we both do.” He smiles as he guides me to himself. I reattach to him. We weave our souls as one. “C’mon man, I told you I grew up sharing a room.” I am a complete mess of emotions at this point. Unworthiness, Love, Relief. I feel his mess too. Neither of us knew where to go from here, but we both knew we’d face it together.

The experience was sobering, to say the least. We cried together that night. We cried at newfound realization. We cried at irreversibility of what I had done. Hell, we even cried at the extra rent that had to now be paid. I had no way of undoing what I did, and Zach wouldn’t let me go. In the end, we decide to just give it a go, a resolve to live as one person. “Zach 2.0,” as he jokingly put it. Dork.

———

“A happy accident,” is what Zach called the events of that night. He always was the optimist. Although, these days, I’m a bit of an optimist now too. I am Zach now too, after all. All things considered, we’ve done quite well together. Zach 2.0 was everything. We were smart, intuitive, confident, compassionate. We’ve made this body the healthiest it’s ever been. Hell, together we even graduated with honors, something neither of us could ever hope to do alone. Both our parents were real proud of that one- he told mine at my funeral that we had been together and we’ve been in close contact ever since. By no means were we the perfect man though. There was no perfect man. We’ve had our share of fights, struggles, times where one of us would take full control of this body we share, shut the other out.

Once in a blue moon, we both dream of what our lives could have ended up as, had I not done what I did or had he let me disappear that night. In retrospect, I really do think my life had a lot of things going for it. Hindsight is always 20/20, as he likes to say. I saw many an opening, so many areas for improvement that my younger self was blinded by in lust and perceived betrayal. There was so much life I could have lived, had I just not opened that stupid book. I don’t dwell on it too much though. We’re both quite happy sharing this body. I’m living in one body with my crush, whats not to like?

The first few months were quite jarring. Our friends and family would see us happy and outgoing at one moment and then flip to quiet and reserved on a flip of the switch. Gratefully, they been patient with us, assuming it was the byproduct of a grieving boyfriend. The more years I grow with him, the more alike we have become. Sharing one body and living one life tends to do that. I’ve probably rubbed off on him a little too. He’s just a bit more analytical now, a bit more perceptive, and I’ve learned to let loose every once in a while. Altogether, we make a great team. We’ve even managed a slew of relationships along the way. Hell, he’s even gone out with some guys-no doubt a byproduct of my soul being a part of him. Of course, in the ultimate cruel twist of fate, they never last- he tells me “none ever match me”. Well of course they can’t. I’ve lived every moment with him, felt his every thought, lifted him when he was up, consoled him when he was down. Ironically, in a roundabout way, the spell did end up causing love, causing for him to fall for me- at the cost of us never being able to be a couple in the physical sense. Guess you really can’t have it all.

In the few years we spent together my love for him has only deepened. I know he feels the same way. We are one person, after all. All things considered, it’s not a bad setup. If love on the physical plane happens, it happens, and if it doesn’t- then we still always have each other. Regardless, I’m sure we’ll find someone out there for the both of us, someday-there’s that optimism again. Of course, we don’t pine for it. Our main focus has always been each other. Growing together. We’ve got a whole life yet to live. And he’ll have me with him every step of the way. And we can’t wait to face it all, together.

-End-

Eh, it’s a bit underdeveloped but I’m not a novelist and I didn’t want to spread this out over parts. Going for something a little different with number 14- hope y’all like it!

#male possession

[soulmate-game]

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Day 5: Overprotection

Disclaimer: Dick was adopted when he was 12 in this fic. Just for math’s sake.

—*—*—*—*—*

“What.”

Damian stared at his father, face carefully blank. Bruce grimaced, shifting.

“I said, you have a half sister. Biological.”

Four sets of eyes bored into him, from all of his sons. They were gathered not in the Batcave for once, but just one of the sitting rooms in the Manor.

“... and what, Father, does that have to do with the French class visiting Gotham?” Damian asked again, posture steadily growing stiffer and more and more stone like. He was trying hard to suppress emotions, but not even he was quite sure what those emotions were yet. Anger? Fear? Resentment? Probably. He might have detected some excitement there too, deep, deep down. Bruce took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for this.

“Well. I’ve kept up with her life, but last time I checked she had no idea that she was adopted. When her birth mother died, it was right around the time I adopted Dick. She was still an infant, and I knew I was not equipped to handle taking care of a baby—“

“Father,” Damian interrupted again. “You sent her off. Have her up for adoption,” he said slowly, as if realizing that that would have been his fate had his father known about his existence earlier, as well. It was almost ironic, considering how Bruce seemed to have a problem with adopting other children nowadays. Bruce nodded.

“She was adopted by a couple in France. Paris, to be exact. I’ve kept up to date, asking them to just send me a letter or email once or twice a year about the general stuff she’s been up to. Nothing too invasive. A few pictures. And last time I asked them, they said that she had no idea about being adopted or that I was her father,” Bruce sighed again, running a hand over his face. “But I think she does.”

“Why?” Jason asked, confused as everyone else to the change in subject. Except Tim and Damian, who seemed to be quickly connecting the dots.

“Oh boy,” Tim breathed. Bruce just nodded.

“Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She is the one who organized the trip for her class to come here, to Gotham. She is the one who entered and won our international internship competition, and turned that into an excuse to get her entire class to come here for two weeks. To get to know the place she will be living for her internship next year, after she graduates Lycee, France’s version of highschool essentially.”

Tim winced. He had been in charge of the internship competition, and Bruce had given him free reign. He had chosen the winner without even thinking to run it by his adoptive father.

“Bruce—“ Tim tried, but the man just held up a hand.

“I don’t blame you. I haven’t been paying too much attention to her life, and I didn’t expect her to do something like this. But we know now that, if she does know and this isn’t a giant coincidence,”

“Unlikely,” Dick agreed, wincing. “Possible, but unlikely.”

Bruce huffed in agreement. “Then, we know she is very resourceful, determined, and has skills that impressed Tim enough to choose her out of tens of thousands of contest participants worldwide.”

“The minimum requirement for a Wayne,” Damian finally managed to bite out, still coping with this proverbial slap in the face but doing his best to handle it. He was seventeen damn it, and had come a long way from who he used to be. He could handle this. He could. He would.

Bruce rolled his eyes, and then leaned forward with his hands braced on the table. “Okay. So now we need to make plans.”

“Plans?” Jason asked, frowning. “For how you’re gonna tell her without getting your faces plastered over every tabloid in the city right?”

“No,” the older man shook his head. “Plans to keep her alive, unharmed, and unaffiliated with us until she leaves. I will not be making any public appearances unless absolutely necessary, so trips to the Tower are out of the question—“

“Are you…” Jason’s eyes were wide. “Trying to keep her out of our Shitshow? Because yeah, kudos to you even if it took you way too long to learn, but if she went through all this trouble to come here then it's probably too late.”

Dick nodded. “If she’s anything like you and Damian, there’s no way she’ll back off easy. Avoiding her will only make it worse on you, and probably the rest of us too.”

Damian stared straight into his father's eyes, glare sharp and searching. “What is this about, Father? You have not worried this much about any of us—“

“Because none of you were as naive!” He barked, quickly catching himself and taking a breath. “You all had a way you could benefit from this life. A way I could help you. But Marinette has both of the parents she has known her whole life, they treat her wonderfully. They care. She’s never had to worry about constantly moving, or fighting, or going hungry. The only deaths she has ever experienced have been from afar and due to natural causes. She designs as a hobby and has no problem with socializing or handling emotions in a healthy way— introducing her to our life holds no benefit for her. The only thing it can give her is unnecessary danger and risk and secrets.”

“Yeah, well. I guess Batman doesn’t know everything, does he?” A new voice startled them all from the doorway, making everyone's head whip over to see who had managed the near-impossible and snuck up on all of them.

Standing there, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, was a short part-Asian woman in her late teens. Her midnight black hair was cascading down her back in one thick braid, tied off at the end with an indigo ribbon. Her eyes were a piercing cobalt blue, matching those of Bruce perfectly. Her jaw was clenched, and the infamous Bat-glare coming from her was directed right at the person who made the expression infamous in the first place.

“Marinette,” Bruce breathed, shoulders squaring. “Your plane isn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

“It won’t,” she agreed. “I took a portal here. You see, my extensive research into Batman’s known habits and tactics, which I started after I figured out about your alter ego last year, informed me that you tend to go to the extremes to protect people you deem incapable of protecting themselves, and are also prone to idiotic self-sacrificing behavior in the form of purposely making yourself look like an ass.”

Jason chuckled. “She’s got you down to a T, B,” he quipped with a grin despite the caution still in his eyes. “But let’s back up a bit, little Spitfire. What’s this about a portal?”

Marinette pushed off the doorframe, walking closer to the scattered group. Tim and Jason were spread across one sofa, Damian on the other with Dick, and Bruce was occupying an armchair. Marinette just walked until she stood where she could easily be seen by everyone, but also had nobody at her back.

“The portal is part of a bigger story. Like, the fact that father dearest wanted to protect me so badly that he placed the JLE in Paris, but didn’t realize that relations with that branch were so bad that the JLE never informed him or the JLA about getting kicked out of France and reassigning themselves to Italy. Bruce never kept a close enough eye on the city, because he wanted to keep emotional distance, and therefore was completely blind to when a supervillain showed up and terrorized Paris for almost five years,” she continued, her glare never leaving Bruce’s face.

“I found out about being adopted when I was eight. I found out who my biological father was when I was thirteen. Last year, I finally put in the work to connect Bruce Wayne to Batman. And yeah, I never told Maman and Papan, because they have never completely understood me. They wouldn’t have understood that I was fine with having no contact with you, back then. That my snooping had nothing to do with being unhappy with them as my parents. They would have immediately assumed they were inadequate when I am merely curious by nature. But then I ended up being chosen to be one of the child heroes that fought said domestic terrorist that showed up five years ago. And I sure as hell couldn't tell them that a magical artifact showed up on my desk one day and that the god inhabiting it told me to fight the monsters the villain made and just, just go with it. I couldn’t tell them when I went from being one of two Parisian heroes to being the leader of a team. I couldn’t tell them when my elderly mentor, unable to fight by our side but who had at least provided emotional support and knowledge, passed away and gave me his title and responsibilities. I’m sick and tired of being protected, Monsieur Wayne,” Marinette didn’t seem to notice the tears that had begun to fall.

“I’m sick of it. I know you were trying to keep me safe, but I fought a war I wasn’t prepared for. I died, thousands of times. But my own powers and the powers I have my partners brought me back to life. Over and over. I don’t need protection, damn it. I don’t need you to distance yourself, because you're the only fucking person I can call a parent who might understand,” she held out a hand, her scowl turning into a gentle smile. “I have so much I need to talk about. Before I drown under all these secrets. Please. I’ll go back through another portal before my parents notice I’m gone, but I’ll be back in town tomorrow when my plane lands. Just. Please, don’t push me away. That’s all I ask. I want to get to know you, all of you. I… I need family who understands.”

“Thousands.” Bruce repeated, all of them still recovering from Marinette’s very sudden, info-dumping speech. “You died… thousands of times?”

Marinette laughed, but it was a sad sound. No mirth there. “I gave my friend a magical artifact that reverses time, and the artifact that gives me my own powers can reverse any damage from a fight I use it in. Even death. Sending untrained teenagers to fight a villain three times their age makes some kind of failsafe like that kind of necessary.”

“Fuck,” Jason cursed under his breath. “Well. You’re welcome to join the living Zombie club,” he offered. The girl snorted, giving him a watery grin in thanks.

“I’m sure you know about my stance on powers and metas,” Bruce decided to say, wincing immediately after. That wasn’t what he meant to say. At all. He earned another brief glare for it.

“I’m not a meta, and I only have powers when I use the artifact to transform, thereby borrowing powers from the miniature god that the artifact houses. Think of it like doctor fate, but my gods are actually not parasites and my powers are much more… specialized. I had to learn combat on my own, and I was able to train in my sleep with the past users of this artifact. That includes people like Fa Mulan, Joan of Arc, and someone you actually know— Hippolyta. I’ve mastered more fighting styles by now than I care to remember, and I’ve done gymnastics since I was three. I don’t know if my parents told you that in their letters. I even won the gold in the nationwide France gymnastics competition two years ago. I assure you, I don’t rely on my powers nearly as much as you might think.”

Bruce swallowed. “I can… greet you when your class arrives.”

Marinette grinned. “Well, that’s a start.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Idk what happened, I don’t know if I like this at all but oh well. I’m posting it anyway. Maybe one of you will like it. I… couldn’t really find any other way to do this so oh well. Also, I think Mulan was a past Dragon..? But I put her as a Ladybug because I Can.

@momothefemur @ladybug-182 @starlightshield @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze @sam-i-am-0222 @bluesimani @ruelukas22 @acoolspacegirl @iamablinkmarvelarmy @meme991001

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #b!dbwm2020 #bio dad bruce wayne #platonic daminette #platonic brucinette #day 5 #not my fave at all

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 12- Whatever It Takes

Summary: This is it, you’re finally going to help save the world and if all goes to plan, bring Bucky back in the process.

Warning: bit o angst

Masterlist

It’s been a solid month since Tony and Rocket have been crafting tirelessly on the construction of the giant time portal machine type deal, or whatever he’s calling it nowadays. And to your great surprise, as well as everyone else’s, the first test run with Clint was an undeniable success.

Compared to the first one with Scott, things have come a long way.

Clint was able to wander around in that alternate universe for a couple minutes without returning with so much as a single scratch. Thus boosting the teams confidence and excitement for the inevitable time heist that’s in the works. So as of now, everyone’s currently brainstorming as to how this will go about for the most successful mission possible.

“Okay, so the how works.” Begins Steve as everyone sits around the large meeting room, glass screens projecting info about the stones displayed in the background, “Now, we gotta figure out the when and where. Almost everyone in this room has had an encounter with at least one of the six Infinity Stones...”

Tony cuts in with his spout of knowledge, “Or substitute the word “encounter” for “damn near been killed” by one of the six Infinity Stones.” Damn straight, your ass got launched into a Wakandian tree last you saw those goddamn stones.

“Well I haven’t..” Interjects Scott with a puzzled look, confusion clear in his voice, “..but I don’t even know what the hell you’re all talking about.” Oh right, he missed out on all the fun while he was fucking around in the quantum realm.

Sitting on the table you shrug, “Be glad you’ve never seen them, those fucking space rocks will kick your ass if used less then kindly, but it doesn’t matter now. From my understanding we only have enough Pym Particles for one round-trip each.” You explain as they all listen intently, “And clearly these fucking stones have been in a lot of different places throughout history.”

Tony nods, “Our history. So, not a lot of convenient spots to just drop in, yeah?”

“Which means we have to pick out targets.” Adds Clint as Tony points in his direction, “Correct.”

Steve soon gains everyone’s attention once again, “So, let’s start with the Aether. Thor, what do you know?” Asks the blonde, all eyes turn towards the back corner of the room to find Thor slouched in an armchair, beer can in hand while the other one keeps partially hidden in his pajama pants.

A dark pair of sunglasses conceals whether he’s currently awake or not. “Is he asleep?” Wonders Natasha as Rodney humorously adds, “No, no. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

A few soft chuckles are heard as you listen intently to the god of thunder, “He’s alive, and most definitely sleeping off that last beer.” You muse as they all give a collective curious brow while you simply shrug, “I can hear his heartbeat, and it’s low enough to tell me he’s not dead.....Well, at least not yet.” You mutter, eyeing up the sleeping giant as an idea sparks into your head.

A second later you pick up a discarded empty beer can sitting right next to you on the table before throwing it at the snoozing god, the thin metal smacks against his forehead with that familiar pop of the can sound, falling to the ground with a crackly ting as Thor jolts awake. And back to the land of the living.

“Nordic Santa you’re up.” His head snaps in your direction as he gives a semi-awkward half grin. 

“Ah right, right, thank you angry one.” Points Thor with a genuine smile now as he quickly gets up before walking over to the screen depicting the red swirly like stone substance. Although soon he delves into the finding of the red mass, what it did to his former flame, that he took her to Asgard seeking help for her sickness, how he showed Jane to his mother, and then he immediately got sad and lost all motivation and train of thought on anything related to that stone.

Ah yes, personal trauma. It’ll do that to you.

Later that day when everyone was feasting on some Chinese takeout, Rocket began an in-depth explanation into where the Power Stone was found; by some guy named Quill who stole it from a planet called Morag. After some time later, Nebula revealed that the Soul Stone was retrieved from Vormir, the place where Thanos murdered her sister Gamora.

It’s been an interesting day to day the least.

Now here you are, slouched comfortably in a lounge chair you stole from the other room, flipping around a pocketknife as Natasha and Tony lay on the nearby table with Bruce sprawled out on the floor in all his Banner-Hulkness. Books scattered everywhere as the two Avengers keep comfortable on some decorative couch pillows as you listen to them brainstorm about the stones whereabouts.

Flipping the knife skillfully between your fingers an idea suddenly pops into your head, “Hey what about that time stone guy you were talking about earlier.”

Banner hums, “Doctor Strange.”

“Yeah, what kind of doctor was he?” Wonders Natasha as you mentally question the same proposition when Tony gives his quick witted answer. “Ear-nose-throat meets rabbit-from-hat.”

“Nice place in the Village, though.” Adds Bruce, Tony agreeing in an instant. “Yeah, on Sullivan Street?”

“Mmm....Bleecker Street.” Mutters Banner as Natasha interrupts, face shifting to realization. “Wait, he lived in New York?”

“No, he lived in Toronto.” Sasses Tony as Banner reveals the truth. “Uh, yeah, on Bleecker and Sullivan.”

Tony coming back with more playful sarcasm, “Have you been listening to anything?”

Suddenly it feels like a lights been switched on in your brain, “Guys.” You quickly implore as they keep silent to listen, “If you pick the right year, wouldn’t there be three stones in New York?” Their faces all collectively shift to astonished realization when Bruce quickly sits up to look at you. “Shut the front door.”

“Well at least someone is paying attention.” Quips Tony as Natasha smacks him with a book.

——

“All right.” Begins Steve as the whole team gathers in the meeting room, “We have a plan. Six stones, three teams, one shot.”

You nod, smirking with excitement, “Let’s get these fuckers and maybe end up saving the world while we’re at it.” He sends you a proud grin and within the next half an hour are the eleven of you suited up and standing in a large circle atop the glass of the giant time portal.

“Five years ago, we lost. All of us....we lost friends. We lost family. We lost a part of ourselves. Today, we have a chance to take it all back. You know your teams. You know your missions. Get the stones. Get them back. One round-trip each. No mistakes....no do-overs.”

“Most of us are going somewhere we know. That doesn’t mean we should know what to expect. Be careful. Look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives...and we’re gonna win.” Affirms Steve with a mutual nod, “Whatever it takes.” He gives one last look around the circle of familiar faces before nodding, “Good luck.”

Nudging the muscular blonde, he shares a small smile with you as you quickly return it, “You practice that last night?” Steve chuckles at your amusing comment while Rocket and Scott gush over his admittedly incredible motivational speech skills.

“Just thought the team could use the confidence boost.” Admits Steve as Bruce flicks the motherboards switches to get the time portal up and running. The machine whirs to life while everyone begins putting on their helmets.

Your slightly apprehensive gaze trails to your left where Natasha is standing, she gives a playful smirk as you force a true smile, “See you in a minute.” Chides the red head as you break out into a smirk.

“будь осторожен там Romanoff.” You add, shifting into your natural dialect that she’s all to familiar with, your actual words translating to “be careful out there” as you give her one last flash of a grin.

A hot second later, your body shrinks to the size of an atom as you feel like you’re entire body is free falling out of an airplane in some strange rainbow colored portal that shifts to shimmering diamonds and then finally a blue coral type texture as you find your teams designed route down some swirling tube of blues and bright white lights until at last you land in...

“Holy shit look at this place.” You mutter in absolute awe at the large golden pillars of Asgard, there was no fucking way you were missing out on traveling to this realm. And anyways, Steve kinda made it your task to keep the potbellied god of thunder in check as yourself and Rocket attempt to locate the Reality Stone with Lebowski as your generous tour guide.

Thor smiles fondly, proudly beaming at you with a rare form of happiness as he points towards the large cavernous halls of the royal palace, “Oh this? Yeah, it’s neat isn’t it, I grew up here....played games down this very hallway actually. Me and some friends used to spar one another as children down here with wooden sticks that looked like swor...”

“Thor.” Interrupts Rocket with an annoyed huff, “Remember why we’re actually here.”

You nod in agreement, quickly remembering the current mission, “He’s right. No time to dwell on fond memories, we need to find that stone before anyone sees us. And going by the logic of literally every time traveling movie I’ve ever seen, which admittedly isn’t a lot, but it’s enough that I know no one can see us. Especially you Thor, that would be a big problem for this timeline, so lead the way.”

“Yes, right on that, good point Y/N....okay um...” He looks around for a moment before pointing in the direction of choice, which is down a long spacious hallway, “This way, no ones gonna see us if we go by the dungeons.” Explains Thor as he quickly leads the way down the obnoxiously long hallway that thankfully is decently vacant.

After about five minutes of trekking around the castles interior, Thor guides you and Rocket down a long stairwell of dark grey stone until you reach the bottom floor. There are large basins of fire lighting the way down the lengthy hallway pass, he jogs past a couple golden tinged cells holding a few odd looking prisoners on your way out.

No doubt these fuckers look like they deserve it.

You pay them no mind as Thor hustles silently across the flooring to a door on the far end, though as you’re shuffling past another cell, your eyes land on the green and black clad slender body of a dark haired man laying atop his bed. Face focused towards the white ceiling as he tosses a cylindrical piece of metal in a repeated rhythm only done by that of an incredibly bored individual.

That must be his brother Loki, you draw into conclusion while racing out of sight of the trickster god while Rocket makes haste by your side. Kind of handsome, you think as an unknowing smile finds itself onto your face. God Y/N you truly are a desperate woman. No, just no.

Eventually, Thor leads your little team of three upstairs to some large balcony type area with a grand view of Asgard, the three of you keeping hidden behind one of the multitude of intricately decorated pillars as he eyes up a woman halfway out of a giant door while she accepts some clothing from a maid.

His bearded face lights up in joy as he points a finger towards the brunette woman, “Oh, there’s Jane.” Whispers Thor as she closes the door, the Asgardian maiden leaving and walking elsewhere down another yawning chamber.

“All right.” Starts Rocket as he stands on some ancient rock covered in unknown hieroglyphics before jumping down to face the two of you once the coast is clear, “Here’s the deal tubby. You’re gonna charm her, Y/N’s gonna keep watch, and I’m gonna poke her with this thing..” He shows some strange metal device with three silver prongs sticking out of it, “...and extract the Reality Stone, and get gone lickety-split.”

The optimism off of this creature never fails to astound you.

“Yeah, what he said.” You add with a shrug in Rocket’s direction as Thor sniffs before raising up a finger. “I’ll be right back, okay? The wine cellar is just down here...” Interjects Thor as he slowly begins walking away, clearly ready to abandon his part in the mission, “My father used to have this huge barrel of Aakonian ale. I’ll see if the scullery has a couple of to-go cups.”

“Hey. Hey!” You whisper yell, causing him to stop for the moment, “Aren’t you drunk enough already? Fuck that fancy wine we got better things to do.” You urgently vouch just as some doors loudly open nearby, immediately the three of you hide behind the stone of hieroglyphics and watch as a long haired woman leads the way, a multitude of servants in her wake as she says something about giving books to Loki from the library.

“Who’s the fancy broad?” Wonders Rocket as you raise an intrigued brow at Thor, his eyes never once leave the woman’s as he takes a steady breath, “That’s my mother.” Reveals the disheartened god, a sudden sadness lacing his very words that does not go unnoticed by you, “She dies today.”

Your breath catches in your throat at this sudden tragic news of great loss, you remember when you lost your own mother by the filthy hands of Hydra and how they helped you quickly forget about her. You didn’t have anytime to grieve or even question her sudden disappearance for that matter, “Oh, shit...that’s today.”

You share a nervous look with Rocket as Thor begins taking some deep almost panicked breaths, his emotions all rising together like a swelling storm as his face shifts to an afflicted pain, “I can’t do this. I can’t do this....” Rambles Thor with a shake of his blonde mane, eyes displaying panic, “..I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have come. It’s a bad idea!” Whisper yells Thor as he anxiously shifts from one foot to the other.

“Come here.” Beacons Rocket from his perch on the rock.

“No, no, no...” Deviates Thor as he waves his hands nervously in the air like he’s trying to flick some mud off of them, “I think I’m having a panic attack.” Worries the flushed faced god. 

“Come here. Right here.” Says Rocket as he points to the rock, an increase in irritation shifting the tone of his voice while Thor breaths heavily, clearly not on board with whatever Rocket’s going to tell him.

“No, no, no, guys I can’t...I can’t do this, I’m sorry but I’m not ready, I can’t...” Thwack, Thor yelps in surprise at your intentionally weak assault on his large bicep, “Y/N what was that for?” He half-offendedly demands, brows furrowed in confusion at the flash of anger racing across your sour glare.

“You think you’re the only one who lost people?” You snap as he lowers his head like a beaten dog, “What the fuck do you think we’re doing here? I lost the only person I ever loved, Rocket lost his whole family, gone, just like that.” You affirm with a snap of your fingers.

His face grows conflicted as you suddenly lose your heated aurora, face falling into a frown as you place a comforting hand upon his shoulder, “Thor, I know it hurts that you lost your mom...believe me I get it, but she’s gone. And there are plenty of people who are only kinda gone, and you can help them.”

Thor nods apprehensively as you share a small smile with him, “So if it’s not too much to ask, can you get your shit together for the next however long this is going to take so we can save the world?” 

Rocket chuckles before gaining the both of yours attentions. “Agreed. Now all you gotta do is make schmoopy talk to Pretty Pants and when she’s not looking, suck out the Infinity Stone and help us get our family back. Aight?”

Thor nods once more, face twisting into a saddened pain a he looks down to the floor, “Okay.” Mumbles the god of thunder weakly, face reddening as his eyes get glossy. You let him take a breath as he avoids your gaze at all costs, eyes beginning to water while he tries to play it off.

Giving his shoulder a friendly squeeze, your brows furrow in puzzlement, “Are you crying?”

He shakes his head, some tears slipping despite his verbal protest, “No.” Mutters Thor weakly as his tearful gaze finally picks up to meet you, “Yes..” Squeaks out the teary eyed god while his eyes flicker from the far wall to your face once more, “...Y/N, I feel like I’m losing it. I don’t, I don’t know what I’m doing...I just feel so...shit I don’t know anymore.” Admits the fearful Asgardian as he avoids your softening yet slightly annoyed gaze.

oh, Thor you sad motherfucker. I’ve been there.

Rolling your eyes you gently shake his shoulder for emphasis, “Listen to me you big lion, get your shit together! You can do this. You’re the god of thunder for fucks sake, you can do this Thor.” His face turns into a surprisingly more confident expression as he huffs with a self-assured nod. “I can do this.”

“Yeah...I can do this.” Repeats the Asgardian with a sniffle.

Smirking, you give his arm a friendly smack, “Good. Now let’s do this and get the fuck out of here.” You add before swiftly turning on your heel as you and Rocket lead the way to the door, reaching it, the talking raccoon tugs on your leg before you get a chance to open it. “What is it now?”

“Y/N, we lost him.”

“What?!” Realizing Thor has indeed slipped away and out of sight, you clench your fists in irritation, “Goddammit.” You seethe before looking down at Rocket, “Whatever, we’ll find marshmallow fluff later, let’s just get this stupid rock.”

——

Racing down the palaces golden hallways, your boots thud against the stony ground as Rocket runs on all fours right behind you, “I almost hope they catch you!” You shout in between the yelling of the royal guards as they hastily pursue the two of you down the hallway.

“We got the stone didn’t we!” Snaps Rocket as you pick up your pace. 

“We gotta make it back first you dumbfuck!”

He grumbles something unintelligible before you follow the beer tinged scent of Thor into another room, he’s speaking with his mother when they quickly turn around, “Oh, uh, hello...uh, queen something.” You mutter before Rocket practically smacks into the back of your legs. “I got the thing. Come on. We gotta move.”

Thor nods, speaking some last final heartfelt goodbyes to his mother before abruptly stopping the countdown to three just so he can summon his hammer. After a couple lengthy seconds, Mjolnir falls right into his strong grasp causing Thor to laugh and smile in excitement. “I’m still worthy! I’m still worthy.”

Rocket shares a look with you, “Oh, boy.” Mumbles the raccoon as you simply roll your eyes at the bearded Asgardian prince. A moment later the three of you are sucked into the time portal once again before landing on the glass of the time portal machine.

“Did we get them all?” You hear Steve ask in wonder as you hold your stomach from the jostling ride back.

“I think I’m gonna throw up.” You mutter as Rodney smiles in excitement at everyone around him and the stones in their proximity. “Are you telling me this actually worked?”

Taking a deep breath to steady your turning stomach, all eyes turn to Clint as he suddenly falls to his knees, face a mask of saddened grief that sparks panic in your heart. “Clint, where’s Nat?” Questions Bruce as your face falls.

Not her, not Natasha too.

Standing solemnly on the Facility’s large dock with the teams main Avengers in various places close by, you lean against one of the thin steel beams, a deep frown on your lips while your fingers anxiously play with Bucky’s dog tags around your neck.

“Do we know if she had family?” Questions Tony to no on in particular.

Steve swallows thickly, a couple free tear stains falling down the side of his cheeks, “Yeah. Us.” Mutters the blonde gloomily as you bite your bottom lip to keep from crying again.

“What?” Wonders Thor almost in disbelief as Tony gives him a quizzical look, “Yeah, no, you guys are acting like she’s dead. Why are we acting like she’s dead? We have the stones, right? As long as we have the stones Cap, we can bring her back. Isn’t that right?” Adds Thor, glancing between all of you before facing Tony again, “So, stop this shit. We’re the Avengers. Get it together...”

“Can’t get her back.” Interrupts Clint dismally, eyes still set on the open water beyond the compound.

Thor’s brows furrow in befuddlement, “Wh-what...”

“It can’t be undone. It can’t.” Insists Clint, voice slightly wavering in despair; Thor then starts chuckling at the absurdity of the whole shitty situation before rambling about space magic and that there must be another way. Clint on the other hand quickly gets heated about this and promptly snaps at Thor about some red floaty guy he met who revealed once the Soul Stone is taken, the one sacrificed can never come back. Ever.

Soon things calmed down again, though still a rather gloomy atmosphere still lingers like a persistent hazy fog even after they all left, leaving no one but yourself and Steve on the dock. He keeps a steady gaze on the rippling water as he lets his sadness take its course, this is indeed a heavy blow to bear.

Letting out a shaky breath, you move from the leaning against the beam to instead find a spot next to him on the wooden bench. Dog tags still clutched in your fist as you steal a glance at the tearful man. You’ve admittedly never seen him so upset, well, you both may have shared a good cry when Bucky was whipped from existence five years ago. That was the first time you ever truly bonded with anyone from the team, the first time Steve and Natasha showed you their vulnerability. 

And for that, you’ve formed a stronger bond with them that you’d never thought possible. They welcomed you into the compound like an old friend, always treated you with respect and gave you room when you needed it. And even when you didn’t want to be around anyone, they still forced you into playing cards with them anyways, among other dumb games. Which annoyingly so, is what your sad little self needed back then.

 But without Natasha, without her beaming heart and fierce attitude to keep fighting through the unknown and murky waters, you’re not even sure if this would all still be conceivable. Or if you’d even still be here with all of them for that matter, you might have gone on an angry warpath just as Clint did when everyone he ever loved was snatched from him forever. 

So why, after all this time and pain, is she the one who had to go? It’s not fare. And your heart feels broken all over again; sniffling, you swallow thickly before turning your head a little in Steve’s direction, “I didn’t know her for as long as you guys did.....but she was, really the best of us..” You laugh dismally.

 Voice shaky as you hold Bucky’s tags close to your chest, “..If not better. She was the first Avenger I ever met you know, the only piece of my past that didn’t try to murder me on sight, actually. I liked her. She was who I needed to get me through my grief, among other things huh...and uh...I will miss her.....a lot.”

Nothing is heard except for the low rustling of the nearby trees as a soft wind blows into your faces, Steve clasps his hands together, turning to you, “Funnily enough, it took me some time to completely trust her, but now....there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.” Mutters Steve with the flash of a genuine smile as he thinks fondly on Natasha, who you wish more then anything could still be here to celebrate the hard work of finding those goddamn stones.

It’s not fucking fare.

Swallowing thickly, you nod in agreement as more hot tears trail down your somber face, “The world will owe her their lives and never even know it.....but I will, we all will. Her memory will live on if I can help it, we owe her that much.”

Steve slowly nods, thumbs fiddling together anxiously as he mutters a raspy, “Yeah.”

You rest a comforting hand atop his broad shoulder as he shares a mutually dismal look with you, “We’ve already lost so much already and she fought for this like no once else did, we will avenge her Steve. I don’t doubt she knows it.”

-

Tagged: @diegos-butt @minigranger @bibliophilewednesday @holyhumorliteraturelight @lilacs-lavender @a-girl-who-loves-disney @starkssnarks @vikingqueen28 @bizarrebibitch @atomicpersonacheesecake @jmstz @staygoldsquatchling02 @marvelbros-oneshots @shawnartmendes @mischiefmanaged71 @jckie94  @iamasimpingh0e @mjaudrey  @thescarlettvvitch

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier x y/n #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #marvel imagine #marvel x y/n #marvel x you #marvel x reader #the winter soldier #fanfic #fanfiction #the avengers imagine

[fettsvette]

Heat

Boba Fett takes you on a faraway hunt that involves a prolonged journey through hyperspace. You’re horny as fuck, but your man is too preoccupied with running a tight ship to pay you any mind - until things get a little too desperate.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 3.0k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Edgeplay, teasing, rough penetration

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Mando’a terminology

  ad’ika - little one

cyare - beloved

  mesh’la - beautiful

  -

  Another whine. 

  Another stomp of a boot. 

  Still no relief in sight. 

  You could be dying, and he wouldn’t even look at you. 

  “You need to settle down, ad’ika . I don’t have time for this right now.” Boba Fett warned sternly, his helmet just barely twitching to the side to regard you as you paced the cockpit, your footfalls having become increasingly louder and more obnoxious as time dragged on.

  The journey through hyperspace had lasted several hours already, and it was projected to go on for many more; and that’s if your flight plan continued on ahead of schedule. Why exactly Boba had felt the need to pursue a job all the way out in Wild Space, you had no idea. It was an average bounty, one that you frankly considered beneath his talents, but perhaps that was why he determined it had been safe enough to bring you along for the ride for once. Not that you really saw the point in your presence anyway; the thought of going on an adventure with your beau had thrilled you at first, thinking that the days would be filled with exploring strange, distant worlds together, the nights consisting of passionate lovemaking for hours on end. Instead, what you were getting was a whole lot of sitting around, staring out the viewport at the blue and white streaks of stars passing you by. The prospect of traveling at lightspeed had seemed exciting, but you truly hadn’t realized just how boring it actually was until you were stuck in the middle of it.

  Especially when the man you were on this sojourn with was much too preoccupied with fine-tuning every gadget and system aboard his prized transport, obsessively tracking the ship’s progress across the galaxy, rather than keeping his cyar’ika entertained.

  You couldn’t recall the amount of times your lover had told you to sit down, to be quiet, to climb up to your shared sleeping quarters behind the cockpit and take a nap to pass the time. He’d even threatened to lock you in one of the cages reserved for his hard merchandise down in the cargo hold until the Slave I reached its destination, but swiftly backpedaled when you expressed a little too much excitement at the idea. 

  You were desperate for Boba Fett’s touch, for his hand on your thigh, his lips on your neck, his thigh in between your knees, something - and he was purposefully ignoring you. No, he wasn’t just ignoring you… he was torturing you.

  It’d been days since Boba had touched you. He wasn’t even coming to bed with you, as far as you knew - when you’d retire for the night, he’d still be sitting in his pilot’s chair, motionless saved for his gloved hands running across the Slave I ’s dashboard, occasionally pressing a button or typing in some incomprehensible command. You’d wait up as long as your body allowed for the feeling of Boba sliding into the cot next to you, a well-muscled arm encircling your waist, his bare chest against your back, the outline of his thick cock pressed against your ass, but it never came. You’d arise hours later and descend the ladder to find him in the same spot you’d left him, or tinkering about down in the cargo hold, polishing one of his many blasters.

  The sight of him running a dirty, oiled cloth over the stock of the EE-3 model that had become his personal calling card, the blaster grease coating his rough hands, was enough to drive you wild, make you wish he was dragging the fabric back and forth between your legs instead. Hell, everything he did nowadays made you horny, from palming the thrusters in the cockpit upon exiting or entering lightspeed - ‘the only thruster he should be palming is this one right here,’ you found yourself thinking more often than not - to just seeing those large, powerful hands of his anywhere near the hard expanse of his thighs.

  You didn’t just feel aroused, or even simply sexually frustrated - you felt as if you were in heat , like some kind of debased animal left to rut against its master’s leg until it’s been kicked away. You wanted nothing more than to climb up on the console in front of the pilot’s seat and ruck your panties to the side, spreading your legs wide so he could see just how soaked you were for him, beg him to fuck you - or at the very least, bring you to some sort of release with a calloused finger or that deft tongue of his. You’d refrained from pleasuring yourself for the entirety of the trip so far solely so you’d be more than ready for him when he finally decided to claim you, but now you doubted if that time was ever coming. 

  “Boba, please. I’m suffering over here, and you’re just sitting there -” You began again in a high-pitched whine, not caring just how pathetic and needy you must sound. You could have begun weeping in frustration right then and there, had actually considered dropping to your knees in front of your lover, groveling at his boots for even just one touch. The ache between your legs was becoming more and more unbearable with the passing of each Standard Time Unit, to the point where sometimes you felt as if you were going to cum in your pants solely from walking around too much or positioning yourself in a chair a certain way, bringing yourself to a release from pent-up friction alone.

  But it was your accusation of Boba just sitting there that finally elicited a response, after days of being brushed off and outright ignored. His head jerked up with almost blinding speed, and he swiveled the pilot’s chair around to face you, his visor cocked to one side. His large hands gripped his knees tightly, his knuckles standing out sharply against the black leather of his gloves, his legs wide open. His cock was buried beneath several layers of the heavy black fabric that constituted his kama , but you swore you could still make out an impressive bulge nestled there in the lighting, and your mouth watered eagerly at the thought of him finally allowing you to take him in your mouth after so long, to feel his deliciously veiny member seated between your cunt lips.

  “I’m not ‘just sitting here .’ This ship is like an extension of myself. It’s as important to me as you are. I don’t expect you to understand that, but I need you to respect it. Hyperspace can be very unstable. Our coordinates and support systems need to be constantly monitored if we’re to spend this long a time at lightspeed, but now I see comprehending that is beyond your capabilities. Perhaps bringing you with me was a mistake, if you’re going to carry on like a selfish little brat for the remainder of our journey.” Boba retorted gruffly, shaking his head as if just speaking to you sickened him. His words felt like a slap across the face, and the corners of your eyes prickled harshly.

  You felt tears trickling silently down your cheeks, your face flushed hotly with the shame of not only being reprimanded by the man you loved, but the fact that despite his harshness towards you, you were fucking wet . You could feel the sticky warmth of your own arousal trickling out from between your inner lips and gathering in the cradle of your panties, soaking the thin fabric through. The fact that this man could berate you, insult you, and still you wanted nothing more than to throw yourself at him, beg his forgiveness, impale yourself on his girth over and over again until he filled you with his seed, was making you even hornier than you thought possible. Boba Fett had complete domination over every aspect of you, and it turned you on more than you could ever admit.

  “Boba… please . I’m sorry, I just… I need you so fucking bad.” You choked out, your voice nasally and piteous through your tears, your knees slightly buckling inwards in a half-assed attempt to stop the flow of wetness drooling out from your core. Boba gave a low hum and reclined back in his chair, his legs outspread even wider as he repositioned himself against the leather backing, seeming cruelly satisfied with the state he’d left you in.

  “Look at you. Are you actually weeping because you want my cock that badly?” Boba clucked his tongue disgustedly, but you could have sworn that he almost sounded in awe despite his tone. Your eyes flickered downwards when you noticed a slight movement of his hand, just in time to see him briefly squeeze at his obscured length, and you let out a throaty moan despite yourself. With a thinly veiled snort of amusement, Boba gestured in the general direction of your bowed, shaking legs, then raised his palm upwards, calling you forward with a quick movement of his fingers.

  “Take those off and get over here, girl.”

  You’d never shucked off your boots so fast in your life. You didn’t even bother untying the laces, hurriedly hopping from one foot to the next, pulling your feet from the restricting, clunky material in order to wiggle out of your pants and underwear as quickly as you could, panting and whining high in your throat in your excitement. You flung the garments off to the side, almost stumbling in your rush to get to Boba, and immediately reached out to grope for the seam of his trousers, beside yourself in your urge to free his heavy cock from its cloth prison. You were blocked by a firm, warm hand pressed flush against your chest, blunt fingers pressed into your breast and holding you back. Boba was chuckling at your need, a rumble that emanated from deep in his chest. The sound always went straight to your pussy whenever you heard it, so rough and sultry, and your clit throbbed.

  “Oh no , sweet thing. Don’t think your tears are going to get you exactly what you want. Like I said, I’m busy. If you’re that desperate to get some relief, you’ll have to work for it yourself. I’m not going to help you.” The sick glee in the bounty hunter’s voice was evident, and he aggressively patted his meaty thigh in order to show you exactly what he meant, when he’d offered to finally let you have what you desired. Boba made no move to get up or further adjust his stance, holding his palm open and again broadly gesturing to his outstretched leg, as if grandly offering you the best seat in the house in a Coruscanti opera. From the way your cunt was fluttering helplessly though, it may as well have been your throne .

  Shuffling forward and squatting daintily, you gingerly settled yourself onto the muscular sweep of Boba’s thigh beneath you, hissing sharply as the rough cloth pressed into the sensitive nub of your clit, wiggling the cradle of your pelvis back and forth experimentally to gauge what felt best. Boba gave no notice of your ministrations, he wasn’t even looking at you, and you glanced up to see that he had actually gone back to fiddling with the console of the Slave I as if you weren’t even there, as if your cunt juices weren’t currently soaking through the heavy fabric of his pants.

  And so you began to move.

  Gently at first, you writhed your pussy every which way in order to discover some semblance of balance, letting out pleased whimpers as your body gradually warmed to the sensation of your folds dragging along the black flight suit. Boba’s arms were outstretched on either side of you and you could hear him pressing buttons and occasionally typing in commands, completely ignoring the fact that you were currently rutting on his leg like an akk dog during mating season. His body betrayed his supposed indifference, though - with every thrust of your hips, your knee bumped his groin and you tellingly felt the generous erection sitting there, warm and heavy and hard. You attempted to reach out and grasp it, stroke him through his pants in time with the grinding of your cunt, but Boba batted your hand away as if you were a child being reprimanded for touching a hot nanowave stove.

  You continued to knead Boba’s thigh with your pussy, undulating your heat in stuttering figure-eight motions, a familiar tightness beginning to build in your lower belly, the scrape of the material against your swollen clit becoming overwhelming all too soon for your liking. Underneath your own needy whines as the sensation continued towards its crescendo, you could hear Boba groaning from somewhere deep in his chest despite his best efforts to ignore you and your lewd ministrations in his lap. 

  Your orgasm hit unexpectedly, triggered by an accidental bump of the edge of his thick leather belt to the hood of your clit, and you let out a guttural moan that sounded more animal than human. Days of pent-up release crested over you like the sand waves of Tatooine’s Dune Sea, over and over again, and your thighs trembled around Boba’s leg as your muscles clenched him. Your lover groaned appreciatively above you, one of the few signs he’d given to show that he was paying attention to your movements. You knew he could feel the flood of wetness from between your legs soaking into his flight suit, possibly through to his bare skin beneath, and that thought alone prompted another volley of spasms to your clit until you were utterly spent.

  Your breath came in harsh, almost painful pants, your legs shaking violently as you continued to hold yourself up, your bare toes biting into the durasteel floor of the Slave I beneath you. Boba sighed contentedly above you, the underside of his helmet nipping at the crown of your hair, one strong arm finally looped around your back, bracing you against his chest. You collapsed forward on the reassuring coolness of his breastplate, laying your sweaty cheek against the cold beskar as you shivered through the aftershocks of your orgasm. The relief you felt, after so long, was indescribable. You could have fallen asleep there in that moment, nude from the waist down, straddling Boba Fett’s thigh in the cockpit of his ship, drowsy on the rush of endorphins still flooding through your body. In your relaxed state, it took you a moment to realize that Boba had begun speaking, and you cracked an eye open as the gravity of his words hit you.

  “Kriff, you’re so wet, so beautiful for me. Are you ready, cyare?” He cooed sweetly, and before you could even question what you were ready for, Boba pushed you upwards slightly with his legs and his hold on you momentarily faltered, the sound of fabric being shuffled about filling the room. You then knew what he was up to and began hyperventilating in anticipation, wiggling your bottom as the Mandalorian worked himself into position beneath you.

  Boba pushed inside of you roughly, and you let out a choked scream, biting down on the swaths of black material circling his throat. Even though you had already cum, had been constantly horny for days, you still weren’t prepared for the sudden intrusion of Boba’s girth into your cunt, your walls spasming around him violently, the sensations too much for your overstimulated body to handle. Boba shushed you softly as you let out several overwhelmed sobs at the burning, stinging presence inside of you. You could feel the blunt head of him pressing against your cervix, an almost unbearable sharpness that you craved despite the discomfort. You knew you’d be able to feel him there for days after, and a pleasant shudder wracked your body.

  “Easy there, little one, easy . I’ve got you. Just stay still, mesh’la .” Boba attempted to shush you, patting your back and readjusting his hold on you as you squirmed and gasped in his arms, but you couldn’t stay still if you tried. You attempted to push your hips against his, get some semblance of a rhythm going, but Boba tsk ed, the light pressure he’d had on your waist becoming an iron grip, almost to the point of pain, and you stilled your movements, whining in protest.

  “Boba, please … I need to move …” You begged plaintively, tears once again springing to your eyes The laugh you received in response was almost sadistic in sound, and you moaned out of a raw mixture of pain and pleasure when Boba gave a slight roll of his hips, the head of his cock scraping your cervix. When he spoke, his tone was almost delightfully evil, and it made you shudder under his hold.

  “Oh no , sweet one. You’ve been such an annoyance to me for the entirety of our journey, and as I said before… I’m busy, and after the way you’ve behaved, I’m not going to let you get what you want that easily. Letting you get yourself off on my thigh was just a tease.” His gloved fingers lazily crawled over your exposed clit, and you hissed at the brief contact, before it was excruciatingly pulled away, Fett’s hand reaching back up to the Slave ’s console again.

  “You’re going to sit here on my cock until our next jump point, understand? Nice and quiet, now. If you try to push yourself down on me or wiggle around like a little brat, you’ll be banished to our sleeping quarters until we land, or until you learn to behave like someone your age. Is that clear, cyare?” His voice was sickly sweet, menacing, low and raspy in his throat. You could tell by that alone just how turned on he was, and his length twitched inside of you.

  Without waiting for a verbal answer, Boba gave another painfully slow roll of his hips, igniting that fire within your belly once more, and you groaned aloud in reply, burying your face in the dark cloth protecting his neck, choosing to ignore the dark chuckle. He could be so unfair, so karking cruel at times, but you always found yourself coming back for more… and you had a feeling he had no idea how much you were actually enjoying this.

  It was going to be a long trip.

#boba fett #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x reader

[bentforkent]

caffeine, small talk

spencer reid x female!reader, enemies to lovers

content warning: smut !!!!!!, oral sex (male receiving), explicit language, tiny suicide reference, general meanness & bickering (including slut-shaming and toxicity), also some fluff in there too :)

word count: 3,668

in which spencer reid is a royal pain in the ass and he & the reader butt heads. 

“would you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends?” - taylor swift, betty 

spencer reid is a royal pain in the ass. you don’t need to be a genius to know this as fact. as soon as you had stepped foot into quantico’s behavioral analysis unit on your first day however many years ago, the little shit had gotten under your skin. you had worn a lower cut top that day, you remember, and spencer hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of your chest. when hotch introduced you to the team, you gave a brief speech about your background and education, and each member of the team was hung on your every word, except for fucking spencer. he had been distracted by your looks. you remember feeling conscious of his eyes on your cleavage and tugging your blazer closed. from that moment, standing at the front of the bullpen, feeling exposed to him, you decided you hated spencer reid.

“glad to meet everyone,” you had addressed the team sincerely, in conclusion of your introductory spiel. on your way to your new desk, luckily placed across the room and behind spencer’s, he reached out and grabbed your elbow, standing.

“hi y/n, i’m dr. spencer reid,” he had said. the individual introduction probably would’ve warmed your heart (everyone else’s sure did, anyways) if you hadn’t already decided that spencer would be your official workplace enemy.

“dr. reid,” you nodded curtly. you pulled your arm from his grip firmly and resumed walking.

“hey,” he called after you. “i wanted to tell you—”

you paused and turned to him. “tell me what? how good my tits look in this shirt?” you whisper yelled, trying to maintain some level of professionalism. unsure how to answer you, spencer gaped like a goldfish. “you should know, as a woman, it’s really uncomfortable when you can feel weird pervs like you staring at my boobs. on my first day.” you leaned in closer. “my first fucking day!”

spencer retreated to his desk without a word. he wouldn’t meet your eyes, and that was the end of that. until the case. your very first case. spencer was pissed that you had snapped at him, and subsequently took it out on you. his tone of voice was consistently harsh and condescending as he addressed you on the case.

“no, y/n, that doesn’t fit the profile.”

“well, actually…”

“you’re not experienced enough to understand this.”

“my three phds told me i should work on this map alone.”

the feud has escalated since then. everyone on the team is aware of you and spencer’s solid disdain for each other, and they make a point to keep you two apart nowadays. morgan had once gripped both you and spencer by your shirt collars and forced you to apologize to each other, when your verbal abuse of each other had turned dangerously unprofessional.

“y/n, did you know that the earliest documentation of a ‘miniskirt’ was in a 1962 article?”

“did you know that the earliest documentation of me kicking your ass was today?”

“no, listen, the men interviewed for the article were in favor of miniskirts if they were only worn on women they didn’t know. they liked to lust after other women in the short skirts, but if their wives or daughters wore them, they were seen as poor reflections of the men. as whores.”

“what’s your point?”

“you look like a whore today.”

“fuck you, spencer. you know you beat your dick to your photographic memory of my ass in this skirt.” you mimed an orgasm.

“it’s eidetic, and i’d rather kill myself.”

“would you please?”

“fuck—” spencer started, but morgan intervened here.

——————————————

“close your mouth, boy wonder,” you greet spencer, opening your door to let him in. it’s your turn to host the team for drinks and dinner. much to your chagrin, spencer is a part of the team, and thus receives an invitation. you find solace in knowing penelope will probably distract you from any interaction with the lanky boy. besides, whenever the team hung out at your apartment, he quickly left after a few drinks and a short chat anyway. you could survive him for half of a night.

spencer flits past you and into your living room. the team greets him in an uproar of “reid!” and raised drinks. derek sticks out with his chant of “pretty boy!”

“y/n,” jj calls, “we’re dry over here.” she raises her empty glass of merlot.

“more wine, or something else, my loves?”

there’s an absence of voices shouting between rooms as the team discusses. you lean against your kitchen cabinet with eyes fixated on your liquor collection. waiting. this team sure does take their drinks seriously, you think, taking the time by yourself to make yourself an old fashioned. muddle a sugar cube in bitters. add whiskey. as you’re putting an ice cube into the glass, none other than spencer fucking reid saunters into the kitchen, a notepad in his hand.

“i have a list of drink requests,” he says simply, expression blank.

“resident alcohol connoisseur at your service. hit me,” you reply. your tone is more joking than you’ve ever used with spencer, but if he’s caught off guard he doesn’t show it. he rattles off the drink orders, each one something you probably could’ve guessed. penelope always wants something fruity, emily always wants something strong.

when his list is finished, you look up from the liquor to him. “nothing for the boy genius?”

“i’m leaving soon,” he says, and retreats back to the living room, arms full with drinks held precariously. you follow with the rest of the alcohol, handing each drink to its respective drinker. they each thank you profusely.

because your couch isn’t big enough to hold the whole team, you sit on the floor, legs criss-crossed. the team makes lighthearted conversation about not murder and kidnapping for an hour, with you getting up to refill drinks once more in that time. “i like hanging out at y/n’s place, guys. she makes the best drinks,” derek says with a grin up at you.

“i was a bartender in my past life, i think,” you deadpan. penelope agrees with you loudly, with a slurp of her colorful newest drink accompanying.

“speaking of bartenders,” jj starts, and you see spencer visibly tense. “when are you leaving for your date, spence?” she says the word date with a sing-songy tone, dragging out the ‘a,’  and you suddenly feel sick.

the team, naturally, dissolves into excited chatter. reid? a date? you’re silent, focused on your cocktail as the topic of conversation isn’t exactly your favorite. spencer’s not your favorite, you mean. this isn’t about spencer’s date. screw spencer. you don’t care if he goes on a date.

you listen as he fills the rest of the team in on the story. he and jj had gone for drinks one afternoon and he really hit it off with the bartender. lauren, her name is, and jj assures the team that she’s gorgeous. spencer laughs a little, uncomfortable, and stands to leave.

a wave of anger surges over you. how dare he skip out on his friends to go on a date? “i’ll walk you to your car, spencer!” you say cheerily, the lightheartedness in your voice in direct conflict with your internal emotion. the team isn’t stupid, however, and they’ve never heard you be nice at all to spencer, so everyone is acutely aware that something is about to go down. the room feels like the air has been sucked out of it as spencer meets your gaze.

“okay,” he says hesitantly.

you turn to the team. “be good while i’m gone, my loves. the alcohol is on the counter if you, by some crazy chance, need a refill in the next five minutes.” you blow them a kiss, penelope pretending to catch it. the rest of the team stares up at you with wide eyes. “let’s go, genius.” you open the door and escort him out.

as soon as the door latches behind you, spencer pipes up. “what the fuck are you doing, y/n?”

“walking you to your car, dipshit.” there’s a pregnant silence as you walk down the stairs of your apartment complex. “you know, it’s pretty fucked up for you to skip out on team bonding because of a date, spencer, but i understand. i know how important it is for you to lose your virginity one day.”

“fuck you, y/n. you really followed me down here to berate me?”

“yeah, i was getting a little bored just letting you sit there silently.” you lean your side against his car as he unlocks it and tosses his bag into the backseat.

he copies your stance, leaning across from you and looking at you intently. “why do you hate me?”  his tone of voice is low, and you can tell he’s mad.

“you irritate me,” you reply.

“not good enough.” his hazel eyes search your face and even though it’s dark, you can tell they look like honey from the glow of the street lamps.

“you annoy me.”

“again, not good enough. those are synonyms.”

his calm demeanor is enough to send you over the edge. “i hate that you look at me, spencer!” you exclaim, raising your voice. “you make me feel like i’m inferior, like i’m a piece of goddamn fucking meat.” you push your pointer finger into his chest. “you think i’m less intelligent than you, you think i’m less qualified than you, and frankly, you’re a pompous asshole.” he’s silent in stark contrast to your yelling in his face. “i hate your date for tonight. i hate that the whole team loves you.  i hate your fucking cardigans and your fucking converse. i hate when you wear a tie but it’s a little too long or a little too short. i hate that sometimes, you wear a hair tie on your wrist but,” you enunciated each word with a stomp of your foot, “you. never. put. your. hair. up.”

“you’re saying all this, y/n, and i get it, i really do,” he speaks coolly. “all I’m hearing, though, is that you’re in love with me.”

“you cocky fucking asshole.” riled up, you turn and attempt to walk away. spencer grabs your elbow and you’re reminded of the day you first met.

“you hate my cardigans? my ties? my shoes? y/n, for someone who hates that i look at her, you sure look at me a lot.” his voice has less of an edge now, less arrogance. you hum, face still turned away from him. “i’m sorry, y/n. i’ve been a dick to you for years. i own that, and i’m sorry. but i think you came down here because subconsciously, you didn’t want me to get in my car and go on this date tonight.” his hand is still on your elbow, but you pull it away to rub your eyes.

he has absolutely deflated you. the anger you felt in the moments just before is missing, and you take his words to heart. it’s impossible. you weren’t in love with spencer, y/n. just tell him you’re not in love with him, it’s simple. he’s your mortal enemy. you’re not in love with him.

“i think i may be love with you,” you say meekly, finally turning to him. fuck. you meet his eyes for the first time in what feels like years. maybe it had been. he’s softer than you remember.

“y/n, let me kiss you.”

“i’m nervous,” you admit in a whisper. he rubs his hand across your cheek and you lean into the touch. “spencer, literally two minutes ago i wanted you dead, and now…” you trail off. he nods in silent agreement. the two of you stand like that for a few more moments, his hands cupping your face, your eyes raking his features. “…you’re pretty,” you finish quietly. “have you always been pretty?”

he pretends to think for a moment. “yeah, actually.”

you give a watery chuckle and pull away from his embrace gently. “the team is still upstairs. if you really want to kiss me, ditch your date tonight and come back up.”  after you press a hand to his cheek lovingly, you retreat to your apartment quickly, hardly giving him time to follow you.

when you reenter the apartment, the team is silent and staring at you. it’s obvious by their faces that they’d just been talking about you. you close the door behind you and press your back against it. “hi, guys,” you say.

“nothing? no harsh words about reid?” derek peers at you closely.

as you make your way back into the living room, you point a finger at him. “don’t profile me, derek!” everyone chuckles. you don’t plan on bringing up spencer at all, but the silence that settles over the team breaks you. maybe you’re just excited to talk about it, you think, and where once you’d push that thought away, now you welcome it. you gush about what happened in the parking lot, using your hands to emphasize important points. you give the team a short version, expecting spencer to be back up at the apartment any moment. how embarrassing would it be if he walked in the door and you were talking about him? none of the team seemed particularly shocked, but emily casually mentioned how funny it is that none of them had figured out that you and spencer were grappling with feelings for each other.

“if it makes anyone feel any better, i didn’t figure it out either. the only one who did was…”

“reid,” everyone choruses in unison. you dissolve into giggles until the time hits you. it’d taken you about 20 minutes to explain the situation. so much for the short version, but surely spencer would’ve been back by now. unless…you hadn’t considered the possibility that he left. that he actually went on his date instead.

penelope takes note of your sudden shift in expression. “uh, y/n, i hate to say this, but…”

you nod. “he would’ve been back by now, yeah.” you climb up from your seated position and walk to your bedroom, looking out of your window that overlooks the parking lot. “he left,” you call back to the living room, despondent. “fucking asshole,” you whisper. you can hear derek sigh even from your distance. you take a second to compose yourself. fixing your posture, vertebra over vertebra. you allow your emotions to shut off, any sadness you felt towards spencer’s obvious rejection pushed away and replaced with a void. you pad back into the living room.

“well, that’s embarrassing,” you say with a half-laugh. jj gives you a sad look. “anyways, anyone who’s not driving home tonight is welcome to get loaded with me tonight. i just got new shot glasses.” your attempt at acting fine obviously wasn’t flying with the team, and after a moment of silence you finally let it go and sink into the chair next to the couch.

“no more alcohol tonight,” jj says.

“yeah, agreed. i hate to kick you guys out, but i feel like i might just spend the rest of the night in the bathtub. with the lights off.” everyone agrees, standing to leave. you thank them repeatedly for hanging out with you, and apologize for the unfortunate ending to the evening.

you hug penelope, jj, and emily. as you’re opening your arms to embrace derek, there’s a knock at the door. you pause, arms still outstretched. you look around in a panic, and derek pipes up, “well, are you gonna get that?” you feel like you can taste the excitement in the air as everyone pieces together who’s just knocked.

you swing open the door, and there’s spencer, a large bouquet of flowers perched in his arms. “i’m sorry I took so long, i went to get—”

you cut him off by pressing your lips to his firmly. it’s a short kiss, but it says what it needs to say. there are hoots and hollers from behind you, but there’s no one in the room except you and spencer. “you frustrate me.”

————————————————–

you press tiny kisses along spencer’s bare chest. your friends are long gone, leaving pretty swiftly after spencer had shown up. you and spencer had moved to the couch quickly, lips locked, but not before he had explained what the flowers he bought you signified.

“according to the victorian flower code, red tulips signify a declaration of love. victorians used flowers to communicate feelings because courting someone and showing feelings in public was considered taboo.”

“that’s nice, spencer. i like that. is there a flower for “i thought i hated you but it was actually just repressed sexual tension?”

you lay on his chest, limbs entangled. he’s got one hand in your hair stroking gently and the other resting on your stomach, where his thumbs make unconscious circles. “hey, i have this pendant on my necklace, too,” you whisper, tangling your fingers in the chain around his neck. he’s silent for a long time. “spence?” you look up at him. he’s looking down at you, brows furrowed and eyes wistful.

“you wore that necklace on your first day,” he murmurs. “when you were introducing yourself to the team. and i noticed.” the wheels start to turn in your head. “i tried to tell you that we had the same pendant. i was gonna show you,” he sighs. “i was excited to tell you. but you thought i was staring at your boobs.”

you frown, twisting to press a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “i called you a perv. i remember.” he nods. you pout. “i’m sorry, spence. think of how different things would’ve been if i had just listened.”

“yeah, you should probably work on that,” he jokes.

“how can i make it up to you?” you ask, knowing fully well what your plan is. you move smoothly from the couch onto your knees in front of him. “how can i make up for lost time?” he doesn’t respond. he doesn’t need to. you make quick work of his belt buckle as he looks down at you through hooded lids.

time moves slowly as you unbutton and unzip his pants, and spencer is in agony waiting. you look so pretty. he lifts his hips slightly to help you remove his pants. “i don’t think i’ve ever heard you this quiet, spence,” you murmur as you begin palming his bulge through his boxers.

he breathes out a soft moan. “yeah, well your hand is on my dick, so pardon me.” his words are spencer’s typical deadpan, but his voice is an octave higher than usual and full of breath. you tug his boxers down just enough to free his hard cock, and you’re taken aback. he’s big, longer than he is wide. his dick is painfully stiff, wet with precum, and you’ve never wanted to suck someone off more than you have in this moment.

“you’ve been holding out on me, dr. reid,” you grin, eager. you begin to pump him slowly, tantalizingly.

he lets out a high pitched moan and bucks his hips into your hand. “stop teasing.”

“teasing?” you bring your lips to his cock and kiss down his shaft. “i’ve never teased you, not once in my life.” you punctuate by licking a long strip up the base of his cock and pulling him into your mouth slowly. his left hand finds your hair, tugging it back into a ponytail, and his right strokes your cheek softly. you look up at him as you hollow your cheeks and he lets out a rumbling groan at the eye contact. you bob your head slowly, gradually picking up speed. each time his cock hits the back of your throat, spencer whimpers. as you speed up, tears spill out of your eyes. he screws his own shut.

“fuck, y/n.” his hand tightens around your hair and he thrusts his hips once, prompting you to pull off of him and wipe your mouth. you can tell he’s close, and you want this to be good for him. spencer is distraught, to say the least, at the loss of contact. he begins to plead, “wait, shit, no, plea—”

“fuck my mouth.” you cut him off. without waiting for an answer, you sit back on your heels with a bounce and open your mouth for him.

he groans. “you’re going to kill me, baby.” you whimper at the pet name and make a mental note to bring it up later. he moves closer to you, guiding his cock into your mouth. he’s close, too close to even consider going easy on you. his hips move quickly, thrusting in and out of your mouth, punctuated by your gags. he’s feral, chasing his orgasm desperately until he finally reaches his high, moaning your name loudly. you swallow all of his release, pulling off of him and sticking your tongue out for approval. wordlessly, he gets down on his knees to meet your height. before you can ask him what he’s doing, he grabs your face and pulls you into a passionate kiss. you moan against his mouth, but the kiss is over before you know it.

“i love you,” he says sincerely, and you shake your head in disbelief.

“i cannot believe i am saying this to you, spencer reid, but i love you too, baby.” you say the word “baby” with a joking tone, clearly mocking his use of it earlier.

he smiles, all teeth, and says, “i knew you would make fun of me for that! as soon as i said it.”

you shake your head with a smile. “no, i’m not making fun of you, love. i liked it. use it more.”

“‘love’?”

“would you prefer ‘hate’?”

“god, no, not again,” he says, scooping you up into his arms and peppering kisses all over your face and hair. “never again.”

#this was originally posted on my old blog but it has found it's new home here #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #matthew gray gubler fluff #my writing #spencer reid fluff

[mae-gi-writes]

Betrothed | Sangyeon

Requested! Royal au! Sangyeon and Y/N have been betrothed ever since they were kids. Too bad that you hate each other’s guts...Or do you? 

Genre: fluff, enemies to lovers au, royal au.  Tagging: my lovely precious @aniyawoos​ because she deserves all the love in the world. 

----

"Where is it?” 

You wish that your murderous glare can drill holes through Sangyeon’s back as you stand, fists clenched at your side, as you watch the prince smoothing over his horse’s mane as if he has no worries in the world.

You try breathing out through your nostrils. Inhale. Exhale. Relax. 

“Where is it, Sangyeon?” 

“I didn’t touch your diary.” 

“You’re the only one who knows I always keep in on my desk. And the only person who has access to our quarters is you,” you cross your arms over your chest, “where is it?” 

At that, he whips his head around to throw you a scowl, “I told you, I didn’t touch it. I don’t even know what it looks like.” 

“That’s a load of bullcrap. You’ve seen it before.” 

"If you haven’t noticed, I don’t really give a rat’s ass about your stuff, nor do I have any interest in reading your personal matters. So no, it’s not me,” he returns back to his horse and you’re tempted to throw a bucket at him when he’s not looking.

What an ass, you think to yourself as you storm away, anger bubbling up inside your stomach. 

Ever since you could remember, your parents had been constantly throwing you into Sangyeon’s arms as a reminder that you were to be his wife someday when you guys were of age to rule over the Kingdom of Gustale. It was your duty as a princess from the neighbouring Kingdom and you wouldn’t have minded it as much, if not for Sangyeon’s constant bitch-ass attitude towards you these past few years.

Growing up had been fun, to say the least. Before everything had turned like sour grapes, you and Sangyeon would spend endless days together, sharing stories from your own and going out on small adventures in the city. That was before responsibility had fallen onto both your shoulders, before summer was replaced by additional royalty lessons about managing the people and the economy of the Kingdom itself. 

You weren’t exactly sure when things started going downhill in your relationship. But it had been sudden; the way Sangyeon had withdrawn from you as distant as the wind, the way his features -- which you were used to seeing so soft and open -- had hardened considerably whenever he was meant to interact with you. You had never had the nerve to ask him about it, but it was clearly not your fault. 

How could it be? It was almost like you had snapped your fingers, and the Sangyeon you knew was gone.

And time is fast in slipping through your fingers, for it’s only a few days until your actual betrothal. 

Another sigh escapes your lips as you think of the bleak future ahead. Before, marrying Sangyeon wouldn’t have bothered you that much. Now though, it seemed like you were readying yourself to walk through the gates of hell.

The preparations for the Royal Engagement ceremony take up most of your time, which successfully steer your thoughts away from the big elephant in the room you have yet to address. You busy yourself organizing the tables, going through the list of decorations, and spending as much free time walking along the docks to greet the merchants going back and forth to the sea like it’s their second home. 

It’s only when night falls that it becomes a challenge. As a way to encourage your intimacy, the Royal family had decided it suitable for you to spend your nights in Sangyeon’s royal quarters. That wouldn’t normally bother you as much. But with Sangyeon’s coldness, you find yourself most of the time slipping away in the middle of the night to curl up in one of the library’s couches.

So it comes as a surprise when you hear Sangyeon’s alto float through the air. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, hairbrush in hand, you pause in mid-action. Have you just heard wrong or--?

“Y/N.” 

You blink. Hesitate a few seconds. “What?” 

Another pause.

“Have you--” his voice is gruff, coming from the room itself. You wish you can see him, “have you found it?” 

“My diary?” 

“Yeah.” 

You resume brushing your hair, “no.”

Another awkward silence takes hold of the room and you’re not sure whether you should be filling it with short talk. 

Your heart jolts in your throat when you hear him once more, “I didn’t steal it, Y/N. If that’s what you think.” 

Biting your lip, you nod, before realizing he can’t see you, “I know.” 

“Good.” 

That’s possibly the nicest he’s ever been since...well, ever since. 

You try not to ponder too much over the meaning behind Sangyeon’s gentle demeanour, knowing full well that it only leads to disappointment in the long run. Quickly untangling the knots from your hair before moving towards your bedroom, you’re surprised to find that he’s still sitting up, blinking up at you as though waiting that you’ll join him for the night. 

“What?” You can’t help but ask the moment your eyes meet for a second too long.

His eyes slide away in growing embarrassment, “I--Uhm, are you--are you going to bed for the night?” 

“Yes?” Confusion falls over your face. 

He turns his head away so that you’re graced with his profile, and you can’t help but admire the strong jawline he sports, his plump lips that every girl would die for, “I was just asking, because I know you tend to sleep in the library.”

“Oh,” realization dawns on you, and while the first thing that scratches the back of your tongue is an apology, your mind reels back when you realize that you don’t really owe him anything.

“Well, uhm--” you rack your brains for an answer, “I thought you weren’t comfortable with me sleeping in the same bed as yours.” 

His mutter is so soft you would’ve missed if it you hadn’t been paying attention, “I really don’t mind.” 

That’s how you find yourself, curled up on your side and away from the said prince of Gustale, hands tucked under your head and trying to take up as little space as you possibly can. You can feel the heat of his body radiating from his side of your bed, practically bathing your entire backside, and though Sangyeon’s bed is big enough to accomodate the two of you, it’s quite modest in comparison to what the King and Queen have in their sleeping quarters. One wrong move in his direction will ultimately cause your limbs to brush, no question.

The first night is definitely awkward. You try not to bring it up, and Sangyeon does an amazing job at hiding what’s really going on in his mind. But as more time passes, you start picking up on things that he’s starting to do differently. For starters, he now engages in quiet conversation with you at meal times, asking whether you’re finding your way around the palace, or grudgingly passing you plates of food without so much as a protest. He’d asked the maids to keep tabs on what made you uncomfortable so that he could change what didn’t sit well with you, unknown to your knowledge, and you’d only found out later when one of the guards had accidentally let it slip that the prince seemed to be ‘putting it a lot more effort nowadays’. 

Not that it had helped, since you’re still left empty-handed, with all your thoughts and private feelings probably tucked away in someone else’s desk drawer. 

Sangyeon’s sudden bout of generosity and consideration makes your heart warm. You slowly start softening towards the said man, until you hear a pair of court ladies mumbling amongst themselves on the eve of the Royal Engagement. 

“The Prince and the Princess have been getting quite cozy lately.” 

“No wonder,” the other woman scoffs, causing Y/N to back up against the nearby wall, ears focused on their conversation, “after all, he knows what he’s got to do after their marriage. Maybe he wants to get an early start.” 

“You think so? The prince doesn’t strike me as the type to sway women only for his physical needs.” 

“Well, she will definitely be the bearer of his children. So he surely must get into her good books.” 

At this point, you’re already walking towards his quarters with your heart palpitating in your chest and your legs going numb from the women’s earlier discussion. Is it true? You ask yourself as you absentmindedly open his room door. You close it softly behind you, pressing your back against it while the words slowly digest themselves in your head.

If what the court ladies are saying, then it makes sense why Sangyeon is acting all nice all of a sudden without reason. He merely wants to get the job done as quickly as possible, so that he can be done with you and just throw you into a corner like a used item of clothing he’d outgrew. 

That doesn’t seem to sit well in your stomach. You manage to get yourself to the toilet just in time to throw up your entire dinner.

That is where Sangyeon finds you, a few minutes later, heaving and gasping into the toilet bowl while your hands are gripping the edges for dear life. Your face is dotted with perspiration, your face probably flushed from the effort. You know, without looking at your reflection, that you’ve had better days.

“Did you eat something wrong?” he crouches down beside you, a tentative hand fluttering against your backside. It makes you shiver, the warmth of his palm, still not used to his body being so close.

You manage to shake your head, “no,” you mutter, spitting some remaining saliva before you try moving towards the sink. Sangyeon’s arms are around your shoulders in an instant, helping you up to allow you to wash your hands.

You force your gaze down towards your hand, trying to busy yourself with the task at hand so that you won’t have to see the concerned expression he’s plastered over his face just to convince you that his affection is genuine. 

“What happened?” he follows you into the bedroom, though it’s clear at this point that you want to burrow underneath the covers and hide forever. You do just that, kicking off your shoes and ignoring the prince’s questions that would’ve once made your heart flutter with affection.  Now though, you’re not really sure what you should be feeling towards Sangyeon.

Feeling the bed dip as he sits at your bedside, you can’t help but flinch when his hand pushes a stray strands of hair away from your face, “talk to me, Y/N. Was it something at dinner? Do you feel unwell? Have you caught the stomach flu? It seems to be going around a lot these days. Maybe it’s something you caught when you were out by the docks--” 

“I’m fine,” you cut him off and close your eyes, “leave me alone.” 

There’s a pause and you force your muscles to relax despite feeling the heat of his gaze zeroing on your face.

“Y/N?” he starts, his alto unsure and confused, “did something happen? Was it something I said?” 

“No,” you mutter.

“Then what is it?” 

“Nothing. I said leave me alone.” 

“Y/N come on, don’t start playing those games with me,” his hand reaches for your shoulder, only for you to jerk away from his hold. Hurt flashes across Sangyeon’s face, though he is adept at masking it into indifference, hand hanging in mid-air. 

“Jesus, Y/N,” he finally says in the silence that prevails, “we can’t be arguing on the eve of your engagement, for christ’s sake.” 

“Is it true?” you blurt out before your mind can stop your heart from rearing in pain, “is it true that you’re only being nice to me because you want to bed me?” 

Silence. A pause. Then, “who told you this?” 

You shrug but decide not to answer. 

Only to be pulled back to face Sangyeon a second later, his arm latched onto your shoulder so that you meet his darkened gaze, coated with restrained anger. His jaw clenches as he repeats, “who told you, Y/N?” 

“Is it true?” your eyes lock on his, “is it true then? Do you just want to get into my pants?” 

“No, it’s not true. But that’s not going to help my case is it?” he sighs, “listen Y/N. People talk a lot, and there’s bound to always be rumours flying around--” 

“So then why?” you cut him off with a scowl, “why are you acting so nice to me when you haven’t been for the past five years?” 

You try to search for any indication on his face, but Sangyeon being Sangyeon, he knows exactly how to close himself off, hide behind a mask of nonchalance so that it’s almost impossible to guess what might be making the cogs in his head turn. 

“Can I tell you something without you shouting at me?” his murmur is so soft, so unlike his usual cold demeanour, that you nod in agreement, willing to at least hear him out.

“I read your diary.” 

Your jaw drops, “You what?! You liar!” You shoot up, slapping him on the shoulder out of pure instinct, “you said you didn’t know where it was!” 

“It’s under the bed, I technically found it there so-- ouch woman!” he rubs his now injured shoulder, “can I continue? You promised you wouldn’t get aggressive.”

You keep glaring at him as he continues. 

“The things you wrote--I didn’t know that you were hurting so much. I thought that keeping my distance was what you wanted,” he bites the inside of his cheek, “I didn’t want you thinking I was being nice just because we’re meant to be married, especially since I liked you so much. So I tried avoiding you, tried to distance myself so that you’d come to me out of your own free will,” he presses his lips together, eyebrows drawn into a frown, “but then...I read your diary and realized that you--that it was hurting you, more than it was doing you good. You know? And that--that hurt me.”

“So it has nothing to do with the fact that you just want to have sex?” 

His ears flush a joyous red, so vividly oblivious that your inner mind screams out at how cute he is. 

“It has nothing to do with that,” he stammers out. “So you don’t want to have sex with me?” Now you know you’re only pulling his leg, but it’s even more precious to see him ducking his head as the flush reaches the tips of his ears, “I--I never--I never said that! I--well, I mean, you--you’re going to be my wife after all so--obviously, you --you know I kinda...” he scratches the back fo his neck, clearly uncomfortable with all the questions you fire at him, “I kinda already...thought about it.” 

You can’t help it. You burst out laughing in his face and revel at how red he becomes as he splutters out, “it’s--it’s not funny.” 

“Oh god,” you clamp a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop yourself, though it’s quite a pathetic attempt, since even Sangyeon’s mouth tugs up into a mirroring grin. 

“So are we good now?” He murmurs while his hand unconsciously lands upon yours. It’s soft, warm from his heat. It feels good, it feels...safe. 

Your heart skips a beat, “yes Sangyeon. We are. We’re good.” 

“Good,” he clears his throat thickly, bites down onto his lower lip as if in thought while his thumb traces soft patterns over your knuckles. It almost feels normal to have him so close, it’s like your body knows that he’s the one you’ll be sharing the rest of your life with.

And then, a memory of his little speech comes floating back before your very eyes. 

“Wait,” your eyes snap up to his own confused ones, “you said you liked me?” 

He opens his mouth, closes it in realization that he indeed had let it slip. 

“Yeah,” he finally mumbles while looking away, ‘Yeah. I like you Y/N. I’ve liked you a lot, for a long time.” 

Your entire body springs up in warmth, “why didn’t you tell me?” you whisper out hoarsely. 

Turning towards you so that there’s only millimetres between you, your eyes fall onto the soft curve of his collarbones underneath his white shirt, quickly snapping away to stop yourself from getting any wild ideas. 

“How could I?” he croaks out, “this whole betrothal thing is planned. I wanted to love someone truly, without titles. I loved you, not because I was betrothed to you. You were just--” his gaze flickers to your lips, “you.”

“Well maybe if you had told me sooner, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” 

“Maybe.”

“Sangyeon,” his dark orbs are swirling with warmth, with a tenderness that causes butterflies to shimmer across your chest when your gazes lock, “I really appreciate what you did. These past few days.” 

He chuckles softly, “that’s nothing to thank me for, princess.”

Sitting there with Sangyeon at your side, with his hand resting on yours and your bodies so close you can smell his cologne mixed with the natural scent of wood and summer breeze -- a scent that can only be defined as Sangyeon’s -- it almost feels like you’re part of a family. Your heart swells with emotion at the thought; maybe it’s not so bad after all, to be betrothed to someone like Sangyeon.

It takes a few seconds for you to realize he’s calling your name softly. Looking up into his doe brown orbs gleaming with an open kind of understanding, you find that you can’t possibly look away. The intensity of his gaze is enough to send your heart galloping out of your chest, and when you take a shaky inhale to calm yourself, you realize how close your faces actually are, so close you can see the tiniest freckles spattering across his cheek like galaxies of their own.

You wish to say something. Anything that might save you from staring at him like he’s a piece of art you can’t take your eyes off. But the words get stuck in the back of your throat like sandpaper, a gasp being the only thing that draws out of your mouth when you feel his hand gently cup your chin. 

Sangyeon’s thumb brushes against your lower lip and instantly, you feel your skin explode in goosebumps. He moves a little closer and the gasp that dies in the back of your throat catches his attention fully. 

It seems like ages go by without as much of an exchange. The world slips away, with only you and Sangyeon gazing into each other’s eyes, both trying to play it safe and yet, there’s definitely something in the air, the electricity that tingles along your spine is definitely not fantasy. 

Your hands ball into fists upon impulse. You can barely breathe, hearing your heart slamming against your ribcage. 

He leans a little closer. His mouth brushes against yours. Barely. 

Your breath hitches, body tensing up slightly.

And then he’s kissing your next breath away, arms lacing around your middle to pull you close while his lips slants over yours in the most sensual caresses that leaves you gasping. You melt right into his arms and he doesn’t hesitate to hold you up, his touch leaving searing paths of hot heat like an imprint that kept you reeling and wanting for more.

It’s only when your back hits the mattress that you realize that you’re lying down with Sangyeon hovering over you, breath staggering and muscles bunching up so that he can kiss you some more, a little deeper each time your mouths collide to ignite sparks behind your lids. Your hands slip around his shoulders to wrap around his torso, traveling up to his hair, his beautiful dark hair that slips through your fingers like silk, and the groan that echoes through his chest causes heat to pool inside your stomach.

With a knee pressing down between your own so that another gasp falls from your lips, the prince’s hands trace a sensual path along your stomach, trailing up to ghost over your chest. You breathe out softly, the smallest of whimpers escaping your mouth. That seems to please him, for his tongue darts out to part your lips with the softest of groans. 

It feels so good to have him against you, his heat pooling around yours in a comfortable safe haven that elicits nothing but desire. 

When he pulls away for air, you can’t help but whine at the loss of contact while tugging his neck back down in an attempt to steal another kiss from his lips.

Sangyeon lets out a throaty growl, “Y/N, princess, I don’t think that’s such a--” his words die into a moan the moment your mouth starts nibbling along his collarbone. His grip tightens around your waist, and before you know it, you’re backed up against the headboard of the bed right before his lips take yours in once more in a sinful dance of tongues.

“Y/N,” he groans against your mouth, hips unintentionally bucking up against yours when your soft curves roll in delicious desire, taunting him to take it a step further, “baby, stop...”

it is a surprise that he manages to wrench himself away, chest heaving and lips swollen. Your eyes flutter up to his face with a mixture of desire and affection clouding your gaze. 

“We can’t,” his soft murmur causes you to shiver. He proceeds to caress your cheekbone, “we’re going to lie down and sleep. And we’re not going to ruin this, not tonight.” 

You roll your eyes, though you smile softly “fine.” 

He flashes you another tender smile, then moves towards his side of the bed, tugging you along as he goes. With your head resting on his chest and with one arm wrapped securely around your waist, you allow your ear to be comforted by the soft heartbeats echoing through his chest, a soft reminder that this man’s heart beats for yours, and will beat for yours till the end of time.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You smile sleepily, “good night, Sangyeon.” 

You’re almost falling into the depths of sleep when you feel his mouth press a chaste kiss to your forehead.

---

#sangyeon #the boyz sangyeon #theboyz sangyeon #tbz sangyeon #sangyeon imagines #sangyeon drabbles #sangyeon au #sangyeon scenarios #sangyeon fanfic #sangyeon x reader #sangyeon fluff #tbzwritersnet #tbzwriters #deobidrabbles #deobi drabbles #tbznetwork #tbzwritersnetwork #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #the boyz au #the boyz drabble #the boyz imagine #the boyz scenario #the boyz fanfic #the boyz fluff #royal au #theboyz imagine #theboyz scenarios #theboyz au #theboyz drabble

[horrorslashergirl]

The Lurking One: A Shadow Horror Story

Authors Note: Decided to write a story for my newest Slasher OC, Shadow. People seem to really like him, despite him not having a face claim. lol

Warning: 18+ for horror, gore and torture, plus add in trauma

Words: 2.4k words

It was one of these late at night study sessions for the ones that slacked during the year and had to catch up with what they lost; Giula was one of them and she cursed herself for letting her time be filled with sorority activities and parties.

The Northeastern University campus was empty save for the security guard; Guila being the only student who was currently in the library catching up to a project that was due to tomorrow. She could have done it back at the sorority house, but she knew the girls would distract her and tempt her with other activities such as preparing for a college festival that was in two weeks.

Her grades were more important than social activities that would print into her status, not to mention her parents who had a talk with her about the fact that college wasn't a gateway for drinking and hooking up with guys.

Guila sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, checking the old antique clock of the library.

10:35 PM

Her gaze moved back to the tons of files and books on the wood desk she was sat at. She just finished the project, but she needed to revise it to make sure everything was perfectly done. The grade for this project was important and she wasn't looking for another discussion with her parents and the headmaster.

She will look it over in the morning; she needed to be fresh tomorrow for the presentation and looking like a crackhead in front of the judges wasn't a pro in the book. Putting everything back into her bag neatly, she pulled her hair out of the tight ponytail, letting her auburn locks fall freely down her back, almost to the hips.

Walking out of the library and locking the door; thank God the old library lady was a sweetheart and left the keys for her to close. She walked down the hallways and taking the old victorian ascensor to the low floor. Before she could exit the building she stopped by the cubicle of the security guard, handing him the keys.

"All done for tonight, dear?" Arthur asked, taking the keys and setting them on his desk.

"Well, finally so. I will have to own Mrs. Hariot for leading me the keys to the library." Giula told the old man with a smile.

"Ahhh...She's an angel among here. Trust me, it was her pleasure." he old the girl, sitting back down at his desk, a copy of  Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen was on the desk.

"Have a good night without incidents, Sir." Giula told the gentleman guard who nodded.

"Nothing ever happens around here. Kids nowadays don't read books anymore, so I don't think someone will try to break into the library." Arthur joked, making Giulia giggle and nod, although feeling a little by what he said.

"I suppose so. Good night." the girl waved off, stalking towards the exit.

"Likewise, dear!" Arthur called after her, going back to the classic novel.

As she opened the door, a chilly air hit Giulia in the face, making her wrap her arms around herself. It was definitely colder than when she got in the morning here. It was earlier spring, the days warm, but the nights reminding that the winter just recently moved away.

She was wearing a white button-down with dark blue jeans and some ballet flats that made her legs all shaky; her light brown cardigan not helping at all. She couldn't wait to get back to the sorority house and bask in the warmness of her bed and away from the coldness of the night.

It was just a 20 minutes long time walk to the house, but it seemed like much more to her now that she was all alone and shivering like a hairless cat.

Mentally, she cursed her parents for not letting her drive, always scolding her that she wasn't ready. Overly protective parents and their old school mentality always made Giulia feel like she was still a baby. She was 22 and in the second year of college for Christ's sake.

She couldn't wait to finish college and get a job; Oh the dream of having her own apartment and not having to deal with doll-like girls who owned Porches all because of their wealthy daddies. Now thinking more about it, she was the only one who didn't have an overly rich family; maybe the girls kept her because she was the only one who was first to clean a mess, make breakfast when the others were hungover.

The streets were all deserted, none was outside, most people here being locals since birth or college students who basked in cheap beer and gossips at this hour.

This neighbor that gave off hostel-like vibes made her skin be covered in goosebumps, smelling a faint scent of weed, beer and hearing the music blasting from the apartments above. The police wouldn't come to stop the noise, since there was none to be bothered by the hypnotic beat.

Guila could feel eyes on her, but every time she turned around to take a look there was none, just the slight wet streets and alleyways that adored this place. Each time she passed one, she would halt her walking, afraid two big clawed hands will brisk her away into darkness.

She rolled her eyes as a guy from above cat-called her, probably drunk off his ass, and his girlfriend a few feet away from him at the window making out with his best friend.

Boston really was filled up with these types of students, getting great opportunities and throwing said blessing out the window because of blinding hormones, and the idea of being young means I'm indestructible.

'Just 10 more minutes and you will be home.' Giulia thought to herself, but it quickly went off the window as pain shot through her scalp, before she knew it she was dragged into the darkness of an alleyway.

One strong arm wrapped around the middle section of her waist, but the other moved to her neck, feeling the prickle of something cold against her neck; a blade, a knife, something that was indeed sharp.

"Scream and you can say arrivederci to your precious vocal cords." the person that held her spoke, voice raspy and very eerie, definitely a male.

"P-Please...Don't kill me." Giulia whispered, afraid that if she raises her voice too much, he won't keep on his promises.

"Shush now. I heard that line all too many times and it gets very monotonous." the man spoke right by her ear, running what she assumed was a scalpel over her cut, not slitting her throat, but surely making a small cut to show that he wasn't playing games.

She was panicking, her breathing getting more on the hysterical edge, then she did the first thing she could think of. She kicked him in one of his shins, making him groan, but he didn't back off. He did throw her in the opposite direction of the alleyway against the brick wall. Giulia grunted and whimpered as she hit the ground right into a puddle.

Her hazel eyes looked up and she felt terror strick her as he stalked over to her wet and bruised form, like a panther ready to pounce on its prey. She could scream, but the music from the apartments above was so loud she wouldn't have a chance in someone hearing her.

One cold leather-gloved hand wrapped around her neck and he slammed her back into the wall, showing so much strength that got her the image of him snapping her tiny neck like a twig.

"That was some dirty move you put up there, little wench. Although I am a very patient man." he whispered, and now that he was in front of her, she could make out what he looked like.

He was wearing all black, probably a very expensive tailored suit with a scarlet red tie, not even a glimpse of skin was shown. What really caught her attention was his vintage-looking fedora and the creepy raven like a mask. 

A doctor purge mask? She heard of them from her brother who was very into history.

"W-Who are you?" Giulia choked, his hand tightening around her throat at the question.

He hummed like he was deep in thought.

"I think the public eye has birthed me as the Shadow." he answered her question.

It took only a few seconds for Giulias eyes to widen and her body to tremble. She heard on the news about him; the unknown brutal killer, never seen, none to survive to tell the story and how they described his murderers on television.

The killer known now as Shadow chuckled at her horrified face.

"Ahhhh....So you heard of me. Good. I hate to explain information to someone who cannot even work their brain enough to avoid someone dangerous." he mused, making the young woman whimper and cry, then she began to swing her legs in an attempt to hurt him.

Only for her head to be slammed multiple times against the brick wall until her vision blacked and she fell on the dirty ground by the pristine black Oxfords he was sporting.

----------------------------------

The lightbulb above flickered to life and Giulia opened her eyes, looking around like a desperate animal caged, or more like chained by her neck, a metal collar digging into the skin of her neck and creating red and purple marks.

Her doe-like eyes looking around and stopped on the black-clad figure.

The Shadow.

"Ahh...I'm glad you're awake. I might think I hit your head too many times on the brick wall. I usually prefer drugging my victims, but you were acting like too much of a mindless animal." he began to spoke so fluently, calm, like everything that was going on was a normal occurrence for him; like discussing the weather over a few drinks.

The man was laying some tools neatly on a metal table; surgical tools, like scalpels, forceps, scissors, retractors, and clamps. Giulia felt a bile form in her throat, starting to tug on the heavy chain that was bounded against the concrete wall; no luck.

"Let m go, you fucker!" she screamed and in an instant, her back meet the cold wall, gloved hand grasping her jaw tightly as the leather beak of the mask brushed against her face.

"You smell putrid, although there is that faint strawberry scent of your perfume." he commented, fingertips digging more into her jaw and making her whimper and sob.

In his free hand, he held a pair of surgical retractors and her eyes widened when he forced her mouth open, one finger pulling her upper lip to expose her pearly white teeth and pink gums.

"You have a nice set of teeth there. I adore your canines especially." he whispered, then he grasped one of her canines with the retractor, tugging on it and forcing a pain-filled scream from Giulia; the next twin teeth following. 

Her tears filled eyes looking as he held both canines between black covered fingers.

"Very impeccable indeed." he murmured, going back to the table.

The metallic taste of blood and sterisol filled her mouth, scarlet dripping down her chin.

She knew this was far from over as his thumb run over the shiny scalpel.

--------------------------------------

Giulia didn't know how much time has flown; one month, maybe two? She hadn't seen the light of the day in so long and she wished dead would overcome her.

She was in so much pain; the things Shadow did to her. First the canines, then her fingernails went off and when she spat on his mask she thought she was going to die as he poured acidic fluid down her scalp; her beautiful long hair was just a burned memory.

Dead was supposed to come, but the sadist treated her wounds like an expert at the hospital, only to remind her that death was far away from her.

Then the begging, telling him what she will do anything, even getting on her knees and possibly giving him new ideas. His words were absolute humiliation.

"I know what you're implying, ignorant wench." he told her as his gloved hands were running down her naked hips, then he left her.

"I'm not a rapist, darling. Never found any fascination with taking someone against their own will in that way. I prefer my slave to be willing, but you're not. So I advise next time you keep these sick fantasies to yourself." he told her, mocking and making her feel even more stupid.

She caught glimpses of him doing awful things to the other girls; one of them skinned alive and every muscle on full display.

"You're just too perfect, aren't you?" he told Giulia, making her a confused mess.

---------------------------------------------

She did manage to trick him when he was busy piercing her earlobes multiple types, having to bite her tongue as she stole the keys to her chains.

Then when he found her moving down the hallways; she almost got her leg blown off when he used a shotgun after her. She had opened the door to the exit and was meet with the night. Running through the forest, looking behind her over and over.

Her luck was finally getting to the principal road and a car passed by, getting in, and again she was in danger. The old man tried to rape her, but she was brave enough to jump out of the car when they were in town.

After 30 minutes of limping around the streets, she finally spotted a police car that was patrolling.

Interrogations followed, but she always spoke the same words, too traumatized by the events.

'He is tall and in all black. He doesn't seem human. No human could do this. He pulled all her skin off like she was a rabbit. His voice, makes me wanna throw up, it's so raspy it makes me wanna be deaf so I cannot hear it anymore in my head. What he did to the other girls...I cannot describe. He said that I'm perfect. What was that supposed to mean?'

Her parents were devasted when they found out about everything that happened and her mother fell on her knees crying over and over when she finally saw Giulia face to face.

The worst was that she could no longer be let on her own; nightmares, voices, aggressive outbursts, and feeling like she was constantly followed. She was scared of her own shadow.

When the police found the whereabouts of where Giulia was held everything was gone, not even a spot of blood like there was none there in the first place.

Why clean it all up if Shadow wanted the bodies to be found in the first place?

Needless to say...Nights in Boston weren't safe anymore.

#The Shadow #Serial Killer #Salem #Boston #Horror story #creepy story #original characters #slasher oc

[pleasereadmycrap]

Is This Just a Game?

Pairing: Ransom x Reader

Warnings: Major Angst, My crappy writing

Summary: You learn the truth about you and Ransom

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: I did not proofread this. Sorry. Also I have an idea for a part 2 but I don’t know if its worth writing so please let me know what you think.

“God! How could Harlan be such a prick?” Ransom thought as he stormed out the door.

Why had he even come to this party? He knew it was a bad idea as he had driven up in his Beamer. He hated his family! What was he thinking? Stupid!

How could Harlan treat him, his own grandson, like this? Ransom thought back on their conversation and fumed with anger.

…

“You wanted to see mee?” Ransom asked as he stepped through the door into Harlan’s study.

“Yes. Please sit,” Harlan gestured to the seat across from where he sat behind his massive wooden desk. “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“That’s never good.” Ransom muttered under his breath.

“No! You will let me finish! For too long, I have been far too generous with my family, and I’m done.”

“What?”

“You and the rest of this wretched family are a bunch of ingrates who have depended on me and not yourselves for far too long, so I’m cutting you off,” Harlan explained.

“What are you talking about?”

“Ransom, your credit card is linked to my bank account. I can see your history.”

“So?”

“I didn’t realize that hookers could be paid with cash nowadays until I looked at your credit card statements. A different girl every night? Really, Ransom?”

“What do you expect? I’m young, and I’m trying to enjoy it!” Ransom shouted as he moved to stand behind his chair and fix Harlan with a hard glare.

“I had hoped that you would’ve given up your foolish games by now. You’re not a boy anymore! I thought that you would've tried to make something of yourself or have settled down.”

“So you’re cutting me off?” Ransom exclaimed in disbelief. How could this be happening? What the hell! Was he off his meds or something? “What are you gonna do with your money?”

“I have some terms. If you don’t meet them I will effectively cut you off and give your share of my estate to Marta.”

“Your nurse? You’re betraying your family! You’re betraying me for your nurse?”

“Not if you do as I ask.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to find someone, and I want you to bring her to my birthday next year. If you have not found a girl who you are serious about by next year, you’re out,” Harlan said calmly.

“I’ll kill you for this!” Ransom yelled as he stormed out of the study and through the front door

…

After that, Ransom had ran out to his Beamer and drove away. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he was angry.

Now, he was seated at the bar of some dingy bar just off the highway. He had hoped that he could drown his sorrows with whiskey, but he was 4 glasses in, and all he could think about was how his grandfather was an ass.

It was nearing closing, and the bar had emptied out except for Ransom and the bartender who was shooting him dirty looks. The place was completely silent until Ransom heard the sound of the door opening behind him and the cold rush of wind on his neck.

… *Your POV*...

“I’m sorry, but is this place still open?” you asked as you stepped through the door of the tavern.

It had been a rough night for you. You had broken up with your boyfriend, and he had kicked you out of the apartment that you had shared, and now all of your stuff was packed into your car. You really needed a drink.

“We were just closing up!” the bartender called with an exasperated tone.

“Yeah, but you’ll stay open for us, right?” the handsome man at the bar said as he threw down a 100 on the countertop.

“Whatever,” the bartender said as she pocketed the money and walked to stand at the opposite end of the bar.

“Is this seat taken?” you asked as you walked up to the bar cautiously. You knew to be wary of strangers even if just looking at them did make your panties melt.

“No. Be my guest,” he said as he looked up at you, and you froze. His eyes were the most beautiful that you had ever seen. They reminded you of a sparkling ocean or the sky on a clear day. You snapped yourself out of it quickly though and sat next to the man.

“You know that was a lot of money to throw down just for a couple more drinks.”

“It’s not a problem for me.”

“Oh,” you said softly. “I’m Y/N.”

“Pretty name. I’m Ransom,” he said as he shook the hand you had proffered. “What’s a girl like you doing in a bar like this?” he asked as he glanced emphatically at their surroundings.

“You don’t want to hear about a stranger’s personal problems.”

“Sure I do,” he said with a friendly smile.

“I broke up with my boyfriend tonight, and he kicked me out.’

“Bartender!” Ransom called out to where she stood wiping the countertop at the opposite end of the bar. “Two shots of tequila please.”

“Woah!” you chuckled. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“And what if I am?”

“I might just let you,” you said with a smile.

…

He had gotten you into bed that night, and after a brief talk the next morning, you had been together ever since. That was a year ago. Your entire love had felt so easy and free.

Now, it was the night of Harlan’s birthday party, and it was your first time meeting Ransom’s family.

“I’m scared, Ransom,” you whispered as the two of you approached the door of Harlan’s manor.

“Don’t be.”

“But everything that you said…”

“Is an exaggerated tale of my own feelings about my family. You’re not me which means that they’ll already like you a hell of a lot more than they like me,” Ransom replied as he stopped and wrapped his arms around you.

“I love you,” you murmured into his chest.

“I love you too, Y/N”

With that, the two of you reached the door and with more than a little hesitation, Ransom reached up and knocked on the heavy door.

…

It was two hours later, and you could finally see what Ransom had been talking about. His tales weren’t exaggerated. His family was just as bad as he had said, but they loved you. Linda and Richard spent the entire night fawning over you, and the rest of the family had been relatively polite to you even if they weren’t to each other.

Ransom had been keeping a protective watch over you all night. He hadn’t let you out of his sight until his grandfather had called him into his study. Against all of your expectations, he exited the room 20 minutes later positively ecstatic.

Ransom wrapped you up in a huge hug, spun you around and kissed you passionately.

“I love you so much,” he whispered into your ear, and then he attempted to coax you upstairs with his wicked ideas, but Harlan’s nurse Marta interrupted you.

“Excuse me, Miss Y/L/N. Harlan would like to see you in his study,” she said.

“Oh, did he say what it was about?” you asked, thoroughly confused as to what Harlan could possibly want with you.

“No, just that it would please him very much to talk to you.”

“Ok, I’ll be right back,” you replied as you kissed Ransom on the cheek before disappearing into Harlan’s study.

“Miss Y/L/N, please close the door behind you,” he said as you entered.

“Of course. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“How long have you been dating my grandson?’

“A year exactly. Actually, tonight is our anniversary,” you answered.

“That’s what I was worried about.”

You were confused by that but you didn’t say anything.

“Do you know why I called my grandson in here tonight?” Harlan asked you with a look of pity.

“No,” you said with a cautious tone.

“A year ago, I gave him an ultimatum. I told him to get serious about his life and settle down with a girl, or I would cut him off. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes. I believe I do,” you said with your eyes watering. “Thank you, Harlan,”

You stood and rushed out of the house as fast as you could before you realized that Ransom was your ride. In the distance, you spotted a gazebo, and you figured that was as good a place to call an Uber from as anywhere.

… *Ransom’s POV*...

Ransom watched you run out of the party with considerable confusion. He followed after you and watched as you ran to the gazebo.

“Y/N,” he called out as he approached the gazebo slowly.

“Go away, Ransom.”

“What?” he asked in disbelief.

“It’s over.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Harlan told me about the ultimatum!” you spat in his direction as you turned to face him.

“Shit,” Ransom muttered.

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

“No! You don’t understand! I was desperate. I had never lived without his money before, so when I met you, it seemed so perfect.

Yeah, I admit it. I was just going to keep you around until tonight and then dump you and claim that things ‘hadn’t worked out’, but then I got to know yo-“

“No, save it! Just tell me; was any of it real?”

“Yes. Of course this is real! We’re real! I love you!”

“That’s what you always say to me. Well, this time it isn’t enough. I’m calling an Uber. Don’t come home tonight; I’ll be moved out by the morning.”

“Y/N…”

“Was this just a game to you? Were we just a game to you?”

“No. I loved you then, and I love you now. I’m sorry.”

“That is what everyone says. Everyone who has ever disappointed me, they’ve always said sorry, and I’m sick of it. I’m done with crappy guys like you. I thought that I had found the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with, somebody different, but you’re just the same as every other douchey guy out there and you’re kidding yourself if you think otherwise. No matter how much money or class you have, you are still a disappointment because some things, money can’t buy. Leave, Ransom, I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“Don’t say that,Y/N. Please don’t leave me,” Ransom pleaded with you as his eyes filled with tears.

“You already made my decision when you decided to use me, Ransom. It’s over.”

“Don’t do th-“

“My Uber’s here,” you said, cutting him off.

He watched you walk away into the darkness towards a silver freaking Prius, knowing that he had lost the best thing that had ever happened to him.

#ransom thrombey x reader #ransom thrombey imagine #ransom x reader #ransom x you #ransom imagine #ransom x Y/N #ransom drysdale #hugh ransom drysdale #knives out #x reader #hugh ransom drysdale x reader #hugh ransom drysdale x you #hugh ransom drysdale x Y/N #angst #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x Y/N

[anabantoid]

The Ubiquitous Betta Care Guide

Literally everyone and their mother has written a care guide about bettas, but I felt like I could provide a care guide based around my opinions and experiences in keeping bettas. I’ve kept bettas since I was about 15 years old, they were one of my first fish, and I fell in love with them and at one point I had over a dozen bettas at one time! That’s ridiculous now, but this was 2005/2006, bettas were cheaper and not as disposable then, definitely lasting for the oft-quoted “2-3 year” lifespans that people struggle to see today. Nowadays, I struggle to be able to get a betta to live past 6 months. So, what’s happening? Am I suddenly taking worse care of bettas than I did when I was 15? 

Well, no, all of my most recent bettas were kept in tanks that were over 50 gallons, well planted, my tap water is soft (kH of 5), my pH is neutral (7-7.4) and my water is easily modified with botanicals or wood to be about 6 if need be. They live in filtered tanks with 80 degree water, eat nothing but live or frozen food, and never fall ill with disease or parasites. That’s more than I can say about teenage me. I dealt with a lot of issues, obviously, from bacterial to fungal infections because of my ignorance, but nowadays I can’t say I’ve had to treat a betta for anything, they just sorta..die, and at seemingly random too. What’s going on? 

Today, bettas come in every color, shape and variety you can think of, which wasn’t the case when I was 15. The reason for the huge variety is the desire for more ornamental fish, but for commercial selling, there’s mass breeding on an industrial scale which leads to poor stock, inbreeding, and deformed fish and genetic issues we just can’t see. It doesn’t matter if it’s a local breeder or from a store, they’re all coming from the same stock now. 

I’ve touched about betta problems in the past, and if you’ve followed my blog for a few years or see me in my discord server (Fish Tea), then you already know how I feel. That’s not what this post is about! This post is about caring for your betta, what I’ve learned in my experiences with them, and how to treat and care for the common ailments that befall them.

THEIR CARE:

Min tank size: 10 gallons. Why 10 gallons? In all my time keeping bettas, they do best in larger tanks that allow them to move, they get proper muscle tone in larger tanks because they’re able to move, and I’ve never had an issue with constipation in bettas when placed in larger tanks because movement makes it easier for animals to pass their waste. I can’t think of any other 2 inch-3 inch, active fish that anyone would suggest for a 5 gallon, but for some reason people all say 5 gallons is fine. This is MY recommendation, this is something I will tell people to follow, but whether or not you agree is up to you. You can keep them as you wish, but I prefer having bettas in larger tanks.

Temperature: 80+. In the wild, the Betta genus comes from hot, humid environments in Southeast Asia, living in shallow bodies of water that can be over 80 degrees in temperature. Wild Betta splendens have been observed living in rice paddies with an average temperature of 84 degrees (Jaroensutasinee & Jaroensutansinee, 2001). While it can be argued that domestic bettas are different from their wild counterparts, we have not bred them for cold resistance, and bettas display poor health in colder temps, lethargy, loss of appetite, bloating and constipation. 

Water Params: My position about water parameters has evolved over time, but I still think a betta does best in neutral to acidic waters, because a betta in a pH of 8+ will not have a great time. Essentially, most people’s tap water will be fine, you don’t need RO water to keep a domestic betta.

Feeding: I feed my bettas live food in the form of blackworms, fruit flies, random small bugs I find, a spider….anything that’s an invert and they can swallow, they can eat it. I also feed them frozen foods such as bloodworms, krill, mysis, cyclops and sometimes just cut up cocktail shrimp. You can feed them live and frozen, and you can also give them prepared foods, like New Life Spectrum, Bug Bites, or Bug Pro. They have excellent sources of protein that are not derived from soy like other brands such as Hikari, Omega One, Tetra, Aqueon and such. You can also make repashy grub pie and feed them that. 

Furnishings: Bettas naturally come from environments that are dense with vegetative growth (Jaroensutasinee & Jaroensutansinee, 2001), which means your bettas should also be in tanks that are filled to the brim with plants! I like live plants, but you can use soft silks too, anything that can provide them some cover that they can serpentine and swim through. My rule of thumb usually is if you can see straight through one end of the tank with no broken lines of sight, you don’t have enough plants. Lack of proper coverage can make them stressed out, lethargic and more susceptible to illness and refusal to eat.

Tank mates: If you want to keep bettas with other fish, I suggest a 20 long as a minimum. If your betta has long fins, avoid getting any boisterous, nipping fish like tetras. Kuhli loaches make wonderful tankmates for bettas because they tolerate the high temps a betta likes, as well as Hypancistrus plecos, some corydoras, smaller spiny eels and more. I don’t recommend ever putting shrimp in with bettas, aside from larger shrimp like amanos, because shrimp are a betta’s natural prey and they will hunt them all down!

WHAT IF MY BETTA GETS SICK?

Bettas can and will get ill, you will most likely encounter an issue with your betta one way or another, but what can you do to help? In most cases, the problem is lack of proper care and poor water conditions. The best way to insure your betta remains happy and healthy is to have a clean tank. The easiest way to do this is to make sure your tank is cycled and you do regular, weekly water changes of 25%-30%. 

When you buy a betta, make sure you are picking out an active one, don’t try to be a saint and pick out one laying on its side, half dead. The likelihood is that it will just die, you’ll feel upset, and then you’ll go out and try it again. I’ve been there! It doesn’t work! Get a fish that wiggles at you and looks like it wants to kick your ass. That’s a good betta.

Here’s some common betta ailments:

Popeye: This happens because your water quality is poor and a bacterial infection brews up, causing fluid retention that can pop the eye out. Your best course of action is to address the water quality issue, then use an antibiotic such as kanaplex or metroplex. 

Bloat and constipation: The betta is fed too much, the tank is unheated, the water quality is poor, the tank is too small, and more. This is a symptom of an underlying issues, and it needs to be addressed by seeing what you’re doing wrong. To treat it, give your betta a soak in an epsom salt bath for 10-15 minutes in a bucket or other container, with 1 tbs of epsom salt per gallon. Feed them some frozen food like daphnia or brine shrimp to aid in passing their waste. 

Ich: This can literally happen to anyone, and it sometimes just. Happens. Inexplicably. Whether or not it’s introduced or always in the water, it can crop up in even the warmest of tanks, as ich nowadays seems to have gotten particularly strong. Up your temps to about 86, your betta can handle temps into the 90’s, and use an ich treatment, I usually do Ich X, follow the directions on the bottle. You can also do a salt dip on the betta at the first signs of ich, 1 tbs of aquarium or table salt per gallon in a separate container, do a 10 minute soak. Up the temps and see if the ich subsides, if not, follow through with medication.

Fin rot: This is a water quality issue, you need to address this first before proceeding with treatment, as usually providing clean, warm water is enough to stop fin rot. If you do this but notice the fin rot is especially aggressive or starting to proceed onto the body, treat with an antibiotic such as kanaplex.

Velvet: This is a parasitic infection like ich, though for this one it comes from yet another water quality issue. It can happen in the store they come from, or it can happen in your home if you’re not up and up on your care. You would treat it the same way as ich, however shut your lights off, as it appears to be light sensitive.

Lethargy, bottom sitting, loss of appetite: These are symptoms of a bigger issue, be it water quality, age, or simply just something going wrong internally that we can’t see. If your tank is too cold, you’re not feeding enough or you’re not on top of water changes, you can help by adjusting all of that. If it’s from age or something else, all you can do is wait and see how much longer the betta has left, or euthanize if you feel he won’t get better. You can attempt an epsom salt bath, raising temps, and feeding live or frozen, but at that point it’s palliative care rather than a solution.

What if you just got your betta, and it seemed fine, and then one day it didn’t look good and the next you found it dead? Well, circling back to my long winded intro, you can see that the answer is in the poor breeding practices. Bettas are not as strong or hardy as they used to be, in fact they seem to just be about as durable as tissue paper nowadays and will die after a few months or a year, with some exceptions. It can be disheartening to feel like you’re failing at a fish that’s touted as being one of the hardiest fish out there, but I promise you that if you’re providing the best care for them, they’ll still die early, and you’re not at fault. I still get bettas, but I only buy one after another passes, and I try to not spend more than $15 on one. I settle with the fact they won’t live as long, and I enjoy them while I have them, and if you feel the same way, go for it.

If you’d like to learn more about bettas, their alternatives and more, the best way to reach me and a whole community of experiences keepers is through Fish Tea, an lgbt+ friendly discord server dedicated to all things aquatic.

(reference: Jaroensutasinee, M., & Jaroensutansinee, K. (2001). Bubble nest habitat characteristics of wild Siamese fighting fish. Journal of Fish Biology, 58(5), 1311-1319. doi:10.1111/j.1095-8649.2001.tb02288.x)

#fishblr #betta fish #bettablr #betta #fish tank #megs does guides

[gumnut-logic]

Their Island

Ooh, lookie, I managed to write an IRRelief fic myself. The fact that I started it without that in mind is irrelevant. The fact that I found myself typing out one of the prompt words part way through is :D That and it is mostly fluff which is the main requirement. So IRRelief fic for the prompt ‘power drill’...which is one of mine, I know, but it just happened, honest.

Spoilers & Warnings: I have again written this in my Kermadec AU, however the deviations are minor and it can be read without reading We’ll Be Home For Christmas. There are Tracy boys ages in this as it is technically pre-IR. We all have our own ideas on the boys ages. I’ve run with the age scheme I worked out for Parents as it makes enough sense for me to live with...so technically this could be considered part of that fic as well. So, we have younger!Tracys, pre-IR, Kermadec AU (but only a little bit) and lots of fluff. 2949 words.

Many thanks to @scribbles97​ for the read through and support :D

I hope you enjoy :D

-o-o-o-

It was a tropical island with the foliage to match. Ferns, palm trees, warm air, the distant sound of ocean with a breeze that came with it.

Virgil found himself up high, sitting on a fat patch of moss in a protected nook far above the construction busily happening below.

From here he could see the footprint of the villa, the hole where the pool was going to go, his father directing operations like the commander he always was.

He had to admit, it was amazing.

Seeing the plans was one thing, seeing it being carved out of the volcanic rock was another.

In the distance sat the chiselled-out runway, another of Tracy Industries’ cargo planes coming into land. No doubt it was stock full of luxury fittings. Fancy doorknobs, Scott’s king-sized bed and other frivolities. But Virgil knew that under the disguise of rich eccentricities there were more important things.

The Island was riddled with secrets, most of which had been actioned long before the villa.

But now the house was the final piece. The topping on the cake. And it was amazing to watch it come together.

A scuff of boots on gravel and Virgil jumped.

“Relax, Virgil.” A gentle hand on his shoulder and his younger brother pulled up a chunk of moss beside him. John’s hair always lit up in the sun, almost a warning as to what that sun could do to that pale skin.

There must have been something on Virgil’s face, because John held up a hand. “I have sunscreen.”

“Sure you do, but is it on your face?”

The glare from his twenty-year-old brother tipped the scales into affirmative.

“Just checking.”

The glare turned into a frown. “What are you doing all the way up here?” A twist to his lips filled with put upon sarcasm. “Are you wearing sunscreen?”

Well, no, but then Virgil wasn’t used to thinking of that yet. His skin tended to brown with what little sun he picked up in Colorado. John, on the other hand, had been wearing the stuff since the day after he was born.

Virgil wasn’t going to admit that though. “I have protection.”

John snorted. “You’ll learn. This is the tropics, Virgil. Southern hemisphere, just that touch closer to that healing wound in the ozone layer.”

“I’m aware of the meteorological and geographical differences, John. I don’t need a space degree for that.”

His brother just shrugged. “It’s on you, big brother.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just because John was right didn’t mean he had to be all haughty about it.

“You started it, remember?” Turquoise eyed him along with an amused smirk.

Virgil shrugged it off and turned back to staring down at the construction below.

There was silence except for the sounds of nail guns and power tools bouncing off volcanic rock.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Virgil’s voice was quiet. “Yes, it is.”

“You okay?”

“Sure.”

Almost level with them, a huge bird that just had to be an albatross, wheeled past.

“Wow.” The word was out of his mouth without thought.

“There is a lot of wildlife out here.” John’s voice was matter of fact, lacking the feeling welling inside of Virgil. The wind tousled red hair and the artist inside suddenly had the urge to paint it. In fact, that was the source of it all, Virgil realised. He was inspired. To paint.

Everything.

“Have you spoken to Mel Fisher?”

“Huh?” The bird swooped back out over the caldera and Virgil’s eyes tracked it.

“The director of the Raoul scientific expedition. She should have some data on the species native to the island.”

“Oh, yeah, Gordon has been liaising with her.” It was a welcome distraction from the pool. Virgil had been both supportive and worried about Gordon’s obsession with the Olympics. Combined with his school studies and a gruelling training regime, these few weeks of family leave was exactly what was needed.

Of course, tropical island meant sea water that could replace the pool for that time and his little brother had been in the caldera every morning. Their father had spoken to the local authorities...aka Mel Fisher, newly appointed director of the Kermadec expedition on Raoul Island a few hundred kilometres south...about what wildlife existed in the region that could kill or injure an over enthusiastic Tracy fish. The list had been considerable.

Gordon had immediately parroted off what he knew about every single one of those lifeforms enough to glaze over his father’s eyes. The Tracy fish had then been referred to the Director.

The speech Mel had given him was long.

Three other Tracy brothers - John was the one escapee having been on the other side of the planet at the time - were dragged into it and lectured on the hazards of living in a wildlife dominated area.

The biggest danger was apparently death enacted by the Director should they impact the area in any way.

Even their father had taken a step back at the passion in the woman’s speech. Young, blonde and ready to kick a billionaire’s butt, if necessary.

She and Gordon had hit it off immediately.

A distracted smirk at John. It could be entertaining to see the spaceman encounter the eco-passionate Mel. “You guys need to meet.”

Far down below, his father yelled something at one of the workers. He stormed across the construction site and by the amount of gesturing, Virgil reckoned the man had committed at least a level three offence. Probably a safety deviation. Virgil was glad he wasn’t down there to hear the lecture.

“Have you spoken to Scott?”

It startled him. It shouldn’t have, but it did. His head was in the clouds and he obviously needed grounding. “Uh, yeah. He is okay as he can be.”

His big brother was suffering from an abrupt end to a career he thought would be his life. Honourable discharge was one thing, but after what his brother had given the Air Force, the strain behind those closeted eyes...

It was enough to sprout a permanent dislike of the military deep in Virgil’s soul.

“He is managing.” A breath. “This should help.”

The silence returned, both men lost in their thoughts.

“What are you two doing up here?”

It was inevitable really. Virgil looked up as his fish brother approached, his eyes curious. Gordon’s hair appeared permanently wet and sticking up in all directions. He had his latest loud shirt on, but it wasn’t buttoned up. Little more than flip flops protected his feet from the volcanic rock beneath them.

“I could ask you the same thing. Do I need to lecture you on appropriate footwear again?”

Gordon slumped. “God, Virg, when are you gonna loosen up?”

“When my brothers learn to look after themselves.”

“If you expect me to wear flannel and steel-tipped boots in this tropical climate, you are dreaming, bro. Not all of us want to smell like you.”

“What?!”

“You do the ‘working class man’ thing just a little too much, big bro. Have you noticed the humidity? We’re gonna have to invest in a deodorant factory if you keep wearing that outfit.”

Of course, John had to throw his dice into play. “Tracy Industries already has a personal hygiene department.”

Virgil turned his glare to his traitorous next younger brother.

“What? We do! We produce some very good quality products.”

“Next supply run, we’ll need to stock up for Virg.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

He didn’t stink, did he? A sniff of his armpit would be too obvious and would just inspire more smart-ass remarks from his brothers. And yes, that was a plural. He could trust John about as far as he could throw him...though admittedly that was quite a distance nowadays, but still…

Gordon derailed that train of thought by dumping himself down beside Virgil. He smelt like seawater.

“So, we spying on Dad, or what?” Gordon pointedly stared down at their father who was still giving that one worker the riot act.

“No. Just came up here for the view.” It was the truth. Ocean for miles in the distance, Mateo and its birds, jagged rock, crystal clear water in the caldera, their future being built beneath his feet.

Gordon didn’t immediately answer and Virgil looked in his direction. He found a small smile on his little brother’s face as he stared down at the turquoise depths below them. It suddenly struck him, that of all of them, this move was going to be the best for Gordon. Surrounded by sea life and the very ocean he adored; his fish-loving brother would be in his element.

Once he landed himself that Olympic medal, finished high school and grew up.

Virgil blinked.

‘Grow up’ and ‘Gordon’ were interesting when combined.

He loved his little brother, but he was a handful. Without thinking, Virgil reached out a hand and squeezed Gordon’s shoulder. That prompted a quizzical look in his direction, but Virgil just smiled a little before letting go and returning to his gaze far down below.

“Gordy! Where are you?” The high-pitched voice of the youngest Tracy bounced freely about the rocks.

Gordon rolled his eyes and whispered. “Keep it quiet.”

Virgil frowned. “Why?”

“He’s looking for someone to play that stupid space game with him.”

That earned Gordon a clap around the ear.

“Hey, I played it with him all day yesterday!”

“You could have told me, Gordon.” John was frowning.

“That’s why I came looking for you! I figured if you beat him several times, I wouldn’t have to worry about it tomorrow.”

Virgil clapped him up the ear again.

“Ow! Quit it, Virg. I don’t see you volunteering.”

“No, I’m too busy with that stopwatch timing your ass.”

Gordon blinked. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

“What are you guys doing up here?” Blond, blue-eyed and nine years old, little Alan bounced into the grotto and stared at the three of them before looking around. “Wow, this is a cool spot. You can see everything!”

The kid glared at Gordon for a second before pushing himself in between John and Virgil.

“Hey, sprout. What you been doing?”

“Looking for you guys. Gordon won’t play Star Hero with me.” Those blue eyes shot daggers at the next eldest brother.

“Maybe spending some time outside would be a good idea.”

“Aw, Virg. I’m nearly at the next level!”

Virgil reached out and wrapped an arm around his shoulders drawing him to his side. “But there is so much to see out here, Alan.”

“We’re gonna be here forever. I can see it then.”

A frown. “Allie, you okay?”

“I just wanna play Star Hero.” That was definitely a whine.

“Alan, if you drop the attitude, I’ll consider playing it with you tonight.” John’s voice was cool and clearly not tolerating his little brother’s tactics.

Alan lit up, eyes widening. “You will?! Be on my team?”

John arched an eyebrow. “As long as you don’t give me a silly name.”

“He called me Drockus Doofhead yesterday.” Gordon growled from Virgil’s other side.

“That’s because you are a doofhead. You don’t know the difference between a supernova and a nebula.”

“Yes, I do!”

“Prove it!”

“Hey, hey!” It had been quiet. It had been inspirational. Now... He shoved a finger in Gordon’s direction. “You, he’s nine. Give him a break.” Another finger in Alan’s face. “You. Respect others’ skills. Everyone is different. Consider how much Gordy does know that you don’t, how much he can help you and how much you can help him.”

The pout didn’t fully disappear, but Alan muttered something that could be considered an acknowledgement.

Virgil squeezed his shoulders, but didn’t say anything further. The breeze picked up a little and played with his hair. “Do you like the Island?” The question came out without thought and it stopped him in his tracks, suddenly wondering what his little brothers’ responses might be.

“Are you kidding? There are dolphins, Virg! I was swimming with dolphins this morning! This place is fantastic!”

Yeah, that was the response he expected from his fourteen-year-old fish.

“What about you, Allie?”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

“Allie?”

“I’m gonna miss my friends.”

“You can still see your friends.”

“How?”

“Hololink.”

“Not the same.”

“We can fly in and out as much as you like.”

“Until you’re too busy.”

Silence fell over the grotto, returning it to its natural soundscape of distant waves, birds and the wind.

“I will never be too busy for you, Alan.” The deep voice of his eldest brother broke into the grotto and Virgil’s heart lurched. He looked up to find Scott staring down at their little group. He was still pale, the gash at his temple still pink with healing.

The walking stick in his hand was being leant on heavily.

“What the hell are you doing all the way up here?” Virgil shot to his feet and hurried over, grabbing his big brother’s arm almost terrified he would fall on his face.

“Can it, Virgil. I’m fine.”

Virgil ignored him. “Sit down.” His three other brothers shuffled over to make room and the recovering pilot rolled his eyes before lowering himself awkwardly down onto the moss carpet.

“I should be asking you that question. Is this a meeting I missed the memo for?”

“No. I just came up here for some quiet.”

Scott snorted. “Really?”

“Well, I didn’t expect a family convergence.”

“Can’t escape us, Virg.” Gordon was grinning.

“Wasn’t trying to, Gordo.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“What?”

“Well, why do you think we’re all up here? You’ve been disappearing every afternoon for days. We had to ask Brains to ping your locator.”

“What?!”

A hand landed on his arm and he turned away from Gordon to find Scott staring at him. “Maybe you should answer your own question, Virgil. Do you like the Island?”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

So, he closed it again.

It wasn’t just a question of his liking the Island. The eldest three knew far more than the youngest two. Exactly why they were moving to this isolated chunk of rock.

Scott squeezed his arm. “Johnny is in a star man’s paradise with his observatory, and you know my opinion.” He certainly did. Scott was itching to get back into the sky with that rocket plane. “But I don’t recall hearing your thoughts lately.”

“You know my answer. I agreed.”

Eyes as blue as the sky above them interrogated him. “But what about now that we are here?”

“I agreed.” This was not something he wanted to talk about in front of Gordon and Alan. Hell, Gordon’s amber eyes were as sharp as anything. “This place is beautiful.” It was. As if to emphasise the statement, the albatross reappeared from behind them. Its massive wings were hardly moving to keep it aloft. It coasted above, its eyes passing over all five brothers. “I think we can be happy here.” He hoped.

That hand squeezed his arm again and the grotto fell into a thought-filled silence.

The albatross caught a thermal and rose far above the Island.

Virgil watched it grow smaller and smaller.

Scott’s hand did not leave his arm.

Alan clambered around Gordon and curled up next to Scott. Just as Virgil had done earlier, Scott automatically reached out an arm and pulled him close.

Gordon threw a nasty glare at his little brother, stood up, stomped around Alan and Scott and pointedly dumped himself on the other side of Virgil. There may have been an exchange of raspberries between the two youngest, but Virgil tuned them out to protect his sanity.

He did not fail to notice John closing the gap left by Gordon and sidling up next to their littlest brother.

He ignored the sputtering of the fourteen-year-old he grabbed and drew close to his side in a sudden need for closeness. His other arm snaked around behind Scott, snagged John’s collar and gave a yank. The astronaut let out a yelp and nearly fell on Alan. Virgil’s fist caught in the back of his shirt and he managed to sandwich all his brothers together.

“Virgil!” His name was protested vehemently, but he had to smile when none of his brothers pulled away.

“Love you guys.”

Various sputterings of affirmation had him grinning outright. Gordon was literally squirming.

“Love you, too, Virgil.” Alan’s high-pitched voice was refreshingly honest.

“Thanks, squirt.” It was whispered.

Scott’s hand moved from his arm to wrap around Virgil’s back. A tired forehead dropped gently onto his shoulder.

His big brother didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

Virgil’s voice was rough. “Dad has called this place Tracy Island. We are the Tracys. Let’s make it ours.”

“Except the crabs.”

A blink. “What?” He stared at Gordon.

The kid was still under his arm, but was grinning up at him, mischief in every line.

“Half the crabs are on the endangered list. Mel has already laid claim to them.”

Another blink and Virgil just drew his little fish in tighter.

“Oh, god, Virg, need to breathe.”

A laugh welled up and burst out of Virgil from somewhere deep inside.

“I’m glad you find this funny.” The words were perturbed and put out, but John’s struggles were strangely in vain. Alan put an end to them by wrapping his arm around his astronaut brother and dragging him even further into the pile.

No one could resist the squirt.

They sat there together, quiet except for a few sputters from the fishy teenager.

Down below Dad was waving his arms around in front of the tiny figure of Brains.

The sun glittered off the turquoise caldera.

Virgil smiled.

They were the Tracys.

And this was their Island.

-o-o-o-

FIN

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #irrelief #irrelief2020 #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #Scott Tracy #younger!Tracys #kermadec fic

[gainerstories]

Freshman Fatties: Chapter 6

Shortly after the boys’ button-popping dinner, word began to spread about Andy’s weight gain. All the athletes were gossiping about how the school’s star quarter back had turned into a fat slob and was supposedly fucking his gay roommate. Word even spread into Benjamin’s inner circle, who had known about the relationship all along but were growing concerned about the boys’ weight. Andy grew self-conscious and began skipping class to avoid going out in public, preferring to stay inside and eat his feelings. Not surprisingly, he continued to pile on the weight at an astronomical level with Benjamin not far behind.

By the end of March, it was official. Andy had been kicked off the team. It was rather scandalous and rumors implied homophobia was involved. However, once Benjamin’s rather wealthy parents caught wind of the story they intervened. They pledged to fund the rest of Andy’s college career, football or not. The former jock was now free to pursue his interest in literature and leave the world of college sports behind. He felt relieved, but still insecure about his weight.

“Are you sure you like me like this?” He asked Benjamin one day. “I mean look at this gut. It’s covered in stretch marks, I can’t even see my cock. I have to sit down to pee.”

“Honey, I think you’re beautiful inside and out. I’m in love with who you are, not what you look like. Besides, you see how fast I get hard for that big fat belly.”

“I know, I know. It just takes getting used to I guess. I’m three hundred twenty pounds now. I never imagined I’d weigh that much. I mean christ, I break a sweat bending over nowadays.”

“Well look at me! At two fifteen I think I can kiss my twink days goodbye! Every part of me is fat now, and the last fifteen pounds went straight to my gut. It’s never stuck out like this before.”

“Your gut and your ass,” Andy grinned. “As long as that keeps growing along with the rest of you then I’m satisfied.”

“It doesn’t seem to be stopping. You’ve really rubbed off on me you know. I was skinny all my life.”

“God I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I don’t know how I got to this place.”

“Hey! You got here because you love food and I love you. You’re so fucking fat and sexy. You know it’s really turned me on watching you grow like this? It’s so great.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You know, if I’m being honest… I’ve kinda enjoyed it too. Part of me likes being the fat guy in the room, my belly commanding space and attention. And it feels soooo good when we’re fucking. Feeling your fat slap against mine, like fuck. That’s sex. That’s it.”

“You really feel that way?” Benjamin asked.

“Yeah, I really think I do.”

“You know, maybe we should intentionally try to get fatter. You know, like push ourselves more than usual.”

Andy sat in silence for a moment before exclaiming, “fuck yeah! Let’s get properly plump.”

The boys decided to challenge each other to ten pounds in one week, knowing it was next to impossible. No harm in falling short they wagered, every pound gained together was worth it. So they began to pig out at levels previously unheard of for them. Chinese takeout, pizza, and milkshakes with weight gain powder defined their week of unbridled gluttony. They only left the dorm to go to class or get food. Otherwise, they were naked, fucking, or eating.

They began chugging cartons of whole cream before bed. Both were completely bloated at all times of the day, prone to sweating and sleepiness from the constant supply of food. Andy’s heartburn had begun to flare up but they powered through it with Tums. Benjamin had grown intensely uncomfortable in his own body with the sensation of constant bloat and digestion. His belly had also become intensely itchy as new stretch marks began to settle in.

Although both Andy and Benjamin would go to gym a few times a week, they decided to abandon it altogether during their week of gluttony. They had to use every moment for maximum gains. Most everyone else in the dorm had begun to take notice to the fact that the two fat gay boys seemed to be in a constant food hangover, their bellies always gurgling and their shirts constantly riding up.

By the time the week drew to a close both were exhausted and frankly ready to go back to normal. Although they enjoyed eating and were turned on by all the fat play, it had become uncomfortable and expensive to maintain that level of consumption. Sure enough, though, their efforts paid off. Andy gained eleven pounds by the end of the week. Surprising both of them, Benjamin outpaced the former football player at a whopping fifteen pounds gained in one week.

Their successful stuffing was certainly evident. Andy’s gut began to droop out of most of his shirts and for the first time his massive pecs softened up considerably. More than ever his former life as a jock was disappearing under all the chub. Benjamin’s body exploded in all directions. He had a juicy layer of padding over every inch of his body, and had finally grown a proper paunch that hung over his waistband.

Of course, Benjamin’s ass grew as well. Two massive fluffy cakes bounced behind him wherever he went. When he sat down, the fat from his ass formed a fat roll that extended across his legs and down into the fat pad above his crotch. For the first time he had a signifcant FUPA and he could not stop playing with it, loving the way his erect cock would cause it to squish sideways.

In addition, his underwear could simply no longer contain his ass. The waistband stopped three quarters of the way up his cheeks and the fabric used in the seat left little room for his junk in the front. He felt positively restricted. Due to the discomfort, Benjamin began to forgo underwear altogether. It was much more comfortable to let his fat ass, juicy FUPA, and cock and balls bounce around his joggers now.

Both boys appetites evened out to slow and steady gains after their week of fun, but their libidos skyrocketed. They couldn’t get enough of each other’s chubby bodies, soft rolls, and sweaty bouncy curves. They were fucking every chance they got. Constantly aroused by the newness of their weight gain, they would sometimes even meet up on campus to suck each other off in the bathroom. Whenever one of them was overcome with desire, the other would help relieve it, even if it was just through FaceTime. They were embroiled in their own little world of eating and sex.

#gainer stories #freshmanfatties

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #20)

01/07/88  11:56 PM

Hey.

That first night was rough.

The following six would not be much better.

Honestly, most of my time spent in the dump has excused itself from my memory, on account of being so profoundly unremarkable and entirely unpleasant. I’m pretty sure I know what I did, but a large sum of the details are basically gone. Thankfully, none of it’s all that important, but I still feel like I should write down what I can recall. It’s kind of weird -- it feels like the more I write, the more I remember. Maybe once all’s said and done, I should try keeping a journal or some corny crap like that. A real one.

‘Dunno if I could stay regular on it without the added benefit of pretending to talk to you.

Anyway. Seven-ish days, I stayed there, and each day, relations with Wreck-it stayed just as strained, clipped, and awkward as the day before. I found out on the first morning that he had a strike system in mind -- I break three rules, that’s three strikes, that’s my ass hitting the road. Of course, I found out about this shortly after making my first strike. Literally seconds into the first day. 

I hadn’t slept at all, being too sick and anxious and plagued by a snoring gorilla. So, when he woke up, before he could even stand, he was greeted by a violation of Rule #2:

“Hey, Maestro, what’s it like havin’ an entire brass section lodged in your nose?”

Then he, let’s say, ‘explained’ that I’d just struck one of three.

The second strike was not long for this world, either. Just hours later, I’d break Rule #5, completely by accident.

Business was pretty slow that day, being so early in the School Year (I heard some things here and there about so-and-so’s throwing First Day of School parties, but there was no festival this year -- not in the climate for it, I guess). Fix-it had a fair amount of free time between gamers, and made the incredibly ill-advised decision to try to talk to me. I was curled up on my pillows trying very hard to sleep when I heard him climbing up the bricks, calling out cautiously, “Mavy? Are you here?”

I didn’t say anything. I just grabbed a brick and tossed it in the direction of his voice. I then heard a yelp, a handful of Nicelander gasps, those tumbling sound effects, and that morbid little funeral drone. I didn’t expect to actually hit him, let alone K.O. him. He’s so damn easy to K.O., it’s like cracking an egg.

Regardless of it being an accident, regardless of the fact that Fix-it was assuring everyone he was fit as a fiddle seconds later, regardless of the fact that Wreck-it wasn’t even in the dump at the time, but watching from the roof of Niceland, it was a strike. So I had one left until I was out on my ass. I really had to pull it together in that regard. And I did, sort of.

I spent each day more or less the same: Looking for distractions that didn’t break any rules, puking, and trying to sleep.

I wandered around when I could. I took sporadic catnaps. I took very, very cold baths in the river, which I did not miss doing at all, but I certainly couldn’t use the showers in your game anymore. I drew sketches of the gamers’ faces as they played. I spent lots of time hugging a bucket. I very quietly played my guitar, more for the motion than the music. I snuck into the building from behind and raided apartments during gameplay, stockpiling food and water as my appetite slowly came back. It was all repetitive, futile, and not nearly enough to distract me the way I needed. I wanted buffs so, so bad. Even a drink. But for the life of me, I could not leave the game.

I tried many times, often several times in a day. I’d go stand at our dinky little train station, staring at the dinky little train I’d have to use as a newfound ground-dweller, and shiver. I’d pace. I’d kick the train, usually. It was so demeaning and frustrating. Nobody can keep me locked up. Yet there I was, too afraid to leave my own Dev-damned game out of fear that I’d be murdered. That had to be exactly what my attacker wanted me to feel. Just crippling, paralyzing fear. She may not have killed me, but maybe she was counting on other ways to make me disappear. And there I was, giving her what she wanted.

Wreck-it, on the other hand, left the game nightly to go to Tapper’s, right after closing. He’d check in with me beforehand, and it’d be the same each time.

He’d say, “Hey. Holdin’ up okay?”

I’d say, “Yup.”

He’d say, “Think you might leave soon?”

I’d say, “Hopefully.”

He’d say, “I’m going to Tapper’s, if you’re interested.”

I’d say, “No, thanks.”

End scene.

Word for word, the same every night. Those were really our only brief windows of communication, right up until the fifth night, after he had come back from Tapper’s and settled in. 

The withdrawals had cleared up by then, but, needless to say, I still didn’t feel too good. I’d been stuck in there for nearly a week, feeling more broken and pathetic than I’d ever felt in my life. Everything was weighing down so, so hard, it was like I could barely breathe. Being unable to find you, nearly being murdered, being villainized, practically losing my brush -- it all had me cornered. There was nowhere to run. I was wishing so deeply for a way out. So, like I’ve done countless times before, I stared out into the arcade through the screen, trying to imagine a reality where I could break out and leave all of this behind.

The thing is, though, I’d only ever dreamed of that when no one else was around. This time, I was peering over the mound of bricks that I’d been sleeping behind, barely ten feet from Wreck-it’s stump. I was lying there for Devs know how long before, completely by accident, a question slipped from my mouth.

“What do you think it’s like out there?”

Wreck-it jumped. “Huh?”

I jumped. “What?”

“What’d you say?”

I felt my face burn up. I couldn’t have that conversation, not with him. I slipped back down the bricks to my privacy, and instinctively grabbed my guitar. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”

Wreck-it didn’t press, but I didn’t expect him to. It was the heavy, awkward silence after that I was worried about, so, without a second thought, I started playing my guitar. I’d played quietly while Wreck-it was around a few times before, and he didn’t seem to mind. Up until that point, though, I’d been silent on the vocals, because… y’know, I guess I just didn’t feel much like singing since you’d left. But in my panic, I started singing the first thing that popped into my head. It was this song I’d started writing about a concrete world and a neon storm. It wasn’t done. I’d forgotten most of it. It was a freakin’ mess -- eventually, I just gave up. I sighed and started plucking no tune in particular. Me and my unpredictable mouth.

That’s when Wreck-it piped in again, casually.

“Was that a new one?”

I cringed. “Yeah. It’s... not done.”

He paused. “It was nice. When it’s done, you should play it at Tapper’s.” He paused again. “...Y’know, after… things die down a bit.”

“...Yeah, right. As if I’ll ever play there again. Certainly not at Qix, either.”

“No?”

“No. Sprites at Qix are there for a good time, and I’m not super conducive to those anymore, so… even if it ever opens up again, I’m off the setlist.”

Qix had, indeed, been barred from the public not too long after the incident. It had become even more of a hotspot for buff use and dealing. Hardly stopped users and dealers from finding new places for it, but, still, the arcade lost its one and only nightclub. So that was grand.

“And, as for Tapper, I kinda doubt he wants the arcade’s most hated sprite playing at his bar.”

“Tapper still likes you,” he said. “I mean, he even talked about you the other night, said he’d run into you at the memorial. Wanted to know how you were doing.”

It was true -- I had met Tapper briefly at the memorial, and I remembered that he said that I was always welcome in his game if I needed company. It really was a sweet thing, looking back. But I didn’t take him seriously at the time, ‘cause I still thought it was a big joke. And after that, I definitely made him regret his offer. All I’d done at Tapper’s was drink myself violent and end up throwing punches and breaking glass. I was certain that he’d changed his mind and started hating me like everyone else. That thought really stung.

I waited, for a moment. “...What did you tell him?”

“I just told him I wouldn’t know.”

“Good,” I nodded, “good.”

We were both quiet for a long while, before words slipped out of me again. “I’m gonna miss that bar.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… whether Tapper likes me or not, I’m… bad for business, now. I could draw sprites in with my music, before, but, now… Even if he says I’m welcome there, I’m not really. It’s not entirely up to him.” I sighed, and felt my voice drop so low, it practically dragged. “I’m not welcome anywhere, anymore, so… that’s great.”

“Nowhere at all?”

I said, “Nope. Didn’t you say yourself that I’m trouble? Big trouble? Everyone seems to think that. Bigger trouble than anyone can deal with nowadays.”

Once again, we were both silent for a moment. I’d stopped playing, reduced to flicking one string with my thumb, just enough to hear it.

I heard Wreck-it take a deep breath behind me. He paused, and then, in a slow, awkward voice, said, “Well… Yeah, maybe, but… You don’t scare me, kid.”

I wished that could have made me feel better. It was, objectively, a pretty decent thing to say, and another sprite probably would have been very comforted by the chance of an ally in this mess, or at the very least, someone with something resembling loyalty. But it just made me feel worse. I felt too smart to believe any of that crap could last. He didn’t know it yet, but he’d change his mind. I’d always figured that sooner or later, everyone would decide I’m too much. That was just the way of things. 

However, given my bleak circumstances, I had little choice but to accept his… tolerance while it lasted. Having someone on my side, even for just a little while, seemed like it could have proven helpful.

So, after a long, sullen silence, I just went back to plucking idly on my guitar. “Good to know you’re not as dumb as you look, then.”

His breath caught in disbelief for a second, before he dropped right back into growling, “Name-calling. Watch it.”

“It was a compliment, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, a super backhanded one.”

I closed my eyes, trying to play myself to sleep. “Just take it, pal. I don’t got that many kind words to share, so I gotta ration them out wisely.”

He grumbled. “You would call that kind.”

“I do. Now, can we cut the yammerin’ and sleep?”

“Fine. Yeesh.”

He slept. I didn’t. Not ‘til midday the following day, anyway. I fell asleep during gameplay hours, and woke up just after closing when Wreck-it stomped his big ol’ stumps up the bricks. We had the usual pre-Tapper’s exchange, ending, of course, with me refusing his offer to come along. I was tired as hell, and I still wasn’t ready to go out there.

But, as I quickly discovered, it didn’t matter if I was ready or not.

I’d been in a fitful sleep for what must have been barely half an hour when Wreck-it’s feet woke me up again. This time, he came around behind my bricky knoll to stand next to me, towering with this look on his face that I didn’t like at all.

He said, “Hey kid, guess what.”

“I’m being evicted?”

“No,” he grinned in a way I couldn’t read -- don’t really see him smile that often, honestly, “but you are leaving. You’re going to Tapper’s!”

I was not following. “Uh… ‘kay, you do know that I said ‘no thanks’, right? That’s a thing you remember?”

“Yup, yup, I do. But listen to this -- I talked to Tapper for you, and all that stuff you said about him hating you or -- or, y’know, all that --” he shook his head, “-- not true. He misses you, kid. You gotta get out there and show him you’re alive.”

I felt my face burn up.

“You-- You--” I sprung to my feet, “You TOLD HIM I’M STAYING WITH YOU!?”

He put his hands on his hips nonchalantly. “Yeah, maybe I did.”

“HOW-- WHEN I SPECIFICALLY SAID NOT TO?! THAT WAS RULE NUMBER ONE!!”

“Ah, ah,” he pointed, “polite request number one, and, request denied.”

I’d have throttled his fat neck if my fingers could fit around it.

“WHY’D I WASTE MY TIME BEING POLITE, THEN, LARD-FACE!?”

He seemed thoroughly unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m gonna let that one slide, because you can bellyache all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been in here way, way too long, kid.”

“QUIT CALLING ME KID! I’M GONNA LEAVE, OKAY! SOON! ON MY OWN!”

“Uh huh, I’m sure you were going to,” he nodded in a condescending sort of way that made me want to hurl a brick between his eyes, “but now you get to leave with me, right now.”

“NO, I DON’T!”

“You said you’re here ‘cause you had nowhere else to go, right? Well, now you’ve got somewhere else to go, so get up off my bricks, and come go to the bar like I know you’ve been dying to do all week.”

He wasn’t wrong. But I was so angry. And I was still so scared.

“I DON’T WANT TO GO, AND YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!”

His eyebrows raised for a second, and he shrugged. “Alright, I guess we’re doing this.”

Then the colossal bastard grabbed me. Me, as in, my entire body, in one of his huge, meaty paddles he calls hands. It’s not that he’s never done that before, but it’s always been to throw me, and lasted only a second. This time, he started walking down the bricks, with the clear intention of just carrying me the entire way to Tapper’s. His code is still less dense than that of Fix-it, but that prolonged contact still made my binary crawl. Devs, did it crawl.

So, after a quick burst of threats and shrieking, I conceded. I agreed to go with him if he would just put me the hell down. He dropped me, I ran back to grab my book bag, and we trudged to the train. The way he walked behind me made me feel like he was marching me to some grim fate. Some grim, unnatural, unspeakably awkward fate.

As much as I lamented being reduced to riding the train like a chump, seeing the way his massive ass just barely fit into one of the cars was pretty rewarding.

Once we started rolling, he told me, “You know it’ll do you good to get out. You’re just not coded for life in a box, kid.”

I don’t remember if I sighed or gave the flattest laugh of my life. “Yeah, tell that to the Devs. And for cuss’ sake, quit calling me kid.”

In all truthfulness, as scared as I was, I really was so relieved at a chance to finally leave. And as much as I hated not being able to do it on my own, I was, admittedly, glad to have a second pair of eyes. It was probably a pretty decent thing of him to do, scouting out a safe place for me to go. Even if I really, really didn’t want or ask for it.

But I’m still pissed at him for denying my incredibly polite request.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #make it mavis #turbo #original character #homesick

[darlinrogue]

The Undertaker has never been one to mince words, which is why he now stands with his arms crossed and nods to a chair, directing Adam (the irony) to sit. "You're making a mistake with the Dark Order, boy. Take a seat."

Holy Baloney is that the Undertaker?

Adam and ‘Taker 

Somewhere on file, in the back of Adam’s head, was a formative memory from his snot-nosed brat years of around eight or so, of the Undertaker crucifying Stone Cold Steve Austin on live, national TV. It may’ve actually been trauma that he then reenacted when he hung Chris Sabin, but hey, that was the Attitude Era in a nutshell. Adam had watched the old tube TV with his delicate, developing eyeballs glued to the screen. Trying to make out the shitty picture from all the static. It was probably why he had to wear reading glasses as an adult. Can’t say his mom didn’t warn him. Yeah, Adam grew-up watching all the big names: Shawn Michaels, Bret Hart, and Dusty Rhodes, AKA his best friend’s dad, because, life is surreal. John Cena-- Adam still had the stupid green he used to come out in. The one a promoter made him remove because he was, ‘too much of a stud’ to hide his face. Rey Mysterio, real big inspiration. There was also Sting, which was very surreal nowadays. He’d seen enough Chris Jericho that losing to him really sucked. Hell, he even saw some of Kenny Omega’s earliest matches on the indies and on Deep South. Back when Adam was a hotshot teen wrestling in his backyard.  It was all enough that it made walking into the locker room and confronting the man inside, a bit of a fever dream. 

Also, made him wonder what the hell was in that whiskey he drank earlier. 

The man was massive, much larger than the screens implied. Adam was far from little but he didn’t hit this wall of meat’s chin. Broad as a freight train, Adam would rather hang-out on the tracks than take a lariat from this mountain. Way older than he remembered. All grizzled in the face, with a soul melting glower that made Adam consider returning to church in the next week or two. Evidently every Easter and Christmas was not enough. The dark leather coat, shrugged over his massive shoulders, was longer than Adam was tall. He filled the entire room. Cold bit at Adam’s nose and lips, like Winter had followed him inside. 

He also had really pretty green eyes, like, wow, what a wonderful color. 

Adam glanced behind him and checked the hall. Brandon wasn’t following him with a camera, or anything. There was no personal enemies lingering in the shadows for a surprise Superkick Party. Dynamite ended a little under five minutes ago. Adam was here for his stuff before he called an Uber and returned to his hotel. He’d probably hang-out in bed for an hour or two and watched telenovelas to practice his Spanish. All while getting way over emotionally invested in the cheap drama. It was low stakes and stupid, and he needed that in his life right now.  Not a single one of those thoughts helped Adam cope with the fact that someone, who had a strong suspicion was the actual, real life, Undertaker, was waiting for him in his locker room. Like, this was some kinda intervention. 

“Am I being ribbed?” He voiced, incredulous. 

His brow furrowed and he checked the corners for hidden lens. It’d happen before, not totally unrealistic. Adam slunk into the room, sticking to the walls and angling for his gear bag. Maybe, he’d make a break for it. He had young lungs and his cardio was damn good, if he could say so himself. Yeah, this guy had longer legs and thighs thicker than his torso, but he was also like fifty. Still, too curious to run, Adam sunk down onto a bench, toes tapping against the cheap carpet. Was kinda wishing he brought a whiskey with him. Instead, he had a bottle of stale, hot water that he left in his bag. He broke the cap and took a sip, eyes still latched on his dark companion. 

“Listen, I, um, really don’t know what’s going on here,” Adam admitted, he lifted his hand, planting his elbow on his knee. “I just work here man, like, I don’t sign a single check in this joint. When they were handing out EVP jobs, my name wasn’t on that list. I didn’t want a gig like that, anyway. Responsibility and important phone calls? Not really my speed.”

He was rambling, which seemed to be an easy thing to do around this guy.

“But um, one,” he lifted a single finger for emphasis. “Uh, for the record, big fan. Your match at Wrestlemania twenty-six? My personality for an entire year. Because, well, you’re stupid like that when you’re a twenty-something. Made me realize I needed more sparkles on my gear. Two, listen the thing with the Dark Order --I mean, I don’t know why you even care-- but as much as I am loathe, loathe--” Big word, put that on a scrabble board. “To tag with Silvers and Reynolds I am even less interested in getting my shit rocked in a three-v-one next week. Which is what will happen if I don’t find partners. Sometimes, you gotta scrape the bottom of the barrel. And listen like--”

Adam took another swig of water, and wiped the excess that dribbled down his chin. He had whiskey earlier and his braincells were not firing in tandem. He smoothed his hand over his chin and through his beard. He was not going to inform the Maybe-Probably-Undertaker, that he had no other friends and no other options. He had some dignity. It wasn’t much, but he was trying to keep it, dang it. 

“Reynolds and Silvers, cools guys, the whole cult thing is unfortunate, I’d share a drink with them otherwise,” Adam said. He opened his arms in a broad, embracing gesture. “They’re not complete dunces in the ring either. I mean, I whooped both their asses before, but, I have been kicked by Silvers, and it fucking hurts. So, I uh, appreciate your--”

He paused, teeth gritted, searching for a word.

“Concern.” Yep, that’ll have to do. “But I got this handled.” Probably. 

Adam sat-up, searched the room again with a couple pointed looks and then repeated:

“Am I being ribbed?!” 

#brothersgrim #‘The Hangman’ || Adam: IC #‘Deals with God’ || Adam: Verse #adam isn't a complete moron but he IS a himbo #Set after Dec 9 Dynmaite because i feel like that works best

[harianadimples]

Have You Heard of That New Mario Kart Game?

Warning: none 1.8k+: fluff, famous!harry, university student!y/n, domestic life of two odd balls

+ Mario Kart Tour has become the bane of my existence

| – | – | – |

It’s now an hour until midnight and her paper looks somewhat decent. She thinks. She’s made it through 1,397 words of her 2,000 word essay, so she figures she can grant herself a short break to see what’s making Harry shout like a mad man while she gets another snack.

She travels down the hall, carrying an empty white bowl now stained by the blueberries that were in it earlier, and into the living room where she finds Harry sitting hunched over his phone. His hair is sticking up in different directions.

“Fucking finally!” He suddenly yells, rolling backwards while pumping his fist and phone in the air before sitting forward again. He returns to being stiff as a nail, concentrating heavily on his phone.

“Your back will hurt later if you stay hunched over like that,” Y/N says as she enters their kitchen.

“S’already hurting but don’t care. I finally got the hang of this,” he mutters from the other room before yelling in celebratory fashion.

“Of what?” Y/N asks.

“Have you heard of that new Mario Kart game?”

or

The one where Harry plays Mario Kart Tour and slowly loses his mind while Y/N watches and it’s pure domestic!fluff involving Mario Kart, adulting, a tower fan: the obvious necessities of a loving, healthy, relationship

-:-:-:-

“God fucking damn it!”

Y/N looks up from her laptop towards the door. “Bubba? You alright?” She asks and waits for a response. When she doesn’t hear one she shrugs it off, thinking Harry probably sorted it out. 

Several minutes later she hears him yell again. “No! Drift! Drift- Not that way- fuck-.” His voice carries into the room, muffled by the door and the distance, but she can make out the genuine distress he’s in.

Y/N checks the time. She’d been working on her paper for her gothic literature class since she arrived that afternoon (give or take the few hours she spent procrastinating) and had fallen into a steady zone of writing when Harry arrived just before seven. He’d spent his off day with Alexander, part of his London group of friends, to see some exhibit being showcased downtown. Y/N would have gone had she not had a paper due online at midnight, and knowing her habits and writing process she’d need the rest of the night to get it done. 

However, she didn’t chalk up Harry to be a distraction. She had marooned Harry to the rest of the house while she hid away in their bedroom, yet that didn’t seem to matter at the moment. Last she saw of him was during one of her breaks to get herself a snack and a drink. He was lounging in their living room with his phone and laptop out, probably on a meeting call and answering e-mails. That was two hours ago. 

It’s now an hour until midnight and her paper looks somewhat decent. She thinks. She’s made it through 1,397 words of her 2,000 word essay, so she figures she can grant herself a short break to see what’s making Harry shout like a mad man while she gets another snack. 

She travels down the hall, carrying an empty white bowl now stained by the blueberries that were in it earlier, and into the living room where she finds Harry sitting hunched over his phone. His hair is sticking up in different directions.

“Fucking finally!” He suddenly yells, rolling backwards while pumping his fist and phone in the air before sitting forward again. He returns to being stiff as a nail, concentrating heavily on his phone. 

“Your back will hurt later if you stay hunched over like that,” Y/N says as she enters their kitchen. 

“S’already hurting but don’t care. I finally got the hang of this,” he mutters from the other room before yelling in celebratory fashion. 

“Of what?” Y/N asks. 

“Have you heard of that new Mario Kart game?”

“I saw it trending on Twitter. I haven’t gotten the chance to play yet. It looks interesting,” she shrugs, popping a blueberry in her mouth.

“Don’t bother, it sucks,” Harry huffs. “The controls are stupid on this mobile version. It’s hard to steer and drift. I prefer playing on the perfectly good Switch we own. I also think it’s kind of stupid that you have to play vertically. Makes no sense to me.”

Y/N hums thoughtfully as she carries her blueberries over to Harry. She wants to see what he’s fussing over, so she motions for him to start the next map so she can watch. While he’s making his character and car selections his lips part. As a reflex she pushes a blueberry into his open mouth. “Thanks bubba,” he says as he chews on the fruit. “Do you see this garbage?” He asks with a tone that questions the sanctity of the game with so much intent that she has to laugh. 

“Wow, you really hate this game, huh,” she says, amused by how affected he seemed. 

“It’s really no offence to the developers, but this game is already great played on a console. Why ruin it by turning it into a cash-grabbing mobile game?” Harry sighs. 

“That’s just the gaming business nowadays, I guess,” Y/N shrugs. “Is there even a multiplayer option? I might download it so I can kick your ass on a different version as well.”

“It’s implied that it’s still in development. Probably won’t be playing it again any time soon, so it doesn’t matter,” he replies, “also, you only win because you wanna talk about the future of humanity and shit whenever we play, distracting me.”

“I’ll play you again when I finish my paper, and when I kick your ass again in total silence you can whine about it while you wash the dishes.”

“Unless I kick your ass. Then I expect a night’s sleep with the fan off.”

“You know I need the fan on or else I can’t sleep,” Y/N pouts as Harry grins stupidly. “Then you should hope you kick my ass then,” he says. 

“Oh I will. I’m gonna go finish up my paper,” Y/N sighs, giving Harry a quick kiss before retreating back to their room. 

-:-

Y/N joined Harry in the living room at around 11:45 p.m. She submitted her paper online and printed out a hard copy to bring to class the next day which she stapled and placed with her laptop so she didn’t forget.

Her and Harry played ten rounds of Mario Kart on their switch (should have been five but Harry threw a tantrum when he lost three games in a row). Still, Y/N came out as the definitive winner having won six rounds against Harry. 

While Harry washed the dishes she went ahead and got ready for bed. She downloaded the Mario Kart game on her phone while doing her skin care and got herself started in between steps. The game didn’t seem so bad so far but she could see where Harry’s complaints were coming from. She wondered if there was any way to fix the steering and drifting in the settings to give her more control. Luckily there was and she quickly did that.

“This map is so hard,” Y/N mutters. She’s been lying in bed, sitting upright against the pillows having played a few maps now. Harry eventually enters the room appearing tired but relatively content. She’s stuck on a map and was tilting her phone and trying to drift to pull ahead of her opponents. 

Harry, understandingly, looked confused. 

“That doesn’t actually help, you know,” Harry says pointedly. He begins to get ready for bed while watching Y/N flail around. It amuses him to the point of laughing while planting half of himself on her to see what place she’s in. 

“I changed the settings so you steer by tilting your phone and you tap to drift. It’s loads easier for me now,” she tells him as she tilts her phone on a hard left turn. She accidentally bumps Harry’s cheek with her elbow. “Oh- shit- sorry,” she apologizes over each abrupt motion she makes. 

Harry chuckles and pays no more mind to her jerking motions and continues to lay his head in her lap to watch her play. The fan is on pointed directly on Y/N the way she likes it, and truthfully feels quite nice on his face. He never liked the white noise of the fan running in his sleep and his exposed feet tended to get the butt-end of their deal, but he let her have this one thing figuring it’s gotten her to stay around for this long.

-:-

The following morning Y/N gets ready for class. She makes sure she’s got everything in her bag: pens, her notebook, her laptop and chargers. She puts her essay in with her laptop and zips up her bag. 

Harry is snoring quietly behind her, wrapped up in a white faux fur throw blanket with his face buried between two pillows. The fan blows in his direction, causing his hair to raise with the gusts of wind. He looks peaceful and soft; morning-Harry is her favourite Harry for these reasons. She loves him at his loudest, and at his most charming and talented when he’s being ‘Harry Styles,’ and when he’s at his most neediest, when like a pup he wants nothing more but her love and affection. But morning-Harry meant sleepy-Harry, who’s every bit of the above when he’s groggy with sleep. Only, he’s softer and so precious; Anne says it bests when she talks to Y/N when Harry visits. It’s like he never left home at 16.

They fought hard to make their home what it was. Two years ago when they started dating it was just Harry, and his place felt very much like his place. Then she came into his life and brought a Seville classics tower fan with her. Literally, she got it one summer during a heat wave. Her parent’s home didn’t have working air condition after a faulty maintenance job, so they bought two new fans from Costco. Since then she found it hard to sleep without the fan on her; the gentle breeze was nice and the sound oddly helped her sleep. Harry had his qualms about having the fan on while they slept, but she knew deep down he liked the fan idea too.

Y/N leaves her bag next to the bottom of the stairs while she makes herself a quick breakfast. She eats fast and goes back upstairs to brush her teeth and say good bye to Harry. She enters their room and finds him sitting upright in bed, holding her phone. 

“Morning pretty,” she laughs softly, smiling as she presses his hair down and kisses the creases in his forehead. 

“Bubba you’re in the way,” he huffs, moving his face out of her hands.

“I’m leaving for class, just gonna brush my teeth then get my phone,” she tells him with an amused grin as she peers down at her phone. “Though you weren’t going to be playing it again any time soon?”

“Yeah,” Harry says as if merely saying so would make the both forget his rage towards the mobile game less than 24 hours ago. “I won first place on a couple maps. You’re welcome,” Harry says pointedly, glancing at her as she enters their bathroom. He hears her laugh while the water runs.

She comes out a few minutes later as Harry completes another map. He hands her phone back. “You can add me as a friend now apparently,” Harry says. “I accepted on your behalf.”

Y/N nods slowly as she looks at her phone. His screen name she assumes (babyhunny) appears under her friends list.

“‘Kay, I gotta go. See you later,” she says, tucking her phone in her back pocket, holding her earphones ready as she leans down to kiss Harry. 

“Mhmm, love yeh,” he murmurs into the kiss. “Love you too,” she replies, pecking his lips once more before she heads out the door. 

She glances back at Harry and sees that he’s on his phone now, probably playing Mario Kart on it, evidenced by the deep crease in his forehead that reappears and his tongue which pokes out as his gaze focuses on his screen. Y/N shakes her head, grinning as she turns the corner.

| – | – | – |

Hello, it’s been a while. I wrote this completely sleep-deprived at 6am after losing miserably on this one difficult map in Mario Kart Tour. One could say I was projecting..... but, the way this game was brought up to me made me wonder how it’d be talking to Harry about it and I imagined he’d be pretty peeved by the game too but keep playing nonetheless. idk. but i know i wanna (gonna) kick harry’s ass in mario kart someday. when we meet again and become bffs.

Add me if u want [my id: 041377293682]

+ masterlist

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry one shot #harry styles imagine #harry imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles concept #one direction fanfic #one direction fanfiction #1d fanfic #1d fanfiction #writing