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tteokdoroki · 3 years

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— “TRUST YOU + KATSUKI BAKUGOU.”

author’s note(s): two thousand words of pure sloppy filth written for your entertainment and inspired by an ask i got from my ♈️ anon, who asked me to imagine college katsuki teaching you how to give bjs,, so this is dedicated to them. i hope you enjoy this my fellow sinners! there’s a lot in this one so read the warmings!

warning(s): mdni, 18+. heavy smut, dark content, dub-con, forced photography, cheating, manipulation, power play dynamics, dacryphilia, slight infantilisation, throat fucking, blow jobs, cum play, facials, corruption!kink, praise!kink, fem!reader, mentions of boyfriend!sero and college!bakugou.

“suki, a-are you sure this is okay?”

your voice trembles as you lower yourself between bakugou’s thighs, both of them instinctively spread when your palms grip them with a slight nervousness. you’re so fucking stupid, so trusting but of course he’d never given you a reason to feel anything otherwise. your suki took care of you, an innocent girl from a small town— fresh look in her eyes from the moment you’d stepped onto campus.

of course you’d shaken more when you’d first met the blonde, he was big with dark and blood red eyes that spelled bad news if you didn’t look closely enough. and yet, you still trusted him because suki promised he would protect you from all the bad men and women and non binary folk on campus. he would always come swooping in to protect your chubby cheeks and doe eyed smile.

you always thought it was because he cared about you, your friends always told you that you were lucky your roommate even paid attention to you and suki always brushed away your doubts— but it was really because he dreamed of you, dreamed of taking away the very purity that shone within your bright eyes.

“‘course it’s okay princess, remember, suki always takes care of you. yer’gonna trust me, right?” bakugou reassures you, an evil glint hidden behind the soft smile he gives you while his large hand pats your cheek affectionately. his chest burns at how easily you lean into him, nuzzling his palm stupidly. you should consider yourself lucky that it’s katsuki who’s guiding your innocent hands to the tent in his pants and not some other guy from campus.

katsuki had seen the way they looked at you, watching the way your thick thighs bounced as you walked and their hungry eyes drifting down to your chest as you talked. it made him angry that other people looked at you as if you were just a piece of meat— which you were. but you were his little slab of ass and they needed to learn that. even your boyfriend; sero who made you cry twice a week over stupid things, needed to be taught a lesson.

after all; that’s how you ended up right where you were right now. between the legs of your roommate— drooling over your first cock like the dumb, hungry cock whore bakugou knew you really were. you wanted to learn how to make it up to sero and what better way to a man’s heart than a fuckin’ blowjob, right? the blonde had thought the best way to teach a virgin like you would be through a hands on experience.

he watches as the dark in your eyes takes over and your pupils dilate, fingers much smaller in comparison to the hard-on his pants hide. you palm bakugou lightly, mimicking the heavy petting your boyfriend had coaxed you into a few times before and watch with awe as your roommate shudders underneath your touch— a dark growl reverberating in his chest. “trust you,” you whisper quietly, the words slightly slurred as you begin to drool, growing hungry for your first taste of a real man. “b-but what if someone finds out suki, w-wont we get in trouble? what if sero—?”

leaning down to capture your lips, he pulls you into a honeyed kiss— grinning at the way your body leans into him, always so desperate for more. “no one will find out, sweetness, i won’t say anythin’ if you don’t,” he lives for the giggle that streams from between your lips and pats your cheek once when you look up at him earnestly. it was only a small lie, but bakugou would worry about that latter. “now how about’cha take out that cock ‘n i’ll show you how ta take it jus right.”

you nod so fast that you make yourself dizzier than you already are— the foreign feeling of lust building up at the forefront of your mind. katsuki could tell that you’d never seen a dick before, it was easy to tell from the way your bottom lip trembles at his sheer size alone; thick and weighty in a way that dwarfs your hand.

his tip is an angry shade of red that could rival that of his eyes, even while they drip with a desire to corrupt and ruin you. his mind runs wild with thoughts of bending you over the bed and fucking your virgin cunny until you’ve been given a proper reason to cry, the image of salty tears running down your hot cheeks alone causes fat drops of precum to ooze from the tip and onto your fingers.

“‘s big suki, dunno if i can take it,” you whine, lips pushing into a pout while your fingers say the opposite, hesitantly curling around bakugou’s thickness. he moans from deep within his chest at the sight of your hands barely able to close around him and bucks his hips up into your enclosed fist. you can’t help but watch, salivating at how beautiful your roommate looks while he fucks into your tight grip, spitting onto his own cock to ease the glide of your hand up and down him.

bakugou’s chest heaves, even as he starts leaning back on his elbows to get a better view— you’re doing so well for him, he can’t imagine letting you touch anyone else the way you touch him. you’re his and he plans on ruining everyone else for you. “you can. you will.” he spits out at you through gritted teeth, vermillion eyes hooded and voice authoritative. submissive as you are, you listen to him— because suki is never wrong, he knows best and if you listen to him you’ll learn well. “yer gonna start by gettin’ that mouth on me, kay sweetness? y’wanted to learn how to suck a cock butcha ain’t doin’ much suckin’.”

“but ‘suki—“

he doesn’t miss the way your hand freezes in hesitation and a nervousness takes over you— katsuki has already been so patient with you but that very patience is wearing thin, how is he going to teach you that he’s all you’ll ever need if you won’t fuck his cock like he’s asked. taking a fist full of your hair, the blonde drags you forward despite your whimpers and forces your mouth only inches from his twitching length.

“don’t you trust me sweetness? don’cha wanna get good at suckin’ dick... so your boyfriend don’t leave ya?” bakugou seethes, eyes swimming with darkness that almost scares you. you want to be good for him, nodding your head in compliance while tears sting at your pretty doe eyes. bakugou would apologise for that later, reassure you that you’re still his darling sweetness and that he never meant to make you cry but he can’t help the way his girth jumps at the view of your water eyes. your head jerks with every word he spits at you, frightened whimper sounding in your throat as you utter a weak ‘yes.’, only then does katsuki finally relent, bringing you close to his tip again and tapping it against your glossy lips. “that’s what i fuckin’ thought, princess. now open up.”

doing as you’re told, slowly take his engorged rip past plush lips— giving gentle kitten licks to the oozing centre. precum doesn’t taste as bad as you thought it would, maybe it’s because of katsuki and because of him the liquid is sweet against your tongue, making you eager to taste more. you feel so fucking good, albeit a little bit sloppy but a pleasured smirk burns against bakugou’s lips as you take him, your virgin mouth, hot and wet around him and if he didn’t know any better, he could cum in an instance.

“fuckin’ hell princess, that’s a good girl, y’sure you’ve never done this before...” he grunts out, fixated on the way you practically make out with his cock and the husky sound of his voice makes your innocent cunt flutter along with the praise. glancing up at the blonde above you, you moan at the way katsuki’s face contorts with pleasure— nothing like you’ve ever seen before and you desperately want him to make that face whenever you’re around. slurping noises fill the air as you practically make out with his cock— getting bolder and bolder with the way your tongue moves against him.

you make out with his cock like you’re kissing katsuki bakugou, he’d taught you that too.

his nails scratch against your scalp with every lap of your tongue to his length, mapping out the thick veins on the underside. you moan around him in a way that makes him shudder. the same hand in your hair moves to the back of your head, pushing you further down on bakugou’s cock and forcing more of himself down your tight throat.

“can’t believe no one’s thought to fuck your throat before, sweetness, s’fuckin’ tight. yer gonna let me use you right? yeah? you my good girl?” katsuki babbles mindlessly, intoxicated with the heat of your mouth and the way you sloppily drool all over him, a combination of your spit and his precum dripping between his weighty balls.

you’ve never made a man feel this good before, not even hanta has responded to your touch like this— and you could so easily become addicted to the way pleasuring katsuki makes you feel. the blonde’s hips jump up, cock hitting the back of your throat and you yelp on surprise— gagging at the unexpected and new feeling. hearing you gargle over his dick while you sloppily suck it down makes pride swirl in bakugou’s chest— accompanied by shallow thrusts deeper into your mouth.

what a mess he’s made of his sweet, innocent little roommate— he has you looking like pure sin as mixes of his arousal, your mascara and your tears cascade down your chubby cheeks like a waterfall. “fuck baby, suck me off, just like fuckin’ that, such a good fuckin’ girl for your suki...” he curses. “gettin’ close baby, why don’t you swallow for me— make me cum yeah?”

you do just that, attempting to bob your head up and down before swallowing around katsuki’s cock. you feel so proud of yourself when his hips and breathing stutter simultaneously— earning yourself a small victory. you want to be the reason your roommate cums, want him to be the course for his earth shattering pleasure...it’s the least you could do for the blonde after everything he’s taught you. this is your way of showing your gratitude for how much he’s taken care of you.

“gonna fuckin’ cum, gonna fuckin’ cum...atta girl sweetness,” bakugou praises you as your hand moves experimentally to squeeze at his balls, heavy with cum. his grip on you tightens and all he can think about is how pretty you’ll look when he’s stained your innocent, supple skin with all of his seed. he’ll mark you up as his, fuck your mouth so good that you’ll only ever drool over his cock. he wants you to long for him and only him. a strangled moan escapes katsuki when you let the spit gathered in your mouth, spew out against his girth and and all it takes is one sweet look from you before the cord in his stomach snaps.

“s-shit, fuck—oh god, fuck...” bakugou’s hips stall as he falls into orgasm, the world of colours flashing behind his vermillion eyes while his viscous hot seed fills your mouth and his dam of pleasure finally breaks. there’s not a thought in your mind as hot white paints your tongue, nothing aside from how good your roommate tastes and how much you yearn to taste him again.

not even sero comes to mind. he’s addictively sweet against your tastebuds and swallow every drop that katsuki has to offer— milking him for all of his worth and even lapping up the reminders of his release after he pulls from the confines of your mouth due to over sensitivity. “holy, fuck princess...” the blonde pants, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“did i do good, suki?” you ask with a muffled, sweet voice. your chin and cheeks are still messy with sticky globs of cum and the rims of your bambi eyes blackened with the traces of your eye makeup...you look like a fucking sin on legs and if he wasn’t so fucked out, bakugou would have claimed your mouth again.

using a thumb, and despite his breathlessness, bakugou leans forward and collects his arousal from your baby fat cheeks and pushes the digit past your cherry lips. he swears lowly as you eagerly suck on his thumb, cleaning it off as though you didn’t just take a mouthful of him already. “so good baby, suki’s s’fuckin’ proud of you, yeah?” he coos, patting your face softly before holding his arms out to pull you into his lap.

you wiggle happily at the praise, allowing yourself to be scooped up into your roomie’s arms as you whisper a small ‘thank you for teaching me, suki,’ to him. you’re so cute, so precious, curling in on the man like a defenceless baby before you fall asleep, a dirty mess in his arms. bakugou thinks to clean you up, but not before snapping a picture of your face dirtied with his cum.

you wouldn’t find out about it and it’s not like it mattered, you trusted your suki with all your heart...and even if he did send the picture to your boyfriend, hanta... it’s not like that mattered either— you’d thank him for it later, you always did after katsuki had taught you a lesson.

this would simply be a lesson to remind you, that you were always going to be his.

— TAGLIST: i didn’t tag you if i didn’t see an age in your bio lol

@bakugous-trauma @greenchild @luv-dum @souleatermia @younggoth136 @fullchonk @t0xic-todoroki @chou-maitresse @definitetrashlord

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mrskurono · 3 years

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title: Fat Girl a/n: I really appreciate when writers write chubby!readers but honestly I need more than thicc thighs and a cute tummy. This is self indulgent as shit bc I have an “apple” body type and chubby!reader doesn’t fit my body type per say + might turn this into a series idk + I’m a fat chick so don’t get your panties in a bundle word count: 1k tags: the usage of the word “fat” often, smut, vaginal penetration, soft but horny Suna, breeding kink ish, creampie, dirty talk, established relationship, chubby chaser Suna character(s): Rintaro Suna (hq)

Rintaro was a glutton. Head to toe. He was just that. A glutton.

Calloused and strong middle blocker hands made to stop volleyballs looked the best when they were grabbing fistfuls of your love handles. This he would tell you until the day he died. His body was for you first. Volleyball second.

Those same giant hands were holding onto your handles like his life depended on it. Long fingers pressed into the soft fat of your sides and sweat dripping down his nose as he stared down at you. Stalling his hips just for his sake and nothing more. If he moved anymore he was certain he’d loose himself. And he didn’t want it to end just yet.

“Shit-” His chest heaved with a shaky breath. Rintaro’s love drunk gaze turned down to you and only you under him, “Look at you-”

Handsy as ever. Rintaro couldn’t figure out where to look or what to grab first. Every stretch mark over your stomach and chest was a map to another wonderful area of your body he craved. He could mold his hands into your supple stomach. Squish your breasts together and lick along the stretch marks. Or he could slip his cock out of you and slide his length along your fat cunt lips. He wanted to do it all. Plain and simple. Rintaro was a glutton for you.

“Shut up.” You roll your head back with a groan leaving your slightly parted lips. Hips bucking up to meet his with some kind of friction after he stopped, “...You’re just saying that.”

Rintaro shook his head. Leaning himself down to catch your lips on his. Not about to resume a quick pace like he had been. Instead the middle blockers hips flexed with short snaps of his cock into you. Burying himself down to the hilt each time. Leaving you to do nothing short of moan on his lips and grip his forearms when he hovered above you.

Another thing he savored. All that extra warm skin and you could enveloped his long cock. Rintao never felt like this about someone before. He was stupidly drunk on the idea of loving you more and more each day.

“You’re so fucking hot-” He moaned against your lips, biting needy at your bottom one when your breath hitches and breaks the kiss, “Everything. I want it.”

Before you could wrap your arms around his shoulders. Rintaro leaned back up. Hooking his hands in your hips and smiling as all your extra tummy covered his hands when he yanked you down fully on his cock. Nestled so perfectly inside you. He swore you were made for him in more ways than one. Only thinking in fleeting thoughts about how good you could look with more than just his cock inside you.

Thoughts aside, the man swallowed the lump in his throat watching your stomach jiggle with his little forceful thrust. He wanted to put his mouth on it. Suck, bite, worship. Every single inch. To do so he’d have to pull out and he wasn’t willing to do that yet.

“Rin,” his name leaving your lips like a plea, he knows what it does to you when he fixates down on you like this. Sending shivers through your entire body as he gorges on the sight of you naked under him, “Fuck me already. God please-”

No need for an invitation to a feast of such caliber. Rintaro bottomed out in your fat cunt in one snap of his hips. The squelch of your juices around his cock and the way your supple walls milked him. Desperate not to cum he didn’t want anything for himself until he got the pleasure of seeing you writhe in pleasure on his cock.

Quickly his fingers went to your folds to find your clit. In desperation for himself as much as it was for you. Long, strong fingers working over your sensitive bud when he found the sweet spot that made you tighten around him and moan like a whore for him. With laser focus Rintaro wouldn’t move his fingers from the quick little circles paired with his cock fucking your deepest parts. He watched entranced by the way your body reacted.

Folds, creases and stretch marks all over your soft stomach. Leaving Rintaro wishing he had more hands to grab and grope at your fat. He wanted to. No, needed to.

“S-Shit- Rin!” Your cry broke him from his trance. Followed suit by the real way you tightened around him.

Rintaro grunted, eyes set on you like a predator. He wanted your orgasm and he wanted it now. With an extra flick of his finger over your clit and the way his stomach flexed when he thrusted into you harder than before. Was simply the undoing you needed to cum on your boyfriend.

And you came hard, Rintaro wasn’t ready to let you just ride out an orgasm. He pulled you down on him when you squirmed and shuddered. Keeping you on his entire length with the violent shaking of your hips. His name leaving your lips like a curse and a blessing wrapped into one. It was too much.

“I can’t-” His eyes shut with one last stroke. Forcing his cock inside until he bottomed out in you. All of it too much. Your plush walls twitching around him and your fat cunt lips against the base of his cock that left him soaked in your juices. Rintaro didn’t hide it. Grip on your love handles to pull you closer to him as he came hard. Each gush of cum leaving him moaning incoherently and drooling outside your cunt.

Recovered from your orgasm sooner than his. Rintaro gave up as he laid on top of you with deep breathes trying to regain his composure or fall asleep. He wasn’t sure which one was going to come first. Your arms coming around and holding him close to you as he relaxed on top of you. Fingers combing through his hair that earned a sweet hum from him.

Realizing his hands were free. Rintaro snaked his hands to your sides. Now that he could, he grabbed you tight. Feeling the squish of your plush body in his hands.

It was clear to you that he wanted to squeeze your fat from the moment you two started making out earlier, “You’re so weird.”

He buried his face in your neck. Squishing you like that was enough of an answer. But then he took a moment and kissed your neck softly without lifting his head, “My hands are better for grabbing you than playing volleyball. So that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Rintaro was a shameless glutton for a fat girl.

#threethirst #hq!!#haikyuu!!#hq smut #haikyuu smut #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #suna #suna rintaro #suna rintarou #suna rintarō #suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro smut

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lepusrufus · 3 years

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Double edged scalpel ch.6

ch.1 ch.2 ch.3 ch.4 ch.5

Summary: It's backstory time!

Mandatory warning since this is not a usual thing on my blog so I think a separate warning would be useful, there will be talk of past abuse and alcohol abuse.

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"Wakey wakey," came the gruff voice from just outside her bedroom door.

It was slightly muffled but more than enough to make her jolt awake, muscle memory taking over the remnants of sleep. She only had one minute to be out the door. It was more than enough though, her routine perfected over years. Get out of bed. Put socks on. Get shoes. Grab the duffel bag. She slept dressed anyways, ready to go at any time.

Or not?

Where were her clothes?

Nevermind that she had time to put something on. Just grab a shirt and pants from the dresser.

Hurried steps took her over the plush carpet. Wasn't it supposed to be a solid grey? Had her mother swapped it for one of their fancier rugs?

That didn't matter right now. Clothes. She needed clothes. When she got to her dresser she stood there, frowning at the bookshelf that now took its place. She didn't even remember acquiring the tomes in front of her, most of them old and with unfamiliar trinkets surrounding them. That's not how her bedroom was arranged. Why wasn't anything in its place? Was Alex playing a prank on her? No, he wouldn't do that.

Time was almost up and she needed some goddamn clothes and to get out and her head was starting to spin-

"Nicole?"

Her eyes snapped back to the bed she had so hastily vacated, Cassandra looking at her concerned.

From the room's entrance came another familiar voice. Bela. "I only wanted to let you know that Daniela wants to go for a hunt tomorrow." Her eyes were averted and as soon as the words left her lips, she turned and shut the door behind her, not waiting for an answer from her sister.

Confusion mixed in with dizziness, but Nicole let out a quiet oh when she fully realized where she was. Cassandra's bedroom. They came here last night and fell asleep. And she was only wearing underwear.

She went to sit on the edge of the bed, head resting in her hands to try alleviate the fog in her brain. She probably looked like hell, but that was the least of her concerns right now.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Came the uncharacteristically soft voice of Cassandra, who had moved from her spot under the blankets and was gently rubbing her back.

"Uh, nothing," Nicole replied, as if she didn't look ready to puke.

Cassandra only pursed her lips and frowned. "You looked like you simultaneously saw a ghost and were ready to fight a ghost."

She swallowed thickly and forced out a laugh. "Oh are we at "tragic backstory" relationship level now?" It was at best a pathetic attempt to change the subject and at worst annoying.

When she looked back at the brunette she was still frowning, but not in annoyance. Her golden eyes sparked with concern, scrutinizing the redhead's face and body language for any clue as to what was wrong. It sent a pang of guilt through Nicole's chest. She took a deep breath and leaned back into Cassandra's touch, trying to collect her thoughts. Where does one even begin to explain this whole mess?

"Have you ever wondered why I came here? To the village?"

"...Not really," she admitted.

Nicole took another deep breath, pulling the words from her mouth as if she were pulling out teeth with pliers.

"My dad, he…he had a bit of a weird business. We never knew the details of it, he never told any of us and we knew better than to snoop, but I do know it had something to do with drugs and was highly illegal."

Staying in one place proved itself a pesky little task, so Nicole stood up and started to collect her clothes from the floor and started dressing. Cassandra instead remained in the same spot, listening intently.

"With a job like that you make enemies by default. And that made him paranoid beyond belief. When me and Alex, my older brother, were children it wasn't that bad. Worst thing he would do was lock our bedroom doors and refuse to let us attend public school."

She narrowed her eyes at a wall, still not wanting to meet Cassandra's gaze. Now that she said it out loud, not that bad sounded pretty bad too. Whatever.

"It started going downhill when I was around…" She pursed her lips, trying to make her brain put together some semblance of a timeline. "Twelve. Yeah twelve. He came bursting into our bedrooms at 2 a.m. saying that someone with a gun had gotten into our house and wanted to kill us. We were mortified. I remember my mom holding me and Alex in the backseat crying while my dad drove us to his secluded cabin in the woods."

"And that became a habit of his. He'd have us do these drills every once in a while and then scream at us if we didn't do everything in under a minute."

"That's so fucking stupid," Cassandra spat, golden eyes gleaming with anger.

Nicole started pacing back and forth, desperate for a distraction. "Oh I know. And after a few years of this I made sure to tell him exactly how much I thought it was bullshit."

Finally coming to terms with the lack of something to do while she talked, Nicole gave up and went back to the bed. She sat down by Cassandra's side, though still avoiding her eyes.

"Do you know what getting punched in the face feels like?"

Cassandra's expression contorted into a disgusted grimace. With the hand not on Nicole's back rubbing comforting circles, she dug talons into the soft fabric of a blanket. She didn't really have an answer because frankly she didn't know. Her body reacted very differently to physical harm and the few that could hurt her wouldn't go for a stupid punch to the face. Nicole kept on talking though, not really looking for an answer.

"That shut me up for a bit. Key word a bit. When he woke me up on the night before an important test I was pissed. I just thought fuck it and went upstairs to the library. It took him around twenty minutes to find me and when he did… Well, I regretted some life choices."

"I was so done with being there in that house. Though thankfully my parents went on a business trip the next day and Alex was at a friend's for the weekend. I had the whole house to myself and decided to grab one of my mom's vintage wines and just spend the evening on the couch drinking. And that's how I became an alcoholic at the ripe old age of fifteen." She let out a humorless chuckle at the end.

That day was a blur in her mind. The only thing that she vividly remembered was Alex coming home early and finding her blackout drunk on the couch. At the end of the day though, they were both in the same boat. He just grabbed the bottle from her and started to sip away at the remaining wine. Laughing at each other's hangover the next day was the most fun they'd had in ages so it became a habit for the both of them. Every once in a while they'd go into the wine cellar, pick out a bottle and then go drink it in the attic while they pretended their problems didn't exist. It continued well into their college years. Nicole was barely able to recall doing anything during her years in med school that wasn't being drunk or studying.

She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. That's not where she meant to go with the story. Cassandra placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder brought her enough comfort to try and wrap it up.

"I guess in a sick ironic way my dad was right in the end though," she subconsciously shifted closer to the brunette and she wasted no time in loosely wrapping her arms around Nicole's waist.

"I was three weeks away from completing my residency when I came home from the lab, only to find my mom in a puddle of blood on the living room floor. My brother was in a similar state in his bedroom. My dad was nowhere to be found but I didn't care. It was his fault," she swallowed the lump in her throat and felt tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"I just grabbed my documents and a duffle bag with some clothes and ran. Booked the first flight to Romania to come stay at my grandparents'. Oh except they know what my dad is all about! Told me I had an hour to get some rest and be out of their house as they didn't want any trouble with my dad's people."

"I did grab a fuck ton of my dad's cash though so at least hotels weren't an issue," her words were coming out chocked, occasionally interrupted by sniffles. She rapidly whipped a hand across her face. "Have you ever been to Braşov? Old part of the city is quite lovely."

Cassandra grimaced. She didn't want to interrupt, but seeing Nicole in such a state made something in her unbeating heart ache. She gently wiped the trail of tears from her cheeks and placed a kiss on her temple from where she was sitting half behind Nicole. Then, with the softest voice she could muster, "And how did you meet Duke?"

Nicole's eyes widened slightly, apparently having forgotten that detail.

"Oh I stumbled upon his shop one day. I thought he was selling some neat stuff and he was nice so I kept coming back. One thing led to another and when I found out about a place off the map where no one gets in or out without help I thought it would be the perfect place to hide from the people trying to put a bullet through my head." Then she winced slightly. "I was also mildly tipsy when I made that decision."

Cassandra looked a little incredulous. "And he just brought you here?"

"I paid him."

Cassandra's expression turned to what could only be described as disappointed but not surprised. Then her attention went back on the redhead, glossy eyes fixated on the floor. To say she sucked at comforting others was an understatement. Daniela was far more well versed in the art of making others not feel miserable but she was nothing if not stubborn enough to try.

"Listen," she shifted to sit in front of her, hand placed gently on a wet cheek. "If anyone ever dares come near you with the intention of harming you, I'll make them regret every life choice that led them there. You're safe here." She may not be great with her words, but if Cassandra excelled in anything, it was keeping her loved ones safe. Loved one huh.

Nicole leaned into her touch, finally meeting Cassandra's eyes. There was a gentle kind of determination in her golden gaze, accompanied by a fiery rage that, for once in her life, brought comfort as opposed to terror. It came with the knowledge that it wasn't directed at her but at whoever may want to harm her.

She didn't doubt her words. Instead she shifted closer, face nuzzled in the crook of Cassandra's neck and, barely above a whisper, said: "Thank you."

#unhinged maiden™ my beloved #cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #dimitrescu daughters #resident evil village #fanfic #double edged scalpel

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echo-hiraeth · 3 years

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Chapter 5: Homebound

Part of the “Illicit Limerence” series

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: The reader goes back to the states to break the news to her parents, but not after spending the morning with her favourite DEA agent.

Warnings: swearing, smut (unprotected sex, be smart kids), angst, mentions of abusive household/parent, parental/domestic violence, mentions of blood, vomiting

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Javier Peña was an extremely light sleeper. Years spent in the field always had him on his toes, even at four in the morning. It started with some shifting beside him with an occasional whimper tumbling from your lips. But when you suddenly sat up he reached for the gun on the bedside table.

“M’sorry”, you mumbled sleepily.

He slowly put the gun back down and pulled you flush against his torso. “Whass wrong?”

You nuzzled your nose into his shoulder. “S’the baby, gonna be sick I think.”

“Anything I can do?”, he whispered, softly kissing the top of your head.

You hummed out a response, his body heat lulling you back to sleep. He sat there for a couple of minutes, shoulders leaning against the wooden headboard as you dozed back off. Until you threw the covers off of your legs and rushed over to your bathroom. At this point he was familiar to the motions and just let his autopilot kick in. As he joined you by your side, glass of water in his left hand, cloth in the right, hair tie around his left wrist you felt immensely better already. He carefully grabbed your hair and tied it into a messy messy bun. His left hand rested on your lower back as the right one dabbed your forehead with the cool, damp cloth. It didn’t take too long this time, stomach soon empty seeing how it was the middle of the night. Although as you went to stand your knees buckled slightly, making Javier wrap his arms around you.

“Shit, sorry”, you mumbled, wiping your mouth with your shirtsleeve.

“S’okay, I got you.” He closed the toilet and helped you sit on top of it, slowly handing you the glass before leaving. He came back with a box of crackers and sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

“M’fine Javi”, you protested.

“Just eat two, please? To settle your stomach a bit”, he requested while slowly handing you two crackers.

You didn’t know whether it was the fact that he was there or that your stomach was completely void of any contents, but those fucking rip-off saltines tasted like heaven. Javier went back into the bedroom and sat on the bed, waiting for you as you quickly washed up a bit. When you finally felt somewhat presentable you walked over to the bed, discarding of your clammy shirt before shuffling into the bed next to him. He tried not to look at the way your breasts moved as you scooted closer to him, the lack of sexual activities making him somewhat desperate. But when you laid back down against him, face resting on his right peck, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat aroused at the feel of your bare breast against his ribs. He slowly trailed a finger down your side, stopping at your ribcage where the rest of his fingers ghosted over the swell of your right breast.

If you weren’t so tired he’d have pursued his desires, sex starting to ache with longing but he knew how much you both needed the rest. So instead he rested his hand on the back of your neck, securing you against him as he closed his eyes, soon finding slumber for himself. There was just something so comforting about having you pressed up against him, it meant so much to him. The fact that someone like you could be so vulnerable and trusting with him touched his soul in ways he could never even begin to describe.

He slept so well in fact that he barely even noticed you slipping out of his snug grasp and sneaking off to the kitchen. It wasn’t until the smell of bacon reached into the bedroom that he started stirring. He reached out to the left side of the bed only to be met with the mattress. Immediately alerted he opened his eyes, everything seemed perfectly normal aside from the quiet cursing outside the bedroom door. He stretched his arms above his head as he walked over to the door, quietly opening it to reveal you, dressed in his dress shirt over some pots and pans. You spun around, jolting a bit when seeing him just standing there.

“You weren’t in bed”, he croaked out, voice gruff with sleep.

“I was really hungry”, you replied with an innocent smile.

He walked up to you, playing with the buttons on the shirt as he looked at the pans on the stove. “Could’ve woken me up, hermosa.”

You captured his puffy lips in a dawdling kiss his fingers unfastening one of the lower buttons on his shirt as you did.

“I’m afraid desert will have to wait a bit longer, agente Peña.”

He playfully swatted your ass, making you let out a soft whine. “Better hurry up then, I’m really fucking craving it.”

His eyes followed your every movement as you sunk the dishes into the sink, hands balling at his sides as a way of containing, controlling himself. If he could have it his way, he’d just bend you over that counter right this instant, but some part of him wanted it to be different. He wanted it to be slow and romantic, everlasting, a proper goodbye, a lingering feeling that’d last you your whole trip.

You walked over to where he was sitting, moving to sit in his lap, pressing your lips to his nose. “You’re thinking too loud, querido.”

He smiled up at you, capturing your gaze and slowly kissing the tip of your chin. “Just taking it all in..”

A moment of tranquil silence passed before you got up, swaying your hips all the way into your bedroom. Javier’s eyes were glued to the curve of your ass, his shirt on you barely long enough to keep it hidden. He bit on his lower lip as he went to stand, following you with long, confident strides. You wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging his face down to meet yours, mouths tangling in a singeing embrace. His fingertips pressed into your waist as he pushed you back against the bed, swiping your legs from underneath you to where you fell backwards on the mattress. He followed suit, hovering over you as he helped you further up the bed, eyes never leaving yours.

“Tan hermosa”, he whispered against your hand, softly pressing a peck there.

Your hands cupped his face, impatiently dragging him down to where you were resting against the pillows. Lips melding together, he started working on unbuttoning the shirt. He hesitated a bit when he reached the last couple of buttons, hands hovering over your stomach.

“Won’t I hurt it?”

“Them”, you corrected.

“Them”, he repeated.

You pressed a reassuring kiss to his lips. “You won’t Javi, you’re doing great.”

With his concerns being waved away so graciously, he quickly continued, helping you slide the shirt off your shoulders, stare fixated on your swollen breasts. They definitely got a bigger, not a lot, but he could tell.

He promptly moved down from your lips, swiping his tongue at your neck before littering your breasts in delicious love-bites. A string of moans and whimpers fell from your reddened lips, the sensation of his mouth on your sore chest utterly intoxicating. His hands tugged down your panties in a swift motion, his briefs soon following suit. You were a sight to behold, head thrown back in the soft pillow, back arched, face contorted in pleasure. The sheer imagery made his sex spasm against your inner thigh.

“More.. por favor Javi, mas”, you whined, hands tangling in his rowdy hair.

He let out somewhat of a growl as he released his mouth from your nipple. He moved down your centre, tongue mapping out his itinerary, until he reached your core. Another set of kisses was pressed to each of your thighs before he came back up to your face. He nudged your clit with his head, mouth finding yours as he slipped his length into your heat. Your moan was silenced by his grunt, lips connected to your soft neck as he started building up a steady yet slow rhythm. There was no hurry now, just passion and adoration.

You hooked your hips around his, encouraging him to sink a bit deeper and when he does, you cry out for him. His lips found yours again, drowning out your sweet noises in the early hours of the morning. No reason to wake the neighbours up so soon.

Eventually his desires got the best of him and the sweet lovemaking turned into something more Peña-approved. With every thrust of his hips he grew hungrier, wanting more and more of you. He grabbed a hold of your upper arms, sitting back on his legs as he pulled you into his lap. You clutched onto his shoulder, the new angle making his tip brush against your cervix with every push. His hand nestled into the back of your long hair, supporting your head as you surrendered to the pleasure.

“Fuck, you look good like this”, he croaked out in between grunts.

You just whimpered at the praise, nails digging into the delicate skin between his shoulder blades. Needing more friction you started grinding into him, meeting every jerk of his hips perfectly. Javier hissed at the sensation, moving one hand to your front, thumb rubbing frantic circles on your bundle of nerves.

“I’m not gonna last”, you panted.

He pressed a kiss to your collarbone before circling even faster. “Let go princesa, I’m right there with you.”

His encouragement sent you reeling over the edge, head falling forward onto his shoulder as your orgasm washed over you. Like he’d said, he was right there with you, spilling his release into your core as he felt you tighten around him. A few more moans and grunts filled the air as he slowly worked the both of you through it. He fell back into the mattress, half-hard cock still buried inside you as he swiped some sweaty strands of hair from your face.

About half an hour later the two of you were stood in the bathroom, each with a towel wrapped around you. You were drying your hair while Javi was drying his torso. When you put the hairdryer away you pressed a peck to his cheek, reaching over to grab your hairbrush.

“When’s your flight?”, he asked while stepping into his underwear.

“Somewhere around noon? Like maybe twenty past? I wrote it down somewhere..”

He took the brush from your hands, helping you to brush to the very ends of your long hair. “Need a ride?”

“Offering?”, you questioned, grabbing a hold of your brush once again, brushing your hair up into a high-ponytail.

His hands came to rest on your hips as he stood behind you, capturing your gaze in the mirror. “I just want to make sure you’ll get there safe.”

You spun around, laying your hands on top of his, squeezing a little. “I don’t want to keep you off work.”

And yet here you were in the passenger seat of his car, a hand resting on your upper thigh as he drove you to the airport.

“You promise to call?”

You look over at him, chuckling softly. “Wow, look at this responsibility.”

“I’m serious, I want to know how you’re doing. I’ll be at the office a lot anyway.”

As he pulled over, parking the car before the entrance you slowly sat up a bit straighter, tilting his chin in your direction. “I promise I’ll call you.”

He holds your hand in his as he nods. “Want me to come inside, help with the bags?”

“You need to get your ass to the office.” You let go of him and stepped out of the car, walking around to the trunk where you found Javier already there, hand on the handle as he opened it for you. He handed you your bag and pressed a lingering kiss to your mouth.

“Don’t be stupid, querida.”

“How can I, I’m leaving all the stupid here”, you jested back, dragging him down for another last kiss.

He smiled into it, giving your butt a slight tap so as to tell you to get going. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

You walked off, looking over your shoulder as you reminded him: “Don’t forget to water my plants!”

As you sat through your flight you were absolutely restless. You never even liked flying in the first place, but knowing that you were going to see your parents and had to drop the news on them was far more terrifying. You’d tried to ease your nerves by writing down some things, hoping to get some peace of mind, but to no avail. The plan was to get to the hotel right after you landed and to give Connie and Steve a call to let her know you were safe. Calling Javier would probably be a good idea as well, he was after all to be considered your “boyfriend” now, you smiled at that.

The drive to the hotel was short, the familiarity of your home state surprisingly soothing. You’d be staying at a hotel considering you sold your apartment and refused to be anywhere near your father for that long. As you arranged everything and got handed a key you felt your nerves settle some more, the prospect of having a nice bed to sleep in surely playing a big part in that.

The room was small but cosy. A big twin bed with an array of throw pillows and a desk in the main part, a bathroom with toilet and walk-in shower in the other room. It wasn’t much but it was enough. You set your bag down on the floor before sitting on the edge of the bed. You tapped in the right phone number and held the horn to your left ear.

“Murphy”, Connie’s voice sounded.

“Ah Missus Murphy, I regret to inform you that my plane did in fact not crash and that you’re still stuck with me.”

You heard her laugh at the other end of the line and picked up on Olivia, their kid, babbling in the back. “Well, well, well missy, I thought we were having girls night before you were leaving?”

“Sorryyy, I was kind of busy.”

“With a certain DEA agent I presume?”, she taunted.

You couldn’t contain a giggle as you thought back about this morning. “A lady never tells, Con.”

“Good thing you’re no lady then”, she quipped, “But do tell, how are y’all now?”

“Sore”, you joked, making the both of you burst into a fit of schoolgirl-like giggles.

Your first two days in town were spent running errands and handling some business. With the chances of you having a baby in Bogotá you wanted everything to be perfectly in order, so you set out to find your official documents and attend to your banking. You visited your storage unit and packed up some of the stuff up to ship to Columbia.

And as promised you called Javi daily, during his lunch break. You’d tease him about it and he’d always have a snarky comeback at the ready. He saved his breath for the nights though, when he’d call you from the comfort of his couch, telling you about things at the office. Turns out he’d been spending some more time with Steve after work who just wouldn’t shut up about Olivia and fatherhood in general. You laughed at this, feeling rather bad for your lover. But every night you got to go to bed with Javier telling you he couldn’t wait for you to come back, which was nothing short of amazing.

Yet when you woke up the next morning you were a nervous wreck. Today was Thursday and that had always been the family day, which you stopped attending even before you escaped to Columbia. The drive would be about three hours, you’d purposely chosen a hotel this far away, not wanting your family anywhere near you or your unborn child. As you sat in the hotel’s restaurant, enjoying a good plate of lunch, you once again contemplated on how to break the news. You eventually came to the inevitable conclusion that there was no “good” way to announce it, you just had to grow a pair and do it.

With that in mind you got in your rental car and started your journey. As you pulled up on the driveway you felt sick to your stomach, the nerves once again gaining the upper hand. The house still looked the same it had since the last time you were here, the Thanksgiving before you left for Bogotá. You remember the way your mother had begged you not to go and the way your father, drunk on beer and whiskey, had refused to so much as look at you. Your sisters and their respective partners had been quiet, not wanting to stir anything up. More memories resurfaced as you climbed the porch’s steps, tentatively reaching for the doorbell. You took a deep breath before pressing down on it, the familiar ring giving way to a whole new level of anxiety. The door swung open to reveal your mother, towel hanging from her old apron. She had a shocked expression on her face.

“Y/n, darlin’ I didn’t expect you!”, she spoke up, cautiously leaning over to embrace you.

“Can I come in?”, you asked, purposely avoiding her gaze.

She smiled, softly grabbing a hold of one of your hands. “’Course sweetheart, how about you help me with dinner?”

And so you did. It turned out your mother was left home alone, your dad working on something at your eldest sister’s place and your younger sister still caught up at work. Your mother filled you in on everything involving family and close friends and eventually came around to asking you what you’d been up to. You’d told her about the Escobar case, which she promptly waved away, not wanting to hear about the spilling of blood and shooting of guns. She’d asked you about Steve and Connie and you’d filled her in on Olivia, which made her gloat with pride, telling you how sweet it was of them to “take such a risk in” and that it was a “really Christian” thing to do. You just smiled at your mother, not wanting to get into the subject this early on in the evening.

About an hour into your mother’s deafening small talk your younger sister, Diane, had come home. She had smiled at you and briefly hugged you, quickly pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge after she filled the two of you in on her promotion. The two of you had congratulated her and when you refused a glass the two women gave you a puzzled look.

“Where’s the rebellious y/n these days, huh?”, your sister joked.

“I have responsibilities to tend to, Diane”, you replied, pouring yourself a glass of water.

They’d dropped any further questions about it, instead moving on to their favourite topic: marriage. You’d told them you were seeing someone but that the circumstances weren’t ideal. Before the two women could press any further on the matter, the backdoor swung open, revealing your other sister and her husband and eventually, trailing a couple steps behind; your father. Your tall form shrunk a bit upon seeing him, the smell of beer working its way over to your nose within seconds. Your older sister, Lisa-Jean and her husband had also greeted you, both of them seemingly excited to see you. Your dad had ignored you, which you didn’t necessarily mind, you’d rather he’d give you no attention at all.

Dinner was nothing short of awkward and uncomfortable. There was a conversation going but you hardly participated, too worried to really say anything. It wasn’t until your helped your mother clearing the table that your dad finally addressed you.

“So, got sick of killing the druggies?”, he asked, opening a new bottle.

You quietly cleared your throat, looking him square in the eyes as you answered: “We took down a good chunk of Escobar’s cartel and are on the brim of negotiating a deal with him.”

“Kill anybody of that ‘good chunk’?”, he continued.

“Does it matter? Besides, I’ve been assigned a desk job for the foreseeable future”, you retorted, tone a bit harsher than before.

Your dad let out a dark chuckle at that, the three other women disappearing into the kitchen. “Shot the wrong ones, huh?”

The grip on the wine glass you were holding tightened, knuckles straining at the pressure. “No. Unlike some people I’m actually good at my job.”

“And unlike some I don’t think of killing other souls as a job”, your dad shouted across the table.

“It’s more than just pulling a fucking trigger, this shit is about protecting the innocent, but you wouldn’t fucking get it, would you now?”, you yelled back.

Your dad pointed a finger in your direction. “Watch your tone lady, you’re in my house!”

“Oh fucking drop the act already, will you? You’re just some sad alcoholic fuck who can’t even bring himself to love his second daughter.”

He stood up from his chair, taking a few steps towards you. “You’re no daughter of mine, you devilish whore!”

You dropped the glass you were holding onto the wooden floors, eyes glossy with tears of frustration. “You think I want to be the daughter of a drunk who beats his wife and kids?”

He lunged forward, grabbing a hold of your hair and yanking you down to the ground. “Don’t you talk to me like that, you ungrateful bitch!”

There was an advantage to being a DEA agent, you knew how to defend yourself now. You elbowed the back of kneecap, making him fall backwards. He hit the ground with a loud thud, grabbing a hold of your shirt in the process. He flailed his fists at you and delivered a good set of punches. You could only think to brace your stomach, some maternal instinct kicking in and wanting to protect your baby. He stood back up when you didn’t fight back, leaving you on the floor, landing kick after kick against your trembling form. Your sisters and mother watched from a distance, cheeks stained with tears but nonetheless not interfering. It was your brother-in-law who tried to talk some sense into your father, eventually just grabbing a hold of his shoulders and dragging him away from you. You scrambled to your feet, ignoring your mother’s extended arm.

Your face was covered in blood, but when your mother tried to wipe it off you just stumbled back. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Hun, please, just- let’s all calm down, we can get through this”, your mother sniffled.

You let out a laugh, eyeing the tree woman with a look of disappointment. “You didn’t even try to help me..”

“Sis, I-“, Diane started.

“Just save it. I fucking knew I shouldn’t have come back.”

Your dad spat onto the floor before speaking: “Then why did you.”

You gritted your teeth in sheer anger. “Because I’m pregnant.”

That made the whole atmosphere shift. Your mum took another step towards you, sobbing as she rested a hand against your face. But your dad grabbed a hold of whatever he could reach and chucked it in your direction. “Fucking whore! Get out of my house!”

You pushed past your mother, only looking back at your father to tell him what you’d been wanting to for a while. “I hope you fucking die.”

As soon as the door fell shut in the lock you burst out into tears, quickly walking back to your car and speeding off. The first half of the drive was spent just crying and processing what had just happened and the second half was when the pain settled in. Somewhere along the way you’d looked in the rear-view mirror and pulled over to quickly wipe the blood of your face.

Once you arrived at the hotel you just threw everything in your bag and checked out, not even bothering to call anyone. You drove yourself to the airport, paid for the car and booked the next flight back to Bogotá. You were able to catch the late night flight and were back in Columbia that same night, just before midnight. You took a taxi to your apartment. As you unlocked your door all the lights were on and when you closed it, a sweaty, worried-looking Javier came into view, eyes going wide as he took in your bruised face and ripped clothes.

“¿Qué pasó?”

Taglist: @pedritomando @peterhollandkait @ophelia-ingenue @radiowallet @phoenixhalliwell @diogodxlot @rosiefridayrogersunday

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #narcos #pedro pascal #imagine #illicit limerence

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prettybiching · 3 years

Note

Okay writing this is 😳 but here goes: can you write a John King x fem reader fanfic with rough, unprotected sex where she goes back to work with cum dripping out of her 🙈

+ Omg your John King fanfic is my life. Thank you thank you thank you. Can you write one where they’re in the studio and JK bends her over his desk?

+ First of all, thank you for your amazing writing and for opening John King requests. It’s everything I never knew I needed. Second, I’m not even going to ask for this anonymously because I have no shame anymore. If you’re open to it: John King fic request: female reader x Map Daddy. Spanking.

Attention

Pairing: John King x fem!reader

Warning: 18+ mature scenes (viewer’s discretion is advised), rough sex, choking, sir kink, spanking, unprotected sex ( don’t do that ), dirty talking, I think that’s it?

Word Count: 2,335 words

Note: My last John King oneshot did way better than I expected lmao. Decided to join these three requests together because,,,I got WAY into it xD

PS: Feel free to request anything on my inbox. I promise I will write them, I’m just a slow af writer. Thanks for all the love and support, mwah!

You knew what was coming for you even before John asked you to join him in his office after the show.

He had been busy the whole week, barely paying you any attention. So, you decided to take matters into your hand. At first, it was your outfit that he noticed, the red dress he loved so much clung onto you in all the right places. You chose to ignore his unmoving burning gaze. Instead, you conversed with the camera crew and the producers.

However, the last test of his patience came when you texted him a picture of what you were wearing underneath, his favourite lingerie.

You tried not to giggle in anticipation, hearing him take a sharp breath before locking his phone. His eyes shifted towards you, a smirk plastered on your lips. He shot you a menacing glare, warning you not to tempt him. If it were any other day, you would've obliged like a good girl, waiting for your turn, but not today. Today, you wanted to be a brat.

"John?" you called out for him, fluttering your eyelashes at him, feigning oblivion to his current state.

He turns around at the sound of your voice, looking seemingly unbothered. Without saying a word, he gives you a once over, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt. You tried not to let your eyes linger on the veins of his exposed forearms. No, your resolve was not going to melt.

"Come here," he instructs, his voice is calm yet commanding. If it weren't for his blown pupils, you might've thought the past hour didn't even happen. You roll your eyes, not wanting to give in to his demanding demeanour, no matter how aroused you were.

Your feet remained glued to the floor, unmoving. Once John took notice, he tried again. "Y/N," his voice was stern, leaving no place for a counter-argument, "I said, come here."

He is leaning against his desk, his arms crossed across his chest as he watches you come up to him, a hint of a devilish smile on your lips. You stand between his legs, only an inch between the two of you.

"What?" you bite, feigning disinterest.

He lets out a cocky laugh, shaking his head. "You're walking on thin ice, sweetheart," He says, and you have to bite back a moan at his tone. "How about you lose that attitude, do what I tell you, and I'll be nice."

However, you don't want nice, not after he's been ignoring you for a whole week. So, rolling your eyes, you cross your arms.

"No, I don't think I will."

The look on his face tells you he wasn't expecting that answer. Yet, he recovers quickly, a smirk growing on his lips before he swiftly leans forward and grabs your wrist, yanking you between his thighs. You have to catch yourself on his broad shoulders as you stumble from the firm tug, your stomach flush against his chest. His fingers fall to the back of your thighs before sliding up until they rested on your ass. He gave your cheeks a tight squeeze, holding you against him.

"You want to be a brat today, huh?"

Despite the tingling anticipation in your core, you're not about to give in easily. You were going to make it as strenuous for John as you could. You shoot him a glare, clicking your tongue, "Who said I'm in the mood?" You tried to push back against his shoulders, trying to create some space between the two of you, but his grip on you is unyielding.

"You are not in the mood, you say?" he asks, leaning against your ear, his warm breath over your skin, and you nod, trying not to gulp. "Then why do I smell you from here?" he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck and subconsciously, you tilt your head to the side, giving him access to your bare skin. His fingers creep beneath the fabric of your dress, playing with the hem of your panties.

By now, your panties are soaking wet. After waiting for over a week for John to touch you, fuck you again, you were getting desperate. The way carried himself during the taping of the show didn't help either. Fuck him and his sinful mouth and intelligent brain.

His eyes remain fixated on you as he hooks his fingers into your underwear and slides them down your legs, until John leans forward, his cheek brushing your hip so he can pull them down himself. You step out of them, and his back straightens up, putting the piece of ruined fabric into his pants pocket.

"Bend over the desk."

"Baby, c'mon. We don't have time, just fuck me, you can spank me all you want later," You let out a whine, tucking out your bottom lip in a pout.

"So suddenly you are in the mood," he arched his brow. "Bend over the desk, now! You don't want to piss me off any more than I already am," he states sternly.

You unhurriedly move from in between his legs, but you are too slow for his liking. Before you can react, John again yanks you by your wrist before pushing you against the desk. One hand gently settles on the back of your neck, holding your head down, and the other starts trailing down your hem before slowly creeping up your thigh, tucking up the skirt of your dress, until you feel the cool air of the room brush against your wet pussy.

You clutch the edge of the desk with your palms, edging yourself and before you know it, the hand on your leg lifts itself up and strikes your right cheek. Your body jerks rightfully but the fingers around your neck tighten, preventing you from moving too much.

“Not so tough now, huh?” He says, stroking the sore skin. “How many do you think you deserve?” you shrug as best as his hold on you allows you. “If I remember correctly,” he pauses, just to brush his fingers against your pussy lips, smiling to himself when he feels the arousal leaking out of you. “You were being naughty.” He spanks your other cheek. “Sending those pictures when we had all those people surrounding us.” For that, the next hit lands on your right cheek again and you didn’t think before you dare to open your mouth.

"Really? You haven't fucked me in a week. If you keep on doing that I'll have to start taking care of it myself."

“Just for that, I’m adding five more for raising your voice at me and disobeying me.”

He spanks you for everything he listed, caressing your sore butt in between each hit and you are on the verge of crying, the tears in your eyes about to fall down your cheeks. When you think John is finished, you release a relieved breath, but suddenly, he strikes you three more times, without any break and you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut, the tears finally rolling down.

“That was for rolling your eyes at me,” he growls before leaning down, brushing his lips against your ear as he whispers, “now, what do you call me when we are alone?” You just need a minute to catch your breath to reply, but he’s not having it. “Answer me right now, or I’ll spank your ass raw, you won’t even be able to sit right. What do you call me?” he asks again.

“Sir,” You whimper quietly, and he smiles.

“Good girl.” He forces your body up with the hand on your throat and adjusts you on the desk, but before you can make yourself comfortable, he grabs your hips, pulling you up, so your ass is in the air.

His touch disappears for a moment and when you adjust your head to be able to get at least a little peek at him, your cheek pressed against the hardwood desk, you see him loosening his tie. He grabs your arms and crosses them at your wrist on the small of your back, tying them together with the piece of fabric.

He kisses each palm and then continues up your bare arm, licking, sucking, and biting, until his lips reach your shoulder covered by the short sleeve of your dress. “You okay, sweetheart?” He knows you are, but just to be sure.

“Yes, sir,” you smile, and he kisses the exposed skin of your neck.

Then, he kneels on the floor behind you, coming face to face with your glistening cunt, and he needs to adjust himself at its sight. He curls his fingers around your thighs and starts kissing them, getting closer to your core and his eyes close on their own accord when he inhales your smell. His lips finally make contact with your lower ones, his tongue licking a stripe from your clit to your entrance before he pulls away and hums, leaving you trembling.

“John!” You whine from the loss as your frustration grows, and he bites the tender skin of your ass.

“Baby, call me that one more time, and you aren't coming for a very long time.”

Your breath shudders when you exhale, “I’m sorry, sir.”

If it was any other time and any other place, he would take his time to properly punish you, but someone could knock on the door any second, and John has honestly been dying to devour you all day.

He spreads your cheeks and leans forward, finally burying his face into your cunt, his tongue finding the little bundle of nerves, and you moan, your eyes rolling in your head from the feeling of his soft tongue relieving the ache.

He takes the bud between his lips, sucking harshly and you buck your hips, causing him to grunt, and the vibrations go straight into your clit, more slick dripping from your hole. He didn't let a single drop go to waste as he licks up to your entrance, slurping the juices along the way before he starts plunging his tongue in and out of you. You bite your lip, trying not to make too loud sounds.

“That feel good?” he pulls away to ask, replacing his tongue with his thumb as he waits for your answer, rubbing your clit in quick circles.

“So good, sir. Let me cum, please,” you whimper and he smirks.

“You’re lucky we are in a time crunch or else I would take my sweet time to take this sweet pussy apart,” to emphasize it, he thrusts his thumb into you and pinches your sensitive clit between two fingers, another moan escaping your lips.

He slides his thumb back down to your clit, quickly circling it as he dives into you again, massaging your walls with the soft muscle until the knot in your belly starts tightening. You bite onto your lips to prevent yourself from screaming as the dam finally breaks, and you are cumming, John, drinking up everything your pussy has to offer and he needs to force himself to pull away, your taste almost too addictive.

Before you know it, the sound of his belt clanking reaches your ears, and a moment later, you feel his hand on your hip while the other gets a hold of his cock, positioning the tip at your entrance before pushing himself slowly into your heat. He groans while you mewl, filling you to the hilt and giving you some time to adjust to his size.

He starts with slow thrusts once he feels you constrict around him and the hand that wasn't bruising your hip grips the knot that holds your wrists together, giving himself leverage when he begins to quicken his pace.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby. So tight.”

And he feels incredible, too, his cock reaching all the right places, the familiar tingling reappearing again as your thighs start to quiver. He leans over you, his chest to your back as his hand on your hip slides down and starts rubbing your clit.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart?” his warm breath hits the shell of your ear. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel your pussy squeezing around me. God.”

“Please, sir.” You mewl, and he growls at your innocent voice, picking up his pace even more so, his thrusts becoming harder and your tied hands grasp his wrist.

“Cum for me, baby.” He nips at your ear and with a few more thrusts, you’re cumming again, not able to hold in the moans anymore. He rides you through it, chasing his own orgasm and when you feel his hot cum filling you up, he stills, his breath brushing your cheek as he pants.

Once he comes down from his high, he kisses your jaw and stands up, pulling himself from your heat, and you hiss at the feeling. He puts his cock into his boxers and zips his pants before he unties your hands, revealing the light red marks on your wrists. You stretch your hands a little before you bring them under yourself to lift yourself up, the skirt of your dress falling back down around your thighs and covering your now-glistening intimate parts. You can feel his warm cum trailing down your thighs as you attempt to stand back up.

Turning around, you stay leaning against the desk, looking up at John with those big eyes that make him weak in the knees. The corner of his mouth lifts at the sight of your dishevelled state; your hair is messy, your lips were swollen red from biting on them, a trail of dried tears run down your cheek and his cum still dripping out of you.

When you went back in front of the camera, you were evidently chirpier, your skin glowing and if anyone knew why they didn't bother bringing it up. Although, John's wide smirk when he watched you limp back to the studio might've given it away.

#john king fanfiction #john king imagine #john king x reader #john king #inside politics #cnn anchor smut #cnn anchors #requested #smut

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kyber-kisses · 4 years

Text

I, Alone (Part 4)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Want to start from the beginning? Find the Masterlist HERE!

Warnings: angst, ITS ABOUT THE YEARNING

Summary: as Dean tries to figure out what is missing from his life, the reader is still attempting to run from her past.

A/n: I’m so sorry guys, this should have been finished days ago my writers block is hella bad. Anyways I hope you enjoy and please tell me what you thought!

Two years.

Two years of running from the past. Most people would say you could have stopped running months ago, and they were probably right. . . But once you get used to it it can become addicting. Plus it kept you busy, kept your mind off of Sam. . . And Dean. You kept hunting though of course, you couldn’t give that up no matter how hard you tried. No matter where you ended up there would always be a monster that needed slaying.

Two years.

Two years since you left the bunker and drove east until you couldn’t anymore. You found an airport, bought a ticket and left the back roads of the good old US of A behind before you could stop yourself.

And where did all that running lead you? To this moment now. The suns rays were almost too bright even with your sunglasses on, but your eyes were trained on the quaint street before you, watching as people went about their daily lives. normal lives.The small outdoor cafe you found yourself nestled at was the closest thing to peace you would probably ever find. It was better than some of the other places you had been. The small town was tucked into the lush countryside of France far from anything evil.

To bad you’d have to leave in a day or so.

That was one of your only rules. Never stay too long. If you did that you’d meet people and the last thing you wanted to do was build connections. (And look how well everything turned out the last time you cared about someone.)

It was almost funny how it had all played out. In the beginning you had been terrified of being alone in the world and now you preferred it. You got to finally get an outside look of how you had been living and you realized that if you let people in they were just harder to let go of. It was easier being by yourself. That much you knew.

“Alright, where to next?” You mumbled, unfolding the worn and fading map out in front of you, taking up most of the small sunlit table.

You had started running two years ago, you couldn’t stop now. Eyes on the horizon, no second glances back.

*. *. *. *. *. *. *.

Something was missing.

Dean could feel it in the very marrow of his bones. As days past and turned into weeks the older Winchester was trying desperately to figure out what was wrong. After his first few incidents he began writing them down, from the random bag of candy to the extra cup of coffee he had poured- it all was written down. Some things happening more than once. It’s as if his mind had shifted into some sort of auto pilot. Yet no matter how hard he stared at the list or went over it out loud, his head would not give him the one thing he was desperately digging for.

Answers.

He tried to piece it together like a puzzle, but for the life of him it was like two things weren’t connecting in his brain. . . Either that or there was some sort of dumb wall in his head that he couldn’t knock down or climb over.

But he knew something was there. It was just. . . Hidden.

“Sam, I’m telling you man- something’s not right.” Dean tried once more, following his brothers heels as they stepped up into the library.

“Cas has checked on you several times these past few weeks, don’t you think he would have told you if he felt something off?”

Dean paused mid stride, watching as Sam sunk down into his seat. “You think I’m crazy don’t you?”

“You want me to be honest?” Sam quirked an eyebrow, looking over the edge of his book. “Yes. Just a little bit.”

With an exasperated sigh Dean let his head fall back, the older Winchester rolling his eyes before he moved over to the chair across from Sam. “So you’re telling me you don’t feel anything. . . Off?”

“For the final time, No!”

“Not like something’s missing? Like something’s should be here but isn’t?”

This time it was Sams turn to sigh, slamming his book shut before tossing it onto the table. His brother had been talking about this for weeks. weeks! And it was beginning to drive him up the wall.

“Dean, you lose shit all the time. You’re always misplacing crap. You need to calm down!”

“Calm down?! Sam, I’m losing my fucking mind over here, I can’t calm down!” Slamming his hands down on the polished wood of the table, Dean quickly stood up, his anger beginning to fizz in his veins.

Quickly fed up with his brothers lack of help the hunter pushed away from the table, making his way back down the hallway. But once more his brain went into auto pilot and before he could register it he had passed his own room, instead halting outside the door of a room that as far as he could remember had been vacant and empty ever since they found the bunker.

The brass numbers were tarnished, and the door itself sensibly shut. It was just another one of the spare bedrooms. Nothing special about it. Hesitantly he ran a calloused hand over the numbers, working his mind to try and find the missing piece. It was like he was trying to follow a trail of breadcrumbs but it kept stopping so he had no choice but to stop as well. Where there should have been memories there was only blank space.

“What the hell?” He grumbled, jaw clenching in anger. He was trying so hard to remember. So hard. Yet nothing was showing up. The exhaustion of it all settling over him like a heavy cloud.

And that’s when he felt the tears running down his face. The hunter moving his hand from the brass numbers to wipe at his face in confusion, eyebrows drawing together as he looked down at his wet palm.

He was crying? Why the hell was he crying?

And then suddenly his knees buckled and he was sliding down the opposite wall, head falling into his hands. He was trying with everything he had to remember but his mind wouldn’t let him and he could feel himself falling apart. Sam wouldn’t listen and that didn’t make him feel any better.

“Dean?”

The sudden voice had Deans head popping up, jade eyes fixating on the trench coated angel walking down the hallway towards him, his own eyes filled with concern.

“Cas?”

“What’s wrong?”

The angel knelt down, eyes filling with more worry at the sight of his friend who’s eyes were red and filled with tears. Dean opened his mouth to speak, flinching only when his voice cracked.

“I’ve lost something very important to me and I don’t know what it is.”

SPN Taglist (still open!)

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @neerness @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @idksupernatural @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love @busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12 @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead

#dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester series #supernatural #spn x reader

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mauriacs · 4 years

Note

I feel like my quiz answer wasn’t 100% accurate and I was wondering if you could please publish all the different possible answers just to have a look at bc I love how you write and know there must be one that resonates 💕

the rest of them are under the line break - i didn’t really pay attention to matching up the answers to the descriptions bc i was too busy crying doing other things so like, go forth and resonate

The Winner Takes It All by ABBA

you love someone. you say, “oh, i’m over them. time to move on.”—you say this to everyone. your mother, your friends, yourself, in front of the mirror, watching as your skin twists around the words. but you love them, and there’s a gaping chasm in your chest. nothing seems to fill it. you wonder if they miss you too. maybe they haven’t even realised you’ve fallen apart. maybe they’re standing right behind you. maybe they’re a thousand miles away. maybe they’re both. they’re a parent, they’re a lover, they’re a best friend who you poured your soul out to when you were giggly and fourteen. maybe they’re you. still, time to move on, people to see, things to do, others to love (but never, it seems, as much as them). you hope they’re doing okay.

Five Years by David Bowie

you like crowds. not specifically human crowds – you like being crowded by trees, by birds, by air. you like the anonymity that comes with crowds. no one has the time to focus solely on you. you need these people. you invent their lives: the man with the broken arm (a back alley fight); the girl with the tote bag (her mother’s); the woman with the worry lines (a mother). you pour as much of yourself into them as you can so nothing can be left in you, so you don’t have to imagine this for yourself, so you can focus on any other life but your own. you’re desperate to be unseen, unheard, unnoticed. you also, equally desperately, want to be loved. i hope you are.

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Elton John

you are fixated on childhood. you may have completely removed yourself from it—the mud pies in the garden, rolling down the hills, uncaring—but you want it back. adulthood seems exciting, no doubt about that! autonomy, respect, the chance to go your own way. you’ve chased that road since you knew the meaning of the word, barrelling down the path to maturity just so you can, one day, get your own way. and now, as you see it panning out ahead of you, you look back—just this once—to the technicolour of childhood. you do it again. you do it again. you realise, one day, that you miss it most terribly. your childish wanderlust has gone, and now you’re in limbo—reaching forwards towards the next milestone and reaching back towards nostalgia and uncomplicated days.

Les pêcheurs de perles, “au fond du temple saint” by Georges Bizet

you don’t want to say goodbye. you miss them, sometimes so much that it kills you. one hug, one fucking hug, and you’d be okay. you’d do anything to see them, smell them, map the lines of their face with your eyes, map the pattern of freckles. they’ve just gone—vanished into thin air—and you keep thinking, you can’t stop thinking—i should have loved them more. you’ve never wanted anything so much in your life. to sit down with them, to love them, to thank them, to have them here. you’d do anything, absolutely anything, for them to be here, with you, right now. they’re growing faceless, in your mind. a figure without features, blackening your mind with absence. you want them. you miss them. i’m sorry.

Both Sides Now by Joni Mitchell

you’re numb. waves keep washing over you—hurdles, unexpected stumbles, horrible incidents, life-changing hurts—and the most they do is get your clothes wet. you are not taken into the riptide of anger and hurt that you see your friends pulled into occasionally. you figure, at first, that this way is better. you’re surviving. you’re holding on. you’re steadfast. and then you realise—oh. you’re feeling more than you’ve ever felt before. you’re hurting and the hurt is just bleeding out onto the floor around you, but you have a screen. you’ve seen friends (figuratively) die and spring back alive before you, hardly seeming to remember the fall. but you watched them drown. you watched the utter torture of it. so you resolve to spread it thin. feel it for longer. you’ll survive, at least.

Nobody Home by Pink Floyd

you’re desperately alone. you feel like you’re in the middle of a big, blank room. there are people in it—no doubt about that—but they walk through you. your friends tell you about their experiences together. you laugh for them. you love them, but you are appallingly worried that they don’t love you back, or don’t love you as much. as soon as you think you’re alone, everything becomes about solitude. you walk home alone. you lie awake in bed, alone. you bring up your hands to touch your face and pretend they’re someone else’s. you write poems or create art or make up a detailed scenario in your head, but that’s not real life. you want real life. you want someone to see you instead of watching you.

America by Simon & Garfunkel

you’re fake. everything you do seems to be for a false reason—to get affection, to get love, to get attention. you twist your face in the mirror and it seems like there’s a sheen of plastic covering it. you’re desperate to escape, to go somewhere and do something, but you’re afraid that your wanderlust is also fake and you’ll hate leaving. you’re worried that every emotion you’ve ever felt has been fake. what if everything you’ve ever done—every act of kindness, every compliment, every monotonous task—has been for a dishonest reason? what if everything you do is to project a carefully crafted image of yourself onto the world? what if you’ve never been genuine? you want to escape, you want to get out of yourself and this town and WHATEVER, but what if there’s nothing beyond your outer shell?

Why Does It Always Rain on Me? by Travis

you’re lost. everyone keeps talking to you—talking at you—and asking you questions that you couldn’t begin to know the answer to. “are you alright?” “how are you?” “what’s up?” you say okay. you’re too tied up to start to unravel the real answer. you look at yourself and you’re pretty convinced that you don’t like this stranger. they’re angry and whiny and they never seem to know what’s going on. get a grip, you want to say, but you’ve got your own problems to deal with. life doesn’t come down on you like a hurricane, or a tornado, but rather as rain. all it does is make you wet and cold. you have this turning cold knife of constant questioning in your chest, but you don’t know how to get rid of it. you don’t know what to ask. you don’t know how to ask. you’d sort of hoped there’d be more.

#one day i promise i'll create a quiz and put genuine effort in and make it less depressing and not so much about Me #but until that day..................#lsdjflfsa #anon #asks #i used a bit of the same imagery in a couple of them bc i am unimaginative

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everlarkficexchange · 5 years

Text

Maps

Author: @wingletblackbird

Prompt 25: I have a song prompt based on Maroon 5’s Maps. It fits Everlark so much. Peeta was there for Katniss in her dark times while she almost gave up on him when he was at his worst down on his knees. But eventually he followed the map that led to her and they got back together. [Anonymous]

A/N: This one shot references the lyrics to Down in the Valley which is an Appalachian folk song I headcanon as being “The Valley Song.” It’s a pretty good song for Everlark too which works quite nicely. There are several variations to it, as is typical of folk songs, I chose the version I felt suited the best.

Rating/Warnings: Just the confused thoughts and epiphanies of Peeta who is wrestling with his hijacking. Very minor coarse language. Should be suitable at least for anyone over thirteen.

Maps

I was there for you

In your darkest times

I was there for you

In your darkest nights

But I wonder, where were you?

When I was at my worst

Down on my knees

And you said you had my back

So I wonder, where were you?

When all the roads you took came back to me

It seemed like he was getting better. Somedays felt good, others bad; sometimes he wasn’t sure. Holistically, they said he was getting better, yet something niggled away at his subconscious. Something he couldn’t reach. In his dreams, he is in the dark reaching for something. He wakes up before he can find it.

Therapy is complex, difficult. There seem to be so many issues, so many fractures. Healing his mind feels like he has two hundred improperly healed bones they need to re-break and reset. The nature of the healing tends to fall in two camps though. First is dealing with the present. Bringing yourself into the present. It took him awhile to do that. It��s easier to live in the could-have-beens. Or just not anywhere children are bombed. But he stamps his feet, touches his face. This is where I am. This is where I live. It’s a harsh cruel world, but it’s still that way even if he lives in his time-loopy brain. Better in the present where he can do something, grasp something, learn to avoid triggers, to handle flashbacks. He’s had enough fake. He’s not there anymore. That’s no longer his reality. Mind over matter. He laughs at the notion when both have been desecrated. So much has been stripped away. He knows he will never get it back. He just needs to know how to move forward. He needs to know what makes him, him. Second camp is dealing with just that. Tracker Jacker venom, even without the torture and hijacking, is designed to target your brain to show your very worst fears. They say it’s driven men mad. Is he mad? Peeta needs to know what his worst fears are–better yet, face them–if he really wants to distinguish reality from shiny. He screams in his sleep and destroys rooms in his rages. He thinks it’s not an inaccurate thing to call him mad. He is in every sense.

It all comes back to Katniss. Everything has to come back to Katniss. Dr. Aurelius stresses that his life cannot revolve around one person, and he knows that’s true. It’s not healthy to exist for a person. You are a person independently, but the hijacking was about Katniss, breaking Katniss, ruining Katniss. He needs to know how the venom would affect that. What would he most fear about Katniss? What did they target?

It’s sadly obvious, especially when they talk about his childhood. The bitter mother who had deigned to have another child in the hopes it might be a girl. It wasn’t. The father who turned a blind eye to the beatings. His brothers who paired up against him, but weren’t particularly close to each other either. The tense politics. Did his mother love him? Did his brothers? His father? He was closest to his father, he recalls.

“Do you think he loved you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I guess he did, but I often thought it might just be guilt. Like when Mom would take a wooden spoon to me, even a rolling pin, I would get bruised, and Dad would do nothing, but afterwards he would slip me cookies. I wasn’t above taking advantage of it. I knew if Dad saw me bruised up, I’d be more likely to get away with things. If he really loved me though, he ought to have stood up, stopped it. He said he was ‘keeping the peace,’ but there’s no peace in a household like that. He was a coward. Giving me cookies doesn’t make up for it. It was just his way of trying to make himself feel better.”

“People aren’t one-dimensional. It’s quite possible your father felt guilty, especially if it is he who pushed for another child. Likewise, there is no denying he should have stepped in where he saw abuse, but would he have felt guilty if he didn’t care? You said you were closest to him. Did you feel he loved you in spite of the hurt? Can you separate your worth from other people’s actions?”

Ha! They talk it over again and again. He’s only ever partially sold on it. It makes Peeta feel pathetic. That after all he’s been through, all he’s seen and done, all he wants to know is if his Mommy loved him, but it’s important, so important, because it feels like Katniss abandoned him, and used him, and he’s so pathetic he took her scraps while she gave it all to Gale. Used him, abandoned him, tossed him aside like trash, and he the fool who allowed it. Stupid boy. Useless child. They could convince him she wasn’t a mutt, and he could convince himself he didn’t want to be a violent killer, but the hardest thing to shake is feeling worthless. That’s the real fear, and ten times harder to shake when the last thing he remembers after allowing her to bite down on his flesh, saving her life, is her screaming and screaming Gale’s name. And that this happened when he’d deluded himself, again, that maybe she cared, because she didn’t kill him, because she kissed him, because of what Gale said, because she gave him a nightlock pill that was meant for Gale. She’d insisted he take it, closed his hands over it. That feels important, like something just outside his reach. Reaching. Reaching. Reaching. He cannot touch it. Why is it important? It only made sense what she did. It was only fair. She and Gale were together. He was alone. No one to shoot him if need be. But it still feels important. He fixates on it, but nothing. There’s nothing, but the nagging ache. He was a fool. Fooled again by Katniss Everdeen.

He doesn’t hate her anymore. He knows that. He doesn’t believe she was trying to kill him, even in their games. Definitely not in the Quell. He’s seen the footage again and again and again. There was no faking that force field. Gale said that kiss was real. He’s inclined to believe it. There’s no reason Gale would lie about that. Peeta is concerned. Worried. Scared. He knows Katniss is in Twelve, but otherwise nothing. She does not answer calls. There is no response to his letters. He is abandoned. Unloved. Unwanted. Unwanted. Unwanted.

You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real?

Real. That’s what you and I do. Keep each other alive.

After that I always thought of you as an ally.

Was that all it was? An alliance to keep each other alive? But then why the self-sacrifice? And if she cared enough to die, why wasn’t she here? Why, with the exception of that one time she visited him, has she never come to see him? Why? He protected her; he held her on the train. Those memories the Capitol couldn’t quite touch, just alter his impressions of. He tries to remove the taint of fear, of abandonment, look at it objectively. If she wasn’t just a user, if she cared and trusted him in her bed, and he loved her enough to hold her in the night, why wasn’t she here in his darkest night? Why? Why? Why?

Peeta fills papers with etchings of the word why. Why? Why? In various angry angles. Why? It’s like the last piece of the puzzle. He cannot go home until he knows this, because he does not know to handle the enigma that is Katniss. He will have no peace until he knows, has an answer he can live with. He needs to process it, put it in its place. Was he played for a fool? Or was he–is he still–just a fool in love?

Why?

He watches the footage again about how he told her he heard her sing when they were five years old. His memory of it is… faint. He looks up the lyrics to the Valley Song hoping to jog the memory. Some lines stick out like a sore thumb.

If you don’t love me, love who you please.

Wrap your arms around me, give my heart ease.

Was that it? She loved someone else, and he knew it, but didn’t care? He was content just to be able to hold her? There seems to be a hint of truth in that. There’s no denying Katniss has suffered greatly, and he’d like to think he’s not so heartless as to not try and be there for her. (But shouldn’t she do the same? Couldn’t she just write back? Call? Check up on him? If they were at least friends?) (But she protected him. Didn’t want to be separated from him. Gave him the pill). Distantly he thinks he remembers crying when he listened to the song as a boy, but was that just baseless infatuation with a pretty voice? With the idea of even “Angels in Heaven know I love you”? Or was it merely the words about not being loved back, and being happy with scraps or cookies which resonated with a young, neglected boy? Something else entirely?

Peeta pulls up the footage of Katniss singing about the hanging tree, because if he fell in love with her because she sang, maybe he can find his way back to understanding if he hears her again.

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree

Wear a necklace of rope

Side by side with me.

Peeta listens. It’s undeniable her voice is beautiful, that the birds stop to listen. It sends chills down his spine, but Peeta is an artist and more interested in what lies in her voice, why she chose this song. There’s a desperation in her tone, a resignation, an entreaty, a strange kind of hope, almost a yearning. He cannot say he isn’t affected by it. Was she suicidal even then?

Wear a necklace of rope

Side by side with me

How many people had answered the call and died side by side? He’d heard they’d sung it as they attacked the hydroelectric dam. Was this a call to die together for a cause? To be free? He shakes his head. He’s still missing something. He knows he is. He shuts the recording off, and goes to sleep.

As he dreams he’s haunted by lines of The Valley Song that echo through his head in Katniss’s voice, but sweeter, younger, more innocent…loving.

Down in the valley,

Walking between,

Telling our story,

Here’s what it sings.

A two-braided Katniss Everdeen is holding out her hands to him. Her hands are stained red with berry juice that oozes out of a Nightlock capsule.

“Are you coming to the tree?” She asks and raises her hand to bite down on the pill. He sees his hands rush forward to stop her, but all he sees is older, eighteen year old Katniss Everdeen swinging from a tree. He wakes with a gasp. What the Hell was that?

As is his wont, Peeta sketches his nightmares out. Are you coming to the tree? But Katniss was carrying a pill that oozed juice like berries. He guessed it made sense. The nightlock pills were so named after the stunt he and Katniss had pulled in their first arena. Death and suicide is death and suicide. It all gets muddled in his subconscious. Honestly, as nightmares go, he’s had significantly worse. There is an emotion he felt at the end, when he was reaching for her, he doesn’t recognise. He has to remind himself not to fixate and let it go. It’ll come when it comes. Instead he watches the double suicide scene again.

He’s struck with a new thought as the berries cross her lips. One he’s not sure he’s ever considered before. What if it wasn’t a bluff? Would she really have eaten those berries? He’s not sure, and at this point he’s not expecting any kind of answer from Katniss. He’s alone in this. Maybe this needs to be about how he understands it anyway.

Are you coming to the tree?

Had he? Did he?

He’s not sure. He never is anymore.

She hadn’t been dead in the first arena though, nor condemned to it. Why would she bite? What motive could she have? What gain would there be? He was the one bleeding out, and there’d been nothing for him to lose in biting down on them, especially if he wanted to get her home. The same didn’t hold true for her. She was probably just bluffing. He decides he can’t fault her for that though, at least she tried to get him home too. He knew she had family that depended on her. He can’t fault her for her actions. Not really. At least she’d tried the bluff. Or was she truly suicidal then too? Did it go back that far? Doubtful. She’d fought too hard for that. Maybe she wasn’t even suicidal when she sung Hanging Tree. Maybe it was just a creepy song.

She haunts him every night. After his day is done, his sessions over with, he lies and mulls over the mystery of her. He sees a broken girl. He sees a scared girl. A selfless girl maybe, although with the hijacking that’s hard to accept, but he sees what she did for her sister, for Rue, even for him. He’d think she was just a kind, but human girl who’s been through too much were it not for how she approaches him: There for him, but not really. He cannot help but feel slighted by her. Where was she? The girl who would defend him, and guard him against death, but claims she could shoot him as easily as any other Capitol mutt. There’s some piece to the puzzle missing here, and if he could find it, he’s sure he’d understand this riddle.

Invariably he just plays The Hanging Tree on repeat like a sick lullaby to bring him to sleep. It’s the only footage he has of Katniss he knows for certain wasn’t meant for a propo. It’s his only slice of real. She chose the song of her own accord, for her own reasons. Peeta watches the footage of him warning her not to trust everyone just prior to her going to Twelve, hoping to find a link to the song. He doesn’t see it, and neither does it seem an entirely appropriate response to the destruction of Twelve, unless it’s resignation at the deaths that will come from the rebellion. It’s the song of someone condemned to death claiming freedom, calling another to die for it too. It’s not a concept he’s entirely unfamiliar with. When he’d coded on the table, and they’d brought him back, it had felt like being trapped all over again. He’d have rather been dead. He’d been grateful when Lavinia and Darius had been put out of their misery.

Thoughts of death over capture, death over torture, and listening to the Hanging Tree no less, it’s no wonder his dreams are grim and confusing.

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree?

The two lines repeat poignantly through a dark night. Peeta can’t see anything. He’s running through the forest trying to find…something, someone, reaching… Lightning flashes, and in the illumination he sees the silhouette of a massive tree.

He wakes up.

Peeta devotes most of the rest of the day to painting the lightning tree with strokes of white, yellow, brown, black, and blue. Perhaps it’s fanciful, but he wonders if Katniss was thinking about how they’d been supposed to meet up at midnight when she sang that song. That maybe she’d seen his tortured state in his interview with Caesar and had lamented that he’d been left behind.

…Just not enough to be here after he was brought back. Or even here now. In any capacity. Letters. Phone calls. Nothing. Even when he saved her damn life, proved he wasn’t trying to wrap his hands around her throat, not to kill her anyway, but to save her. That’s the heart of what is bothering Peeta, and the height of his hope. He’d thought he was slowly understanding Katniss Everdeen. He traces the scars where she bit him over and over and over again, because it is proof: Proof he is not only a Capitol mutt, a liability. He was remade to kill her, but when it counted, he’d saved her, stopped her taking that pill. Maybe he is not a monster. Then she screamed and screeched for Gale…

He doesn’t understand. What was Gale supposed to do?

He looks back at his drawings of the first strange dream. The little girl with the berry-pill. She asked him if he was coming to the tree. This girl had wanted to take that pill. She wanted him to take it with her. Katniss had tried to bite down on that pill. She’d also closed his hands over the pill Gale had given him, telling him it was for last resorts, like she’d placed the berries in his hands. Victory or death. Then she’d hugged him, and he’d felt scared, trapped, vulnerable, she was too close to vital organs. She could kill him. But it also felt safe and familiar. Muscle memory had him wrapping his arms around her, fighting through the hijacking. It had felt wisest to separate, but he could feel Katniss’s anxiety. Had they felt that way in the Quell? It’s like something slides into place in his mind, and he remembers her kissing him, saying she’ll see him at midnight. Remembers the anxiety. These aren’t just images on a screen to him anymore. He wonders if this is progress.

There are many avenues to memory. Muscle memory like what happened with the hug had happened only once before with Katniss. When she had kissed him when they’d been running from the mutts. It had felt so familiar, but of course it had, they’d done it often enough. Had she meant it though? Or was it just her using a kiss to get what she wanted? Him in his right mind. He can’t hold mere survival instinct against her, heck it might have even saved his own life if they’d had to shoot him instead, but it doesn’t mean that she meant it. That’s always the problem. Real. Not real. Real. Not real. It had made him feel good in the moment. She’d kissed him even when he was just the Capitol Mutt: The liability. For awhile, he’d thought she’d cared personally.

A lot of things should count for something that don’t seem to.

He really is mad.

After three days of sulking Peeta pulls up the footage of his first interview with Caesar after he was captured trying to find if there was anything more about the Lightning tree moment he’d forgotten, but nothing new comes. “Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!“ He’s all but shouting in Caesar’s face. That at least confirms what Katniss was saying about the two of them protecting each other. So he watches the next interview. Again, nothing. Finally, he watches the footage of him warning Thirteen of the attack. He watches it again, and again, and again. It’s futile though. They’d jacked him up so high on venom, his memory of it all is nothing but loopy, if it exists at all. He clearly hadn’t felt abandoned by Katniss in that cell though, not like he does here. (Even though he lost his goddamn leg getting her out of the their first arena, she still doesn’t even have the consideration to answer the questions he sends her.) Is it because he’s ignorant, a fool, or is it something else? Is it because the kiss on the beach was real? Like Gale had implied? Whatever it was, it was strong enough to fight the fear-conditioning enough to talk. He shuts off the projector with a huff. There are no answers here.

Are you, are you coming to the tree,

Where the dead man called out for his love to flee?

Well, she might have been his love once, but that had meant for nothing in the end. She’d visited him once, reluctantly, and hadn’t been very nice. Had had the audacity to snark about kissing Gale too. He’d been asking perfectly reasonable questions too. All things considered he’d been decent, and decidedly not a “dead man” at that, but a living one who needed answers.

Bitch.

He tries to examine every bitter, angry thought like that against the knowledge of his hijacking, but honestly she is a bitch. He gets she’s grieving, but so is he. He lost his whole damn family, and his leg, and his sanity, but if she asked him questions he’d still have the decency to answer. She responds to none of his letters. It’s like she does the bear minimum of human decency, keep each other alive, no kidding, and that’s it. Allies. Allies are together out of need, nothing else. I need you. Yeah, to keep her alive. When the game’s over, the alliance ends. Goodbye. He doesn’t hate her for it. He’s mad, but he doesn’t hate her. She’s a piece of work is all. He was just a fool, and when he gets out of here maybe he’ll go to Four or Seven or Eleven, but he is not going back to Twelve. When he feels guilty about it, remembering she risked her life for him in the Capitol, he reminds himself it’s not more than they all did for each other. Nothing special. He doesn’t owe her a damn thing. Why should he go see her? When she won’t contact him after all he’s done? Hell, she’d have shot him herself if she’d absolutely had too. That kiss being nothing more than a manipulation. It’d be just like shooting another one of the Capitol’s mutts. He tries to forget about her, but truth is all he does is stew in outrage.

He dreams about that kiss-on-the-run again and again and again, and hates himself for it. Not just because he dreams of her, but because sometimes he is unbearably rough with her when he responds which he can only attribute to the hijacking. Well, that or he is extremely angry with her in his subconscious too. It’s only when he has the nightmare he wraps his hands around her neck like he’d done right after his rescue, he reminds himself what a risk she really had taken in kissing him. He is breathing and gasping when he wakes up from it, cold with sweat, and he goes to change his shirt, splash water on his face. When he looks in the mirror with dead eyes staring back he wonders how she knew he wouldn’t have done it. He was close then, even now he feels it within him: The rage that lies sleeping, has always lain there even in childhood. He still fights to reign it in, and used to use wrestling to release the excess pressure of. How had she known he wouldn’t give in to it? How? He falls back into bed a lethargic lump. As he drifts in and out of the realms of consciousness and sleep, he remembers the desperation in her eyes.

“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?” He asks in the dream.

“I didn’t.” She replies.

Suicidal even then, or just plain insane. Maybe she is as crazy as they whisper about when they decided to send her back to Twelve in exile. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t answer his letters. Maybe she’s a loon. When he falls back to sleep he thinks he hears singing.

Write me a letter,

Send it by mail.

Send it in care of,

The Birmingham Jail.

Maybe he will go back, just once, to check up on her.

He spends the next few days of his free time trying to sketch her lying in bed with him. He remembers that, and there must have been trust on both sides for it to have happened, but he only remembers flashes. Isn’t sure of a lot of it. Was this when he’d told her “Always?” He’s not sure. He’s been given to understand they helped keep each other’s nightmares at bay. She’d asked him to stay. Was this when he’d said it? He must have said it before, because after she’d kissed him that time, she’d begged him, “Stay with me.” The reply had come without forethought. Only afterward did he taste the familiarity on his tongue. He’d said it often. Always. Always. Always. Always. Stay with me. Stay with me. Not us. Me. Her. Maybe he’s reading too much into it. If she’d wanted him, she could have talked to him properly when he’d asked for her in Thirteen. She was trying to get him back to reality, out of his flashbacks, when she kissed him. That’s all. It was about survival.

And he could’ve believed that if he hadn’t just come to the conclusion that maybe she was as much a headcase as he was now, because survival doesn’t bite through people’s hands trying to get to suicide pills. Nightlock. She hadn’t cared to live. So…

He has a headache.

He wants to ask Dr. Aurelius if it’s true Katniss is that mentally unstable, but is scared to reveal so much of himself, and he cannot help but feel that if he is truly getting better, he ought to be able to work this much out for himself. Because if the hijacking destroyed his understanding of Katniss, surely the treatment would mean it would come back? So he runs his conclusions through his head.

Katniss is not perfect, but is not evil, has even been known to be quite selfless

Refused to shoot him, but risked her own life for him in the Capitol

Has been suicidal for awhile

She seems to care about him on some kind of level, because she told him to take the pill

And she hugged him when she didn’t have to.

He’s not sure how far the caring lies, mainly because she has never been there for him, certainly not like he had been for her in the past.

He’s not sure why she’s not answering his letters now, but thinks maybe she’s trapped in her own head too.

It’s all random bits of information. He is missing the critical piece that ties it all together, painting a cohesive picture that makes sense. So he draws Prim’s death. Katniss going down in flames. Was this what broke her so badly she’d been exiled? Was this why there are no phone calls and no letters? He misses Prim too, a lot. He can only imagine how Katniss must feel after everything that has happened, and all she did to keep her sister safe. He chokes on sobs, and tears pierce his eyes as he considers how deeply she must be grieved. In this moment, he can forgive her her absence. He’ll never claw the dead children out from behind his eyes. He feels a strange, familiar urge to wrap his arms around her.

Stay with me.

Always.

Prim told him once Katniss struggles to see people in pain, especially people she cares about, and she isn’t good with blood. She always runs away when her sister and her mother were taking care of patients. She’d told him as a comfort when he questioned, if the girl cared so fucking much, why she wasn’t there in Thirteen coming to see him. He wonders if it’s true that it was because she cared and it hurt. He has seen how much Rue’s death devastated her. She hadn’t known Rue nearly as long as her own sister, or as long as she’d known Peeta. It makes her a bit self-centered, maybe, because he’d really needed to talk to her, but maybe it’s also not horrifically bitchy.

He tries to recall her body language. The way she’d held herself when she’d come to see him, like she was trying to hold in all her internal organs, like she was wounded. She’d looked unhealthy, unkempt. Everyone says that’s why Snow had you tortured. To break me. He’d never considered until just now that maybe it had worked, because she’d been suicidal, if her song choice was any indication, if her kissing him was any indication, long before Prim’s death. She’d also pointed out people were watching, he notices as he pulls up and re-watches the footage. Maybe it made her feel uncomfortable? He hadn’t thought of that before. People were always watching; he’d been past caring; he’d been skeptical and hateful and angry. It was all he could do to stay in control. He listened for explicit answers. Nothing else. He didn’t have the energy to spare for it. Now he’s curious. She had started talking to him more when the cameras were put away. In the Capitol, she’d played Real or Not Real with him. Maybe she’d felt guilty. Maybe she’d felt less hunted.

He is standing on a thick bough, high in a tree. Jabberjays sing all around him.

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree

Where they strung up a man

They say who murdered three

There is a noose wrapped around his throat. He smells blood and roses. He is shoved forward, and wakes before the quick stop.

That’s why Snow tortured you. To break me.

Shit. It’s his first thought on waking, because he realizes something. Katniss didn’t sing that song as her own call to arms. It’s his. She was answering his call. She’d wanted him to be dead, and she with him, to go to a place where it didn’t hurt. Or at least, that’s how he thinks she must have seen it… Like those nightlock berries! He’d been strung up. He’d been dying, and she held out the berries. Together or not at all, she’d told the Capitol. She’d told him. He pulls up the sketch again of the little girl holding a nightlock pill that oozes juice. Are you coming to the tree? She’d been echoing his words, his story. She really did care. He believes it now, because that’s why she kissed him. Together or not at all. I should never have let them separate us! Peeta had said. He’d understood. Maybe he still did. Loving someone enough to lay your life on the line.

Where a dead man called out,

For his love to flee.

And hadn’t he been dead? When he called for her to flee the coming bombs, isn’t that when they’d killed him? Hijacked him beyond recognition? I wouldn’t be shooting Peeta. He’s gone.That’s what she must have believed. She’d tried afterwards, played the game with him, but then her sister died. Her desperate, “Stay with me,” seems ten times more so now, because if Peeta’s worst fear is being used and unwanted, then Katniss’s must be losing people. Her father. Her mother. Her sister. Him? How can he expect her to handle her worst fears any better than he has?

So when she’d made to bite that capsule, she’d be dying to be free, because it’s not about what you can die for, but what you refuse to live with. He’d known going into the Games, that the price of his soul, his identity, his integrity, wasn’t worth his life. Better to live a short life you can look yourself in the mirror with, than a long, shameful one, where you turn a blind eye to the evils of this world. Better die together, live free, then live alongside cruelty. Alone. Fight the pain and win on your terms, or die and escape it. And he sees this might have always been the plan. She told him to take the capsule, but hadn’t killed Gale when he’d been captured. She hadn’t expected to survive, hadn’t expected Peeta to survive, didn’t really think he was even alive, but she hadn’t killed Gale when he got captured, so when Peeta stopped her from hanging, she hadn’t been calling for Gale to flee… but to help her do so.

Peeta looks at the painting of the tree with the illumination of the powerful lightening; he adds two nooses hanging from its boughs; he adds two severed limbs, arms, holding pills that bleed juice. He paints the truth of two people who brave death together to find freedom. This is their gamble, but not their bluff. He finds resolve, peace.

He’s going home when released. He’s going straight back to Twelve, because the war is over. And they weren’t the ones who had to hang.

Bird in a cage, love

Bird in a cage,

Dying for freedom

Ever a slave.

Not anymore, because he’s going home.

It’s time to live again.

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #wingletblackbird #prompt 25

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beckonkill · 5 years

Text

RETURN HOME.

trigger warnings: None specifically, but it’s a heavy piece focusing on grief and mourning.

Her phone rang.

Vanessa sighed, tossing herself over in the bed, curling the blanket around her chest as if it could somehow protect her from the reality of the world and distract her from the fact the other half of the bed was empty. She groped for the device, yanking it free of the charger before holding it up to her face, blinking away tears so she could focus on the screen.

AINSLEY BANDONI.

Her boss. Oh God. She sat up, distantly noticing that her phone declared the time to be 2:05 AM. It didn’t matter, really, she was spending the night curled to herself and wishing that this was one long nightmare.

She accepted the call, swallowing a lump in her throat. Please be about work-- It was a common prayer that she wouldn’t have dreamt of saying a few months ago.

“We’ve got another one incoming.” There was a pause there from her boss, a certain shakiness as a sharp inhale was heard over the phone. A swallow. Then he continued. “Bell and I are flying down. Can you man the drones?”

Oh, God, why? Vanessa lost all of the strength she had, slumping forward until her elbow hit the bed, a hand splayed across her face. She bit her lip to suffocate the sob, but the sniff was undeniable. “Of course. Of course,” she said, repeating it and nodding to herself in an attempt to convince herself that everything would be alright. She pressed the phone against her face to still the trembling in her hand.

There was a pause. Neither she nor her boss said anything. Only heavy breathing was heard, and she wasn’t sure if it was hers or his.

“North Carolina. Charlotte.” There was a certain softness in her boss’s tone. She would have never imagined it possible before, but events like this changed everyone. “I’m counting on you, alright? We’ll be back soon.”

The line went dead before Vanessa could thank him for being reassuring in his own eccentric way. She shoved her own phone into her pocket, before sliding the blanket off and stepping down onto the floor. She was already mostly dressed to go. She got used to the calls after the fifth or sixth time. She walked through the halls, the lights dutifully flickering on as she passed then off as she left. The house wasn’t cold by any means, and yet she rubbed her hands up her arms, trying to rid herself of the chill she felt. She stopped, looking over her shoulder, before deciding to let the kids sleep. Cody—oh, her lovely baby boy—may not be old enough to take up the mantle of Arcanus, but he was old enough to watch over his sister. If all went well, Vanessa would be back in an hour or two, anyways. She shook her head, gaze falling to the ground. The only noises were her steps and her unsteady breathing.

She never imagined an apocalypse would be so quiet.

She slipped out the door, letting out a small wince as it thudded shut, and then a sigh of relief as the security system clicked back on as it always did. She could use some familiarity right now.

There was a flash out of the corner of her eyes—for a moment, she could convince herself it was Quentin, returning home; his body was never found, he could still be alive, there was no proof he was dead—but a snap of her head confirmed that it was just the La’Boon, traversing the sky. It was funny to think that just a few years ago, humanity was caught in a war with them over some stolen artifact. Yet, here they were, aiding in the evacuation efforts to save millions of innocent lives. Her phone buzzed, repeatedly, in her pocket. There was the national alert, right on time.

Driving to work felt surreal. The roads were never particularly busy at two in the morning, but there was something about impending doom, even several hundred miles away, that made people hide away. Why was everything so quiet? A hand reached out to her radio, then fell. It felt wrong to listen to music, to pretend like nothing was happening, when thousands of lives were in danger.

Work wasn’t exempt from that eerie silence that followed her. Her footsteps seemed to echo through the dim room and she caught her reflection in monitors turned off for the night. She tried not to stare at the trail of tears glistening on her face. She hung her head the rest of the walk to her office. It was huge, and it only served to amplify how empty it was. After her boss had granted her control of all two thousand of the company’s drones, she had little choice but to move her control system to a computer that could handle it.

As she settled down, the massive screen flickered to life, the drones represented by neat little squares that gave a quick indication of their status. She sighed, wiping her eyes, before leaning forward and beginning to search for the coordinates of Charlotte.

Inevitably—try as she may to fight it, her eyes drifted to the upper right portion of the screen. S.P.O.T. Link remained active—the childish border of pawprints leading up to the cartoon dog on the upper left of the square. A cheeky, two frame animation played on constant loop: the dog was crying. She couldn’t help but question why she made it so damn sad. The center remained the same as it had the last several months:

S.P.O.T. LINK CONNECTION LOST

RETRY IN 34…

Every second the number counted down, and every minute the program would attempt to reestablish connection to S.P.O.T. Drone, and every minute the connection would fail. Her eyes remained fixated on the number—the crying dog. Spot had not sent an SOS. She could only hope that meant he met a swift and merciful end. Yes, she knew Spot was not alive; not even an artificial intelligence. He could not feel pain, or sadness, or fear. But damn it he was just as much a part of the family as any of them were and losing him hurt--!

She tore her eyes from the screen and forced her hands to unclench.

She had more important things to do than dwell on the past.

One deep breath out. One deep breath in.

A few quick commands and the drones deployed. She watched the dots on the screen as they swarmed, converging towards the city despite knowing that, chances are, they could do nothing but hold the creature off. In the course of several attacks, they had thrown everything they had at the flame born creature. Every hero from every corner of the world had taken their turn swinging, and nothing had seemed to phase it.

Nothing except…

Her eyes drifted to the family portrait perched above the keyboard. Quentin, smiling for once, holding their daughter. She and Cody huddled against him. Spot hovering above. After analyzing every fight they’ve had with the massive creature, they couldn’t deny that the most effective thing against it seemed to be the unique energy that Quentin--that Arcanus--had harnessed.

In their desperation, she had even called his father--begging him to do something. Anything that might save their world.

He had hung up without a word.

And now, they were caught in a losing battle, hopelessly stalling for time and boxed into praying for a miracle to save them.

He bent forward, holding her head in her hands.

“The city is about 25% evacuated,” her boss’s voice; over one of the many intercom systems. “It’s amazing how much better people listen after the fourth time.”

She picked her head up, blinking. She could only guess she had drifted off to sleep by the pain in her neck and how much lower on the map the drones were.

“How much longer?” Vanessa asked. Some part of her soul appreciated the joke, but for as much as Quentin had hated their boss, they sometimes acted so much alike.

“Ten. Maybe twenty minutes, if we’re lucky.” His voice faltered. He sighed.

“Did...anyone else show up?” She itched the back of her neck, eyes skimming the screens for anything of note.

“No. Just me and Bell. Everyone else is convinced we should just...wait the attacks out.”

“But we don’t…”

“I know.” His voice was quiet.

It didn’t stop her from wincing, though--if he believed they should wait the attacks out, he wouldn’t be out there risking his life. Her lips trembled as she sucked in a breath.

It was too silent.

Only the occasional breathing interrupted it, and she soon found herself fidgeting. She retrieved a coffee. Filled it three times. Nearly spilled it on herself when the sound of a colossal explosion was deafening even through the drone’s microphones. She shrieked, throwing her arms over herself even when she logically knew she was safe...for now. It seemed to be louder every time. Hands trembling, she turned down the microphone sensitivity.

“Good news!” Ainsley said, the tone of his voice implying that what he was about to say was anything but good. “It’s massive enough that it doesn’t even notice us or the drones. The bad news? It’s massive.”

Vanessa laughed. There were tears running down her face, but she laughed. She didn’t know quite what her boss was trying to achieve, but in some ways, it soothed her. Her jaw trembled as she watched the screen, two small superheroes standing against a threat they all knew they couldn’t defeat. In the distance, the news helicopters were already filming the scene.

It brought a smile to her face, in a way. In the midst of an inferno, the two heroes were beacons of hope. A sign to humanity that someone was still fighting for them. And Vanessa knew that if Quentin was still here, Arcanus would be fighting right alongside them. People commonly asked her why she’d marry such a man. How she put up with him. And it was that steadfast determination, his stubborn tenacity that she adored. She’d be the first to admit that he wasn’t always going to do the right thing, per se, but once he set his mind on something…

Tre-de-li-loop.

The ditty broke Vanessa’s stupor. She had heard that noise before. What was it? It wasn’t her cell phone. Or anything in the office, that she knew of. Eyebrows knitted together as the tone repeated.

Tre-de-li-loop.

No, it was…

Impossible.

S.P.O.T. Link only made that noise when it was reestablishing connection. Despite her better judgment, her eyes drifted to the console as if on autopilot. The dog wagged its tail, cheerfully barking in an animation of similar quality.

Connecting…

Vanessa stared as each individual camera and sensor flicked back to life, bringing with it eighteen other drones that connected to the system. The cameras showed him.

Quentin was home.

Vanessa stared until she couldn’t see through the tears. One shaking hand reached out to activate the microphone. “Quentin?”

“Hi, honey. I have a problem to take care of, and then I’ll be home shortly.”

To be continued.

#】narrative【tʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ ʏᴇᴛ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀsʜ #】vanessa【sʜᴇ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʟɪғᴇ #】VERSE 13【ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀᴇ ʜᴀᴜɴᴛs ᴍᴇ sᴛɪʟʟ【ɪɴғᴏ

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thesinglesjukebox · 5 years

Video

youtube

FKA TWIGS - CELLOPHANE

[8.38]

Oh do the feelings keep coming...

Ashley Bardhan: Oh my God. [10]

Abdullah Siddiqui: After the intricate chaos of M3LL155X, this feels like a departure. The turbid production has been stripped away to give way to a sense of self-assurance and emotional honesty. Compositionally, she's not trying to be too clever, but in typical Twigs fashion every element is a few degrees off-kilter: the subtly manipulated piano, the lightly distorted basses, the weird beatbox loop. I get honest-to-god chills when she breaks out of her trademark whispery falsetto into a fuller, rougher tone; the mixing on her voice is organic and dry, and not saturated with effects and harmonies. It's an evolution but it still delivers all of the things that made me an FKA Twigs obsessive in the first place. I'm intrigued to see what this new era brings. [9]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: There's almost nothing here other than Twigs's voice, expanding and contracting with her grief and desperation until you, the listener, are subsumed within its organic logics. There's paranoia and longing and pleading all wrapped up in her voice, so deeply tied that even if I couldn't comprehend the words she was singing I would still have a shocking awareness of what she feels. "Cellophane" is a song of resignation, but it's beautiful in its defeat, like a clear spring day after the end of the world. [10]

Joshua Copperman: I have spent several weeks, on and off, attempting to find who mixed this song, with no luck. I'm just going to assume it's FKA Twigs as well, because she is so in command of the song that even if she didn't co-produce or write it (she did), it's all hers. One of my favorite tropes is when lyrics pull the song with them - it's the way Janelle Monae uses her compression, or Mitski compares herself to a geyser as horns and strings go flying. FKA Twigs doesn't do that, but her vocals control the song anyway when she goes "I tryyyyyy..." and booming, slightly dissonant synths rise behind her. Then the decrescendo at "when you're gone, I have no one to tell," which is a fantastic line. I love the bathos in "they're watching us, they're hating" at the end, as the song awkwardly peters away. If "Cellophane" initially seems like the pivot to Serious Music that got Kesha flack on "Praying," there is more than enough weirdness to ensure this is an FKA Twigs song. But the vocal sound, heavily compressed and breathy yet light on Melodyne artifacts, brings me back. If she didn't have a hand in mixing it, my fixation on the technical aspects is not a knock on her: a vocal sound is nothing without its vocalist. [10]

Alex Clifton: "Cellophane" is terrifying with its emotional honesty. As soon as FKA Twigs's voice leaps up to a higher register -- why don't I do it for you? -- something inside me breaks. It's like someone whispering her darkest secrets to you in the middle of the night, but you just don't have the right words to respond. I kept waiting for "Cellophane" to explode into a more grandiose arrangement, and I'm really glad it doesn't, mostly because Twigs's vocals provide all the fireworks we need. It makes it all the more heartbreaking. [8]

Alfred Soto: The need expressed is sincere but the rather barren arrangement offers no complement. Admiration, not affection. [4]

Will Adams: There's a particular horror in realizing that a failed relationship is as much a public spectacle as it is intensely personal. At the start, FKA Twigs directly confronts her lover -- "why don't I do it for you?" -- but by the end, she can't help notice everyone who's watching, waiting for everything to crumble. The crux of the song is the midpoint, "all wrapped in cellophane," as the song crackles and warps, constricting her in the material as that realization snaps into place. It's devastating but cathartic, the same way it sometimes feels best to just bury your face in your hands and cry. [7]

Vikram Joseph: Breathtakingly intimate, perpetually on the verge of disintegrating into some kind of cosmic dust, "Cellophane" feels too fragile for this world, held together in a delicate equilibrium between beauty and harshness, between love and decay. FKA Twigs's vocal is astonishing; by turns heartbreaking in its restraint and showstoppingly expressive, it reminds me of iconic performances by Karen O on "Maps," or Anohni on "Hope There's Someone." There is so much desperation here; the intensity of her feelings for her lover, set against the centrifugal force of her circling self-doubt, anthropomorphised as a group of silent, malevolent onlookers ("waiting, and hoping I'm not enough"). How could anything this beautiful not be doomed? [9]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#FKA Twigs #pop #music #music review #writing

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ninaahelvar · 7 years

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Clawen Week - Day 3: Fixation

Summary: Claire couldn’t help but keep thinking about them. One was a decent fixation, the other…not so much.

AO3

A/N: Feels good to write clawen again

Claire bit her lip. Her foot tapped impatiently. Her thumb clicking the end of the pen. Nope. She can’t think about it. She wasn’t going to allow herself. But she was….she was diving in head fucking first. She can’t think about it. But she is. When she had a one night stand with Owen, it was supposed to be just that - one goddamn night. But no, her brain had not be able to stop focusing on two simple things. One was a decent fixation, the other…not so much.

It was the average stuff: ‘I need just a good fuck and I can bet you can help’, going back to Owen’s place and practically stripping down to their socks. And that’s when two hyper-focuses started to occur. The first was on the large assortment of freckles parading from the top of his left pec to the bottom of his right hip. It seemed like nothing at all, just a few dots scattered about, but Claire couldn’t help but line them up in the perfect order for a constellation. She mapped it all out, the dots connecting to one another with her fingers.

When her fingers gingerly traces their way down his torso, he chuckled, not for a moment stopping her. When she finally reached the last one, she looked up to Owen - his eyes hungry and wanting. His lips were on hers in a heartbeat silencing anything else they could have said; instead, it became their bodies thriving in the hold of the other. He took her up into his arms, taking her onto his bed.

And that’s when the second and most frustrating, time consuming fixation began. His fucking cock. She had felt it press against her belly first, begging at Owen’s boxers for its release. Claire reached inside the band of his boxers, feeling the length of him. He hissed as Claire’s thumb ran over his tip, feeling the liquid of his pre-cum spill out. Claire was going to ask if he was alright when Owen kissed her sharply, making it impossible to say a word and give into lust.

When Owen sheathed his cock with the condom, they were both stripped out of their underwear, Owen on top of her with slow and wandering kisses lacing her lips and neck. Before she could even have a second thought, Owen was inside of her. Claire moaned, her hand wrapping around his back and clutching into him tightly. Everytime he would move and fit deeper inside of her, Claire was left moaning, pulling him in tighter with her legs.

When it was all said and done, Owen had fallen asleep beside her, but Claire couldn’t help but feel the wonderful and mind-blowing pressure of his cock inside of her. Caire bit her lip, remembering how his chest heaved in his pleasure, the littered freckles kept her sane for a moment longer before his cock was her fixation again. Claire didn’t sleep when Owen had started, her mind racing with a mountain of different things. When she thought she was fine, she got up, changing quickly into her clothes - the ever present absence of Owen inside of her made her hate the fact that she was standing. She just had to leave...otherwise she wouldn’t want to leave. She got all her things and left. When she went to bed that night….she held her legs together, curling herself up and urging herself not to touch herself at the thought of him.

It had been a few weeks and Claire couldn’t help but still think of him. How big he was, how thick he was, how he fit inside of her and had her begging for him whenever he would move out and cry out his name when he fit back inside of her. Groaning, Claire put her head on her desk. She knew why her brain was doing this - today of all days. It was because she had a stupid meeting with Owen, whom she had not even seen since that night. Claire had done a fantastic job of avoiding Owen at all costs; when she could, she’d send someone else in her stead to see him, send him memos and notes, anything to not see him and think of it.

But this is the moment she couldn’t get out of, a meeting she couldn’t pass on to someone else. Claire had been trying to sort out her brain, but it was all about that stupid appendage that had her moaning. She didn’t hear the door open or someone walk in because she was startled by someone clearing their throat.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked. Claire shot up and saw Owen standing by the door.

“No!” she said quickly and far too defensively. “Not at all. Please come sit,” she cleared her throat and offered him a chair. Her eyes lingered on his crotch before she shot them down to her desk. She rambled about what they needed to discuss, the issues that he had with the cages and the paddocks for the raptors. It was going well and fine, Owen pointing out things, making his complaints is the order that Claire liked - she even smiled when she saw the formal way he did so. Her mind, however, was fixed on the seam of his pants and the strain it took to contain something more.

“Is something wrong?” Owen interrupted himself. Claire’s attention came back to his contorted face.

“Hm?”

“You’re biting your nail. You never bite your nails,” he revealed and Claire realised how desperately her desires had her - chewing on her thumb nail just to ease or give way to her desires, she wasn’t quite sure.

“Ah, no. Just something on my mind.” she waved it off. God, she needed to get over this, she needed to stop focusing on how that row of freckles lead straight to the miracle that he held within his trousers. Claire stood, going to her door. Owen stood up, following her with cautious steps.

“Hey, I just wanted to say, things don't have to be so awkward between us after that night. I know you've been feeling embarrassed or something. Like, really, there's no need. I mean -”

“Please stop talking,” she warned him. Without questioning herself, she turned the lock and started back towards Owen.

“I don't understand why you're getting like -” he started before Claire silenced him with her lips crashing straight against his. When she pulled away, Owen looked down at her with stunned eyes. “okay, I'm confused now,” he remarked.

“Shut up,” Claire murmured before kissing him once more. Owen responded, stripping her out of her blazer and taking off his jacket. But she noticed the hesitant way his hands didn’t quite grip her or move her. He finally tugged away, leaving Claire feeling torn between silencing him once more and to stop herself from this endeavour. She bit at her lip - containing the desires she held.

“Okay, wait, you’ve gotta tell me what’s going on,” he inquired, hands lightly skimming her arms. She sighed, leaning her head against his chest before pushing back, and moving hair from her face. Now she was feeling embarrassed. She literally just threw herself at him without a second word. Claire should have known it was just a one night stand for him - that's all it was supposed to be!

“I have been avoiding you but not because I’m embarrassed of that night. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your dick for weeks and it’s becoming a problem,” she confessed in a laugh.

“Sorry about that?” he apologised, not knowing what else to say.

“No, no,” she resigned. “I’m sorry that was ridiculous and stupid and I just needed to get laid or something,” she laughed, trying to make light of it. Sighing, she stepped back, but was caught up Owen’s hand. He pulled her into his chest, kissing her with eager lips.

“If you stay quiet enough, you’ll be getting laid right here, right now,” he said in a hushed voice, thick and rasping. Claire whimpered as his whispered breathe chilled at her neck. She felt her knees want to give way, but Owen pulled her in at her waist, pushing her up and onto her own desk. Owen pushed Claire’s skirt up around her waist, and Claire unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it up and over his shoulders, throwing it aside.

Owen let his lips suck at her neck, his hands slipping up her thighs, sliding over her skin over and over again before his fingers laced over the band of her underwear. Tossing them aside, Claire suddenly felt him go down, his stubble scraping across her inner thigh. Claire knew that Zara was going to be out for a few hours, her wedding coming up and last minute planning kept her away from work, which never bothered Claire. It didn’t bother her right at this moment.

Owen’s face between her legs licked and sucked on her lower lips, his tongue teasing at her clit, and his hands keeping her legs open. She whispered rapidly, unable to keep her voice low and the only thing she could was talk so fast. Owen smiled against the inside of her legs, his skill leaving her heaving a little more. Her hips bucked against his face, trying to aid in her coming orgasm. Owen stilled her, his hand moving from her thighs to her breast, kneading at her and stroking past her nipples.

When she finally comes, her legs tightened around his head, hand tangled in his hair. She threw her head back, bucking sharply as he was still riding her out of this orgasm. She breathes hard as she rests back on her elbows, her desk more of a mess than she realised. But she didn’t even care - that orgasm was amazing.

“Oh, god,” she breathed. Owen chuckled, running his hand over his face, cleaning himself.

“Sorry, we never got to that last time and I really wanted to see what you tasted like,” he winked and Claire shook her head, rolling her eyes at him.

“Why do you have to be good with all of this?” she asked.

“Practise?” he replied, that same cocky grin as always. He pulled her forwards on the desk, her hips positioned just a little more forward, his own hips taken just to hers once more.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, unbuttoning her shirt and taking it off, she watched as Owen unbuckled his pants. “Condom?” she asked. Owen stopped, his hands pressed either side of her legs.

“Ah, fuck,” he cursed. Claire put her hands either side of his face, tilting his chin up to her.

“Pill. Clean though?” she asked and Owen smiled, nodding eagerly.

“Why do you always run your hands down my chest?” he laughed, Claire’s fingers absently tracing their way down his torso again. She pointed it out to him, the lining freckles that created a galaxy across his chest. He smiles, kissing her swiftly, but with a tenderness he had never shown before. When you’re fucking someone, when you’re caught in the heat of it all, kisses tend not to be tender, lingering and wanting like this. Claire whimpers, falling into the charm of his lips and feeling him slide inside her.

Her head falls back and Owen chuckled, hearing her moan a little too loudly. Owen kissed his way up her neck, hand running up her chest and underneath her bra to play with her nipple. Owen moved almost completely out of her, making her whimper and he knew it would happen. When he thrust back inside of her, Claire clutched into his back. Biting into his shoulder, her hands roamed down and gripped around his ass. Owen gave a hearty, guttural moan that had Claire bucking against him.

“So, what you were saying was...you’ve wanted to fuck me for over a month,” he grunted, pushing himself into her harder. Claire moaned over his shoulder, clutching onto him tighter, barely even on the table as their rhythms matched up.

“Why do you have to keep talking? You’re making it harder to deny,” she remarked, her breath turning into a soft laugh.

“Then don’t deny it,” Owen said, kissing at her shoulder.

“Shut up,” Claire moaned, her leg shaking in his hand. She knew she was going to come sooner than she even expected.

“Come on, admit it,” he said, pulling her into his hips again and

“Don’t tease me,” she cried a little. Owen kissed at her neck, small pecks and tender lips to coax her into a lovely, blissful moment.

“No, I plan on fucking you.” And he was doing a marvelous job of it. Owen put her back onto the table, laying her all the way down until his hand came to the other side. Above her head, Claire hung one hand onto the desk as the other scraped up Owen’s back, his own hand next to hers was urging his body forward, pushing him into her like he had done so long ago.

All she could feel was the way his toned body felt against hers, the way his stomach felt against her, his chest hair rubbing against her exposed nipple - and of course his cock. His length was pressing deep inside of her, whenever he would move out, she could feel the absence and moan when he was gone. Within a few more minutes, Claire bit into Owen’s shoulder to stifle her moan. She crashed back onto the desk.

Owen’s pace slowed down, letting her ride out her orgasm within her own pace. As Claire’s breath became less laboured, she felt Owen lift her up from the middle of her back. Taking them back into the office chair Owen once sat in, he took a seat with Claire sitting perfectly on his lap.

“I wanna watch you,” he said. It was a simple request and Claire was suddenly taken back the intimacy of it all. He had never asked, never seemed to want anything more than sex - but this was intimacy, this could be something more...and she wanted it.

Claire pushed his shoulders back into the chair, using his shoulders to help her with her motions, gliding up and down, rubbing against him with everything she needed. When Owen threw his head back, it made Claire whimper, tilting his head forward. “You wanted to watch,” she said slowly. “So watch.” Her voice was barely a whisper as she unclasped her bra, threw it aside and took his hands into her own. Placing the calloused fingers over the sensitive skin, Claire rose up and down once more, making sure Owen was watching her every move.

Claire felt her body trembling, Owen’s hands bound tightly into her hips, helping her with every thrust they could manage. Claire’s forehead rested against Owen’s, their eyes locked in an intoxicating intimacy. When Claire felt the pressure building at the bottom of her stomach, she started her pace faster, which caused Owen to do the same, his eyes became darker as they stared at her. It wasn’t climbing - it was sudden and earth shattering. Claire fell against Owen, holding him firmly as his pace rolled in tight waves and he stilled. She felt the warmth of him wash over her and they were both collapsed against each other.

Owen’s mouth clasped around her nipple, her moans an effort to breathe. Claire laced kisses over the side of his head, stealing ones on his lips and eagerly feeling the small rolls of his hips. Claire sighed, moving back to look at Owen, his breathing just a little more shaken then she expected. Claire ran her hand up the side of his neck, leaning down to kiss him. Once more, they were tender, but it was Claire this time, wanting to just kiss him over and over again.

It took them a few moments to finally get changed again. Owen was lucky, he only had a shirt and jacket missing - Claire was a complete mess. She wasn’t complaining about how she got there, just the fact that it was all over the place; the only thing she seemed to be wearing was her skirt and heels.

When Claire was all back in order, she turned to Owen, and he helped her get back to a presentable manner. When she put her hair up, Owen spun her around, kissing her swiftly and she fell straight back into his charms.

“God I missed this,” she murmured against his lips. He kissed her again.

“We should do this again sometime,” he smiled, tucking his hands back into his pockets.

“Maybe not in my office,” she shrugged.

“I don’t know. We could defile a whole bunch of places in here,” he said with that cocky smile. Claire scoffed.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. Too many meetings in here for me to feel comfortable,” she said, raising her brow. Owen nodded.

“Alright, fine. But when you’re thinking about my dick next, let me know and I’ll come running,” he bit at his lip, before going back to her door and unlocking it.

“Wait a few hours. I’m sure it won’t be very long,” she replied quickly before he left. Owen chuckled, shaking his head and heading out of the door. God, she was so fixed on that stupid cock that it never occurred to her until later that day that she never finished her meeting with Owen. She laughed at it but knew he’d have to come back for it the next day. She couldn’t argue with that logic.

#clawen #clawen week #clawenweek2017 #claire dearing #owen grady #my fics #jurassic world #claire x owen #owen x claire

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