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soleilnomoon · 1 year

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Hiiii! :D <3 I owe you another event request that I announced.. sitting at work, yet another late evening, and dreaming of some Ace goodness. So may I ask for an ice cream sundae, donut hole, oatmeal raisin cookie, affogato and toffee? With female reader? :D If possible with the one serving the ice cream sundae being the reader? I need lotssss of caramel and whipped cream to get me through the week! Thank you so much!!!! <3

i can’t believe it took me so long, i’m so so sorry, but!!! it’s finally here *sobs continuously* so sorry bb that i took forever, but i only like to give you guys quality writing (esp with ace, i love him) so forgive me pls thank u & ily 😭💛🥺️

3.3k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni; only a tiny bit of angst (yay), fluff!!!! and smut!!! ace needs to do better, and reader isn't as slick as she thinks she is (but lbr, when is reader ever slick). friends 2 lovers (surprise, surprise i know who am i), feat. v cute things like oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), a lil roughplay but nothing crazy, a lil dry humping, idk other stuff probably idr anymore ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა but i had fun writing even tho the fluff almost killed me but for u i persevered! (if u see spelling/grammar errors no u didn’t <;3)

“look how we bleed from all this wanting” — ama asantewa diaka

unease is something you’re well-acquainted with — a painful, yet comforting, reminder of things that may or may not come. its slender vines wrap meticulously around each bone in your rib cage, lying in wait as your heart beats faster. it’s a pathetic, melancholic melody; a lullaby you can never escape. anxiety pours into you slowly — poisonous and haunting, tainting the lush, untamed garden that’s grown deep inside of you; one you’ve painstakingly tended to for most of your life, where your childhood dreams remain dormant, where your fears slither around in the thick vegetation ready to strike when given the chance. everything becomes fuzzy and unbearable, but you somehow manage to inhale several large gulps of air before continuing.

it’s not easy keeping secrets, but you do it anyway. for him — only for him. today’s no different, as this is one secret you’re more than happy to keep to yourself.

contrary to popular belief, ace is much more particular about certain things than he lets on. for whatever reason, he’s adamant on keeping his birthday hidden from his crew mates — something you don’t quite understand, but respect, nonetheless. he says it’s because he doesn’t want the fuss and awkward fanfare of celebrating, but you know there’s another reason — one possibly drenched in tragedy and grief, so you refrain from asking again.

instead, you decide to celebrate with him in private; you’re best friends, after all. and after a few months of prodding, he finally concedes, giving you free reign to do as you please. a man like ace isn’t simple to shop for; you stress over his birthday gift for weeks, desperately wanting to find something unique — something that no one else would think to give him. it keeps you up for several nights in a row, where torn pieces of paper with scratched out ideas litter the floor in your room. at a certain point you scream into your pillow, desperate to get all your frustrations out before going back to sift through your failed gift ideas.

you pass out in the middle of ranting to yourself about your own incompetence, and the idea comes to you in a dream. when you wake up the next morning, you’re a little nervous but you’re sure this might be the one gift he wasn’t expecting — the one gift that he’ll appreciate and possibly cherish.

the thought of that only serves to rattle the tiny box of nerves that sits in the middle of your stomach — the lid barely attached; the contents ready to spill at the next inconvenience that comes your way.

ace intentionally kept vague about what he wanted as a gift; he hates the idea of people scrambling around trying to surprise him, and instead keeps his expectations low. life, it seems, has helped him learn that lesson time and time again; it’s better, in his opinion, to snuff out any residual hope — the one that lingers behind all the disappointment that tends to follow him around — before it’s too late.

still, he’s curious to see what you’ve been working so tirelessly on. you’ve kept quiet about everything, and no matter how many times he tries to pry the answers out of you, you remain steadfast and keep the secret to yourself.

he's impressed, to say the least, and a flicker of excitement courses through him as he spends the morning of his birthday obnoxiously guessing what your surprise gift is. you wave him off, tell him to stop pestering you, but he doesn’t let up. there were times when you almost told him, but he has to hand it to you — you’re incredibly determined and stubborn.

you convince him to come off of the ship with you and explore the main town of the island your crew is visiting. he knows you’re not that interested in exploring, that you’re doing all of this to distract him; he smiles to himself in secret, away from your curious and trusting eyes, unable to come to terms with the warmth that’s taken hold of his chest, pitifully churning his insides around. if he had more sense, he’d realize it’s his nerves that have gotten the best of him; but that’s ridiculous, what would he have to be nervous about?

especially on his birthday?

while he thinks he’s being stealthy by trying to hide his emotions, you catch him several times; you don’t say much about it, instead wanting ace to fully enjoy himself unrestricted. you admire the shape of his jaw when he excitedly looks around, nearly trip when you notice how sunlight drapes itself along his freckled, light brown skin, and choke on your drink when he glances over at you. the corners of his lips quirk upward, and a small, devastating, dimpled smile crawls onto his face.

you’re rarely rendered speechless, but your inability to function properly causes you to let go of the cup in your hand — not that it matters, really. you don’t even care that the drink splashes near your sandaled feet, nor do you notice the way ace’s brows furrow together at your sudden clumsiness. a frown works its way onto his lips while you stand there stupidly, trying to remember what it is you’re supposed to be doing.

he tilts his head and briefly wonders if maybe the heat has gotten to you — you’re usually much more with it, but today you’re quieter and spaced out. when he opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay, you simply step over the fallen drink and keep walking down the street. something about your insistence on ignoring your recent faux pas makes him laugh out loud; he doesn’t mean to, but it’s just so damn funny to him.

and while you could be mad at him for the way he can’t seem to stop laughing at you, you know that the small bout of annoyance will fizzle out shortly. you can never actually stay mad at him, even if you tried — and yes, you have tried and failed several times over.

ace eventually catches up to you and that familiar teasing grin stretches lazily along his lips as he playfully grabs your arm and pulls you towards him. you steel your features as best as you can and narrow your eyes at him; the residual embarrassment from earlier lingers obnoxiously, making you stumble over your words.

or, that’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

because if he knew that it was because it’s become increasingly difficult to be around him for extended periods of time, then you’d never hear the end of it.

the problem is: ace already knows, and has known for quite some time. he never brought it up, because then you’d find a reason to keep yourself busy and stay away from him intentionally. he’s selfish and will continue to monopolize your time however way he can, especially today. you’ve never had an issue with ace touching you before, but for some reason his skin is warmer than normal — or maybe it’s because you’re still too nervous about the gift. you know that he’ll like and appreciate anything you give him, which is why you let out a soft sigh and rummage through your purse to shove a small piece of paper into his hand.

“i wanted to wait until we got back to the ship,” you say quietly, tongue suddenly much too big for your mouth; you try pulling away from him, but ace’s grip is firm, and you’re not trying that hard anyway. “but, um… happy birthday!”

he watches you curiously before glancing down at the paper in his hand; in a cute, neat script, you’ve written: birthday coupon (1 use only). and before he can ask anything unnecessary, you explain quickly, words tumbling out of your mouth in a rush.

“basically, you have my services for exactly twenty-four hours only.”

and, as ace is constantly in a state of perpetual confusion, he glances back at you to see if this is a joke or not.

“really?”

he wants to believe you, but he also knows that you’d never actually let him have his way for a day — or, would you? now he isn’t so sure.

your usual bravado leaves you faster than you can handle, so you nod a few times and finally manage to free yourself from his hold. after giving yourself a bit of space, you realize that you can think clearly now that he isn’t so close to you.

“yes,” you say lightly, hoping that he’ll buy your false confidence as legitimate. “whatever you want me to do, i’ll do. no questions asked.” you know you’re treading dangerously, but this was the best idea you could come up with. unease finds you again when ace remains quiet — a feat for him, as he’s usually boisterous and vocal about everything — but all of that doubt dissipates when a small, sly smile appears on his face as he pockets the coupon and beckons you closer.

“thanks, let’s go.”

you don’t bother asking where, because ace has already grabbed your hand and tugs you along with him. you want to tell him that he doesn’t have to hold onto your hand like that, but you decide that you deserve a bit of selfishness too. the day passes fairly quickly — you end up eating at several places with him, purchase enough sweets to put you into a sugar-induced coma, and laugh so hard you end up in tears.

he likes seeing this side of you, the part that’s carefree and full of energy; he admires how smooth and soft your skin is and thinks it’s impossibly cute that you can’t stop sneaking glances at him. you’re not as inconspicuous as you think you are, but ace doesn’t tease you about it. already he’s had you do silly things like balance on one leg like a flamingo in the middle of the shopping plaza and cartwheel as long as you can down to the pier — the latter was him testing the waters to see if you’d really do it, but you rise to the challenge and only fall over twice.

embarrassment be damned, as long as ace is happy today that’s all that matters.

when you make it back to the ship, the sun has set, bathing the ocean and sky with a pretty mixture of bright colors. you take a moment to lean against the railing to watch the sky, mesmerized by the artistry, while ace watches you and contemplates how best to proceed with you. he’s normally much better at hiding his desire and attraction, but today he’s at his limit. he doesn’t bother looking away when you feel his gaze on you; it’s always intense, having ace’s undivided attention — and while a small voice tells you that it’s dangerous to let this tension build to a frenzied state, a much bigger voice tells you to just let go and embrace whatever happens.

it's ace who grabs your arm and tugs you with him to his cabin, locking the door behind so that no one would interrupt; and it’s ace who plucks the coupon out of his pocket again, playfully waving it around as your brain scrambles as you try to guess what he’ll request next. it should alarm you that your excitement starts to build all over again when ace plops down lazily in a nearby chair, legs spread; something compels you to move closer and before you can say anything remotely foolish, ace pulls you onto his lap.

you tell yourself that it’s purely for the sake of ensuring he has a memorable birthday, but the truth won’t let you off that easily — not when you shamelessly straddle him as your skirt rides up your thighs; not when you thread your fingers through his hair and tugging on it impatiently; and not when you softly press your lips against his and mumble something along the lines of, “hurry up and ask.”

it’s refreshing seeing you take initiative like that, so ace tosses the coupon onto the floor unceremoniously before gripping your hips firmly. that warmth from earlier comes back in full force, and suddenly you’re wondering why the both of you are still dressed. he doesn’t hesitate when he runs his tongue along your lips, and you, in response, roll your hips forward and grind down hard against his stiff cock. a dangerous game, you know — you know — but you can’t help yourself; not today, anyway.

it's you who kisses him first — clumsy and rash, but after a moment, your lips move against his with more certainty; he guides you with his tongue, heat shooting up your spine, making you pliant and eager. each time he kisses you, you have to remind yourself that it’s not another dream, that it’s actually happening. and even if, after all of this, you both go back to pretending you’re just friends, you’re sure you’ll be fine.

maybe.

you don’t dwell on that thought though, and focus on the way ace keeps rubbing his hands along your thighs — slow and tortuous, the callouses on his hands rough, but welcomed on your skin. you’re panting and whining softly, the heat radiating off his body stifling, but also addicting. he’s not sure how much longer he can hold back, and you somehow get the hint when he bucks his hips against yours, your panties already damp with arousal every time your pussy rubs against his cock.

there’s a slightly dazed look in his eyes when you managed to climb off of him without your legs giving out, and it’s his own selfishness that drives him to watch you as you take off your clothes without prompting. is it adrenaline, lust, or the intoxicating effects of ace’s presence that has you in between his legs and on your knees. when he realizes what you’re about to do, he opens his mouth to tell you that it’s not necessary, but his argument dies in his mouth and fizzles out completely when you unzip his shorts and pull out his cock.

ace inhales sharply as a warm breeze slips in from the open window and tangles itself around both of you; and, although the moon hides sleepily behind a few clouds, some of its light filters through, giving you an ethereal glow as you run your tongue along the length of his cock before wrapping your lips around the tip. it’s not often that ace finds himself powerless in front of someone, but you’ve rendered him weak beyond comprehension. you suck and swirl your tongue around, dragging it along his slit and licking off the precum that leaked out.

it invigorates you — watching him through your lashes as your hands wrap around the rest of his length, twisting and pumping mercilessly, every stifled moan giving you the encouragement to keep going. you inadvertently rub your thighs together, pussy slick with your wetness, but, surprisingly, you don’t feel ashamed about it — not when you take more of ace’s cock into your mouth, relaxing your jaw and letting him have free reign for a bit. ace juts his hips forward, feeling only a tiny bit remorseful when he sees you gag, but the determined look in your eyes tells him that you refuse to back down.

when you feel like you can’t breathe, you lick down his length and massage his balls, earning a string of unintended, slightly incoherent curse words from ace under his breath. it’s a sensitive area — and, try as he might, he can’t help but moan your name out loud, his breathing growing unsteady, making you all the more delirious and obsessed. your teeth accidentally grazes his skin and he tugs on your hair more forcefully than he means to, startling you but not for the reasons it should.

his voice is low and gruff when he speaks again. “y/n… behave.” which is all he really needs to say, because while it was an accident, something forbidden swirls around your lower abdomen, making you bold and somewhat reckless. before he can say anything else, you suck on his balls, melting his resolve and small bout of annoyance.

he wants to ask if you’re trying to kill him, but he partially knows the answer to that already. goosebumps prick his skin as you look at him equal parts mischievous and full of adoration. he’s not sure why, but he likes that he’s only ever seen you look at him like that.it makes all of this that much more intense, and he knows that after tonight he can’t go back to being just friends with you.

it’d be impossible.

you take his cock back into your mouth again, bobbing up and down, his girth still a challenge, but you take it in stride anyway. and its when you suck on his sensitive tip again that ace’s restraint finally gives out; you feel him jerk underneath you, and his cum is thick and hot as it spills into your mouth. he half expects you to spit it out, and even through that post-orgasm haze, he’s amazed when you swallow it all.

with his face flushed — from the force of the orgasm, from how he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you, especially after you lick some of his cum off of your lips — ace runs a hand through his hair before standing up and pulling you to your feet. he kisses you again, sloppy, yet domineering; your hands work on tugging the rest of his clothes off quickly, and it doesn’t take long before he has you on your back thighs clamped around his head as he devours your pussy.

nothing can compare to the high you feel right now, hips rolling forward, shamelessly tugging on his hair roughly, moaning his name louder than you mean to. anyone passing by can hear you, the walls are thin enough, but you don’t care now. his tongue glides along your slit, your arousal spilling onto his tongue before he flicks it against your clit.

something about the way he’s handling you — as if you’re able to take whatever aggression he tosses your way, especially when he slides his fingers inside of your pussy, finger-fucking and enjoying how you’re falling apart underneath him — makes you that much more reactive to him. and when he sucks on your clit — merciless, just like you were being with him a short while ago — you don’t hold back.

your cries are music to his ears, and he knows he should tell you to keep it down, but he also likes how loud you’re being. almost as if he wants other people to hear that he’s the one making you writhe around on his bed like that. the orgasm is sudden, brutal, and life changing; a blinding light practically incapacitating you, momentarily robbing you of your vision. your chest heaves as you try to gather your thoughts; a lightheaded feeling takes over, making you shiver, your sweet whining only makes him want to keep torturing you with his tongue.

but he refrains, for now.

after pulling back, you both look at each other for a moment before you pull him down for another kiss — this one tender, sweet, and slow. ace lets himself fall further under your spell, not wanting to ask if you complied with his selfish whims because you wanted to or because of his birthday coupon. and if he did ask, you know, deep down, that you’d tell him it’s very obviously the former — that it wasn’t only his selfish whim, that you were equally to blame for letting things escalate like this. not that it matters much right now, since all you can think about, is how you don’t plan on leaving his bed for the rest of the night. and how you know you’ll be plenty sore once he’s done with you later on.

#*sobs into hands*#i have so many more to do but don't worry i'm working on them <3 #fic request #500+ followers event #milestone event #🍭✨🍨sticky & sweet event🧁✨🍭#one piece fluff #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #portgas d. ace #portgas d. ace x reader #portgas d. ace smut #ace x reader #ace x y/n #ace smut #ace fluff #one piece imagine #one down... 1493984 left

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threadsun · 1 year

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JDA Asks: "so im back to ask a little request- i was doing some self insert doodles with my oc and Doe and idk how to feel about it- Anyway-- one of them gave me an idea like-

-JDA here-

In one it looked like my oc was comforting Doe for some reason and that kept me thinking so-

im pretty sure Doe wouldnt really care but i mean, hes a regular guy, and regular guys are considered pests in uncanny valley right, so people must talk shit about them all the time and i mean, what if Doe heard all of it???

like again, i dont think he would care at all but LIKE WHAT IF HE DID-- people being mean to his actual species hurts his feelings and hes sad about it :(

so, can i get some headcanons or maybe a little fic where You is comforting Doe ?? :((

-and as always take as much time as you need !!-

-and btw sorry i cant spell anything in english i didnt realize it was rHythm and btw i havent played nightbringer so youve peaked my interest there-"

Oh noooooo poor Doe would be so sad about it I think, especially cause he'd worry it would make You not like him anymore either!!

Oh don't worry about spelling, I'm unbelievably dyslexic so I don't notice when people spell things wrong lmao

Nightbringer is weird for a rhythm game, I think? But you also get to date hot demons so... :3c

Content: feelings of inadequacy, discrimination, emotional hurt/comfort

Usually these things don't bother him.

They roll off him like water off a disconcertingly oily hand.

Like sweat off the brow of a politician.

Like ectoparasites off the back of a whale in a mutualistic relationship with a remora.

In short, usually the cruel things he hears people say don't stick around in his brain for very long. He has much more important things to worry about. Who cares what the Realtors are saying about him when they think he can't hear?

But sometimes... sometimes he overhears something that actually hits a nerve. Something that seems to find a crack in his shell and worm inside, expanding and expanding and expanding until it breaks him open.

He feels like a lobster, when it happens. Like someone has cracked him open to suck out the meat from within. Like there's nothing he can do but lay on the plate and let himself be consumed.

That's how you find him, a puddle of hair and eyes on the floor. He's wailing. That horrible, humid sound that seems to carry for miles. The kind of sound that seems to resonate at the same frequency as your bones.

It's not often that you see him like this. But the stifling heat in the room is familiar. He runs hot with his emotions sometimes, and when he's like this... well, it's a bit like walking into a sauna.

The whole apartment is damp, like it's crying on Doe's behalf. His sobs echo. The pile of him on the floor oozes in a little circle, almost like he's pacing. Like he's restless in his misery.

"Oh Doe..." It's with a soft voice that you speak to him, bracing yourself as you pick up your boyfriend and sit on the couch with him in your lap. "What happened?"

The writhing mass of hair and eyes settles somewhat in your lap. He continues to sob, louder. Tendrils wrap around you, clinging to you like you're his lifeline. All of his eyes are huge, some closed tight as he wails and others watching you, unblinking.

"It's okay, I'm here..." You keep your voice level, soothing. Your fingers brush absentmindedly through the pile of hair.

It takes time. He clings tightly to you, tendrils wrapping around every inch of you he can find. But your presence and your hand in his hair are enough to calm him eventually.

Soon enough, you find the writhing mass replaced with a much more familiar, humanoid form. He sits in your lap, surprisingly light as he folds himself against you to feel small. He wants to be held.

"Hey there," you smile at him, settling a gentle kiss on his sticky forehead. "You're okay, I'm here. You're okay now."

Doe sniffles, wiping at his dry eyes and nodding. "You love me, right?"

His voice is so small, so... broken. He's never this unconfident. Usually, he doesn't question whether or not you love him. Usually, he just knows that you do. But right now...

"Of course. I love you so much." You confirm it for him in a solid voice, refusing to leave any room for him to doubt you.

"Even though I'm... me?"

You frown, holding him a little closer. "I love you because you're you, silly."

Doe manages a shaky smile and a little laugh. "No, you're You!"

You try to fight the affectionate smile and roll of your eyes, but you can't help it. "What brought this on?"

Doe's smile fades and he gets a distant look in his eyes, resting his head on your shoulder. "I overheard some Businessmen talking. They said... they said they felt bad for you. That you deserve better than dating a Regular Guy like me."

Your grip on Doe tightens, jaw clenching in anger. How dare they make Doe feel like he's not good enough for you? Like he's wrong just for being a Regular Guy? Like you would want anyone but him?

There's a whimper from Doe, curling up tighter in your lap. You realise you've been digging your nails into him in your anger, and you release him with a frown.

"I'm sorry." You know he never minds the pain, and the whimper was almost certainly not a bad one, but you feel the need to apologise nonetheless. "You know they're not right, don't you? I can't deserve better than you, because there isn't anyone better than you. Not for me."

Doe nuzzles into the crook of your neck, fingers bunching in your shirt as he cuddles closer. "But... you could be with anyone. You're so so so perfect!"

You kiss the top of his head and shrug, smiling softly down at him. "So what? I want to be with you. I want to be with my John Doe. Not anyone else."

Doe looks up at you with a small smile, eyes wide with wonder. "You mean it?"

"Always."

#john doe game #john doe x reader #gn!reader #18+ only #sunshine #jda

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mgparker · 2 years

Text

moment of forever

[tasm!peter parker x reader]

sequel for scared to breathe

part i | word count: >6k

summary: months after the events of the multiversal battle, you’re stuck in an endless loop of helplessness and isolation. when seeking help from the person who started it all goes extraordinarily wrong, you find yourself in a different universe all together… with no way home.

warnings: sequel to scared to breathe, f!reader, sad feelings, MOM spoilers, long intro before peter content, fluff, injury, fast-paced with lots of time skips, more like a series of important little events, fast-paced romance, some another chance easter eggs, mostly edited

i won’t lie. this is a bit too quick for my taste and it’s all kinda shoved together. lots of little events in between each scene are excluded for the sake of giving both reader & peter a happy ending. but if you’d like to see more of the in-between stuff, i’d be more than happy to create their own little world. oh and also sorry for the long doctor strange intro, it was necessary. anyway, here’s some fluff .

Despite your exhaustive efforts to figure out why the world especially hated you, the answer just wouldn’t come.

Not even as you cried in your tiny apartment, fingers pulling at the ends of your strained hair painfully, lungs desperately searching for air.

Why, why on earth were you, of all people, the only one who was exempt from Strange’s stupid spell? Is there a reason the universe spared you the mercy of being oblivious to the starving pain that would come from being separated from everything you once knew?

Granted, the sorcerer’s spell didn’t erase all previous connections from your life—even the ones that were created due to Peter Parker’s important role in your growing years—but it definitely caused a strain on all the important ones.

Ned, MJ, hell even Happy…

Because try as they might, they could never really explain how they came to know you—only that they suddenly just did, influenced by a moment in their life that was shadowed by a cloud of darkness and mystery.

Yes, Peter Parker may not have been the only person in your world that you cared about, but he was damn well responsible for most of the other relationships that you held dear.

Without him, you would’ve never befriended Ned Leeds or Michelle Jones. You would’ve never interned for Tony Stark or wiggled your way into Happy Hogan’s secretly warm heart.

Without him, you would’ve never gotten into this situation in the first place… but you couldn’t blame him. You couldn’t hold any ill-will towards the teen, not when every cell in your body longed to leave your apartment right now and go searching all of New York City for him.

Why were you the only person who could remember Peter Parker?

Not only that—why did you still dream of the other Peter Parker that you met what seems like years ago? (In reality, it’d only been a few months).

It wasn’t fair. It simply wasn’t. And it especially wasn’t fair that you had no solid way of finding either of them.

The tears on your cheek were starting to dry. And your desperation was starting to drive you insane…

Your last option had been running through your mind for a while now, the thought popping into your everyday thoughts sporadically throughout the last few weeks until you had no choice but to finally entertain it.

It couldn’t be the wildest idea to exist—people had done crazier things before, right?

And as you wiped at your face and stood up from your creaking bed, you were determined to finally see it through.

177A Bleeker Street was even more daunting than it was last year; the Sanctum Santorum hanging over you menacingly.

But it wasn’t enough to deter you from your plan; you took a deep breath before raising your hand to knock—

The door swung open suddenly. Your hand fell forward along with most of your body before you caught yourself embarrassingly.

“Jesus,” you sighed, heat rushing to your cheeks as you tried your hardest not to glance back at the fellow New Yorkers that were rushing down the street behind you. Like they’d really care, honestly.

“Not Jesus.”

“Wow!” You practically screamed, one hand flying to your chest while the other flew around aimlessly, desperate to put distance between you and the unexpected voice. “Okay, that was uncalled for.”

Doctor Stephen Strange stood at the top of the grand staircase, reminiscent to a few months ago when he’d greeted you, Ned and MJ before everything went to shit.

In his usual sarcastic fashion, one eyebrow raises carefully. “What’s uncalled for is you showing up at my door without invite.”

Someone’s in a bad mood. “Yeah, sorry about that, we aren’t exactly buddies, and I couldn’t just dial you up so—” His outfit caught you off-guard, a pristine suit and tie replacing his usual sorcerer attire. “What’re you wearing?”

Strange rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here?” He pointedly ignored your question.

The compliment you were ready to give died on your lips, a glare replacing your original response.

“I need help fixing a mistake that you made.”

“’Mistake that I made?’” There’s a hint of a smile on the man’s face, but it isn’t a happy one.

You realized how bold you were being. “Y-yeah.”

“Let’s get something straight,” Strange began, slamming the door shut behind you with a flick of his finger. “The only mistake I made was inviting three children into my home and effectively ruining any privacy I might’ve once had.”

Definitely in a bad mood. Maybe you should take a different route.

“Sir, I’m aware that showing up here unannounced wasn’t a good idea but I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

Irritated, Strange shut his eyes and sighed.

He could think of a hundred reasons not to hear you out, but something tells him it might actually be important. After all, it was his initial spell that nearly caused the destruction of the multiverse. Even if the last spell was successful and Spider-Man’s identity was concealed from everyone’s mind, including his own, there still could be some loose ends he could’ve forgotten to tie.

“Can you walk fast?”

You’re flabbergasted. “What?”

“Can you walk fast? I’m in a bit of a time crunch.”

Realizing this might be your only chance, you jumped at it frantically. “Yes—yes, I can. Super fast.”

Adjusting his watch, Strange jogged down the steps and towards the door. “Talk to me on the way.”

Without hesitation, you set off after him, hot on his trail. “On the way where?”

“Wedding.”

“You’re getting married?” You gawked stupidly. Thankfully, he’s walking ahead of you.

Strange scoffed. “I wouldn’t be late to my own wedding.”

A quip sat at the tip of your tongue, but he continued. “It’s not too far so I would get to the point if I were you.”

“Right,” you matched his quick pace. “A few months ago, you cast a spell that was meant to erase the identity of Spider-Man from the entire world.”

“Yes,” he agreed roughly.

You cringed in anticipation. “Let’s say your spell didn’t exactly work.”

Your walk was brought to an abrupt halt. You whipped around to face Doctor Strange and the look on his face was deadly.

“Excuse me?”

People dodged your bodies left and right, traffic building up on the busy sidewalk.

“I know who Spider-Man is still and—”

“Stop,” his palm flew up. “Don’t say anything.”

“But I—”

“Don’t—”

“Just let me—”

“No—”

“I’m not going to tell you who he is!” You said over his protests.

It became silent.

“You know who he is,” it was more of a statement than a question.

“Yes,” you nodded.

“Did you happen to remember this out of the blue or—”

“There was nothing to remember,” you said matter-of-factly. “You see, I never forgot. At the beginning, I thought the spell would take some time to settle in, so I tried to shrug it off. But then days turned into weeks and everyone else has moved on but me.”

Strange adjusted his suit, peering around the street as he tried to regain a bit of composure. Out of all things you could’ve told him, he certainly wasn’t expecting this.

How is it that you, a girl with no extraordinary abilities (that he knew of), resisted the effects of an advanced enchantment? One that even infiltrated his enhanced mind…

“Alright, kid,” you were back to walking down the street, following Strange who had a strange pep in his step. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to come to this event with me. You’re going to pretend as if you don’t exist and then we’re going to figure this whole situation out after I’m done.”

You cringed at the idea of sitting through a stranger’s wedding. “Are you sure I have to go to this wedding with you? I could always stop by the Sanctum tomorrow—”

“No,” he said sternly. “I’m not so sure you understand. This shouldn’t have happened. We’re going to talk to Wong and we’re going to figure out why you have the ability to withstand a universal spell.”

And that’s how you ended up at a stranger’s wedding. A stranger who you later found out was Strange’s ex-girlfriend, who he clearly hasn’t gotten over—you had a keen eye and a knack for observation.

In all, the entire ideal was extremely uncomfortable, your jeans and t-shirt sticking out like a sore thumb in the crowd of elegant invitees… It wasn’t until a loud crash had all of the guests tripping over themselves to squeeze onto the balcony, chaos erupting on the streets of New York City.

Rusty from months of zero superhero action, you weren’t quick enough to reach Doctor Strange before he was throwing himself off the balcony dramatically, cape billowing behind him and leaving the group gasping at his heroics.

“Damn,” you muttered, backtracking until you were at the staircase, taking two or three steps at a time.

Staying at the wedding was likely the safest option, probably the option Strange would’ve preferred, but it had been too long since you’d been involved in crimestopping. The superhero itch was too intense to ignore… This was your element.

…Nothing could’ve prepared you for what you’d find once you busted through the doors onto the Manhattan streets.

A one-eyed octopus was tearing through the concrete, smashing into buses and buildings with an eye set to kill. Heart racing in your ears, you followed its line of vision onto… a girl?

She couldn’t have been much younger than you. Jet-black hair thrown up into a ponytail, a denim jacket slung over her shoulders, white sneakers that had seen better days.

Jesus.

Frantically, you looked for Strange and within the destruction, a flash of red was weaving through the running crowd. Clearly, he had the situation handled.

Without a second thought, you made a beeline toward the girl, jumping over concrete slabs and dodging overturned cars until you were feet away from her.

Fire raced through your legs. If there’s one thing you’ve gotten from this, it’s that you needed to run more.

“Hey!” You heaved, hands waving as you pushed on.

The girl’s head snapped toward you, fear stretching her lips into a deep frown. Her chest was rising as quickly as yours.

“We gotta get out of here! Let’s go—”

The ground disappeared beneath your feet, your lungs freezing as a slimy tentacle wrapped around your sore leg.

You were screaming bloody murder, possibly ripping through your vocal cords as the street got further and further from you. You were damn near close to soaring above the buildings beside you.

Pain tore through your back as you finally slammed into the balcony of a building next to you, your leg being released, forgotten by the octopus as it focused back on the girl who looked like an ant from your height.

Icy fear froze you to your spot, clutching at your throat. Since falling from the Statue of Liberty, heights had been a tricky thing for you.

A sweat broke out on your hairline, and you dared to close your eyes. There was no way down from here.

Any peace you could’ve found was quickly obliterated when your building was rattling again, the monster slamming into the balcony once more until the girl was a foot away from you.

Before the monster could end both of your lives, Strange was back on his feet again, leading it away.

You turned toward the girl. “Hey, that—that was a close one,” you attempted to joke. Turns out you spoke too soon.

The slab of concrete collapsed, sending you both sliding down the side of the building, meeting halfway in a crash of limbs and shrill screams. Frantic brown eyes found yours before everything around you was suddenly spinning, your vision surrounded by an array of colors. The two of you were falling feetfirst into a… a portal?

“Ah! What the hell?” It was the first thing you could muster, heaving from the impact of the cold, damp sidewalk.

Though your body protested, you pushed yourself onto your knees, trying to find the denim-clad girl who had fallen with you.

Except she was nowhere to be seen… and this wasn’t the New York you’d left behind.

Here, the sun was nearly gone, darkness shadowing the corners of the alley you found yourself sitting in. The lights of nearby billboards reflected on the rain drops of the concrete.

Something about all of this was off… Well, excluding the fact that your surroundings had magically disappeared and then reappeared again, only to find yourself in a completely different place than where you had just been a mere second ago.

What in the hell was going on?

Scrambling to your feet, you pressed yourself to the wall, pain shooting up your ankle as soon as you tried to put weight on it. Must’ve landed on it wrong.

You cursed under your breath, cradling your ankle as tears threatened to spill.

In fact, you were so caught up in your own agony that you failed to notice the shuffle at the end of the alleyway. Or the figure that had landed on the rooftop of the building across from you, crouched curiously.

Softly, it landed in the shadows, obscured from your vision as you continued to lament over your injured joint.

Awestruck, Spider-Man made his way closer to you. Everything in him was screaming that this whole thing must be a dream, a wildly vivid deception conjured up by the aching part of his brain that constantly longed for you.

But you looked too real, crouched over with your hair framing your pain-stricken face. T-shirt hanging over your shoulders as you mumbled undecipherable words. Even from his spot, he could see the chipped polish on your nails and the stained converse on your feet… Lord, you were even wearing the same necklace as the day of the Statue of Liberty incident.

A swell of emotions attacked him. Then, your name was leaving his lips before he could help it, his feet tripping over themselves in a clumsy matter. All to get to you before you could vanish before his very eyes.

Except this wasn’t a dream—you weren’t going to vanish—and you were really there. Breathing before him with flushed cheeks and curious eyes.

“Peter?” You breathed, recognizing the silhouette of the man even in the darkness.

Little did he know, Peter Parker from Earth-120703 also infiltrated your mind constantly, appearing in the form of sweetest dreams and fantasies (whenever you weren’t torturing yourself with nightmares). You hadn’t meant to let his short visit to your earth affect you so much, but there was something about him that you couldn’t shake off.

Tears welled up and he was quickly ripping the mask off, revealing his messy brown locks and shiny disbelieving eyes.

“H-how?” He was slowly approaching you now. All he wanted to do was wrap you in his arms.

You mirrored his look of disbelief. “I don’t know. I-I went through this portal and ended up here—oof!”

The dam broke as he suddenly pulled you in, legs tangling with his. There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation as you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him as close as humanly possible with an idiotically huge smile.

You never thought you’d seen your Peter again, much less this Peter. Happy couldn’t begin to describe the plethora of feelings rushing to your brain.

Beneath your grip, you felt Peter’s body begin to tremble. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

You pulled away the slightest bit, searching for his eyes and feeling your heart crack when you found the tears spilling down his red cheeks. “Peter…”

“I have to be dreaming,” he shuddered, closing his eyes softly.

You smiled. “This is real, Peter. I’m here… somehow.”

He didn’t answer, only tightening his grip around your waist. It began to drizzle, rain trickling over your intertwined bodies, but it didn’t dare ruin the moment of bliss between you two.

“Honestly, I’m not really sure how this happened… but what I do know is that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since December.”

Peter finally looked up, catching your gaze with a clouded look.

You were distantly aware of how little space existed between the two of you. “Say something,” you breathed.

Swallowing his fear, Peter sighed shakily. “I shouldn’t have left.”

“Peter, you had no choice—”

“I shouldn’t have left without telling you how much being with you meant to me,” he finished pointedly. Your gaze kept flickering between his intense stare and the lips you’d been dreaming about for months.

This was a fool’s game. Harboring feelings for someone you’d only known for a day, but you had felt the profound love he held for you—in his universe, yours and the next. Even in that one day he’d spent most of ignoring you. The last hour you had after the battle created a bond you were sure had been pulling on your heart strings until this very moment.

It was a fool’s game—loving someone who had loved a different version of you. But despite all of it, the universe had created your souls for each other, in this world and the next, forever bonded by the complexity of your hearts, sewn and meticulously intertwined only to fit with each other’s.

You pulled him into your embrace again, cuddling him in an attempt to soothe over any guilt or pain he felt from your sudden goodbye. “I understand. It’s so okay, I’m here now.”

“You’re here now,” he repeated into your hair shakily. His hands held you like glass.

It’s funny—how adamant he was on not meeting your eyes, not talking to you, hell not even touching you all those months ago. Now, it was like he couldn’t get enough.

The cold, distant Peter you met was gone. And your own behavior was surprising you— it was a mixture of the relief of escaping your months-long isolation since the spell gone wrong, and the feelings that were blossoming slowly but surely.

A sharp sting reminded you of your pressing injury.

“Peter,” you hissed, trying to divert the weight off your leg.

“What?” He seemed unnecessarily startled, pulling away from you as if he’d been burned. His frantic eyes searched your body.

“It’s my ankle,” he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten how you were hunched over in pain. “I think I sprained it when I landed here.”

In a series of clumsy movements, Peter’s mask was securely placed over his face again and he was crouched in front of you funnily.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Even with the mask, you could imagine the eyebrow raise Peter gave you as he spun to look at you. “I can take you to my place. We can check it out there…”

You didn’t mean to hesitate. Since you had been thrown into this new world, your brain had been moving in slow-motion.

“If you want, of course! There’s-there’s a hospital a few blocks down. If you want, you could get it checked out by a professional because I—” a nervous laugh escaped him. “—I’m obviously not a doctor. Of course, you’d want to get it checked out by a doctor. Sorry, that was stupid—”

“Hey!” You laughed. “I don’t mind getting evaluated by Bugboy. I happen to trust you more than anyone anyway so…”

You’d said it so casually, but to Peter, it meant everything.

He stared at you for a moment too long before clearing his throat awkwardly. “Well, then it’s decided. Back to my place we go. Fair warning, I’m not the neatest person.”

You hopped on his back without an ounce of grace. “I don’t mind.”

You’re a clean freak, Peter thought quietly. Of course, you mind.

But he discarded it to the back of his mind, focused on getting you to a safer place.

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

And then you were swinging the streets of Manhattan, soaring over bridges and buildings until you were landing on the fire escape of a Queens apartment. High above the ground, definitely on a double-digit floor.

For once, the height didn’t scare you.

Peter wasted no time in retrieving a first aid kit as soon as he’d gotten you both through the window. You could barely make out the layout of his bedroom, disoriented from how fast the hero was moving.

Peter crouched in front of you, dropping to his knees as he gently pushed you back onto his bed.

You hit the comforter softly, holding yourself up by your elbows as you peered down at the suit-clad man.

He poked and prodded at your swollen ankle, drawing out a long hiss through your nostrils as you fought the reflex of kicking him away.

Smoothly, he reached into the first aid kit and took out a large roll. Wrapping it around the joint firmly, he looked up at you through his eyelashes.

“Good news—it isn’t sprained.”

“Great,” you sighed in relief, falling back onto the bed.

“But it could hurt to walk for a few days.”

You threw a thumbs up. “Awesome.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t have classes for a few weeks so it all evens out.”

A few weeks? Did you want to stay in this world for that long? Did you really have a choice in the matter? Did you even want to go back?

It barely took any contemplating for you to realize that you didn’t. Doctor Strange was clearly in over his head with all the ruckus happening at his doorstep and he couldn’t have looked more clueless when you told him of your predicament this morning… you wouldn’t be surprised if the sorcerer had no clue how to fix the issue… and at this point, you weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

You hadn’t realized that forgetting your Peter would also mean forgetting the one who had just patched up your swollen ankle. Not that your Peter didn’t mean as much to you (in all honesty, your years of friendship with him meant more than anything in the world) but the growing bond with this universe’s Peter had transcended the barriers of space and time…

That had to mean something. You felt it.

Still, you couldn’t help the slightest twinge of guilt. I mean, you had technically landed in his universe uninvited. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

It was stupid to say, but you couldn’t help it.

Are you kidding? Peter gawked. He didn’t dare utter it out loud though. “It’s no imposition at all,” is what he settled for instead. Because he knew you, down to your very core. He could read you like a magazine.

The sincere look in his eyes was all it took to ease your hesitance. “Thanks,” you smiled bashfully.

Before he could stare at you in awe any longer, Peter stood up with the first aid kit in hand. He moved to put it away, but he was stopped by a sudden grip on his hand.

It was your hand, small and warm in his. Curved and carved in familiar lines that he’d spent hours and hours memorizing when he once had you in his arms…

Frozen, he waited for your next move.

Wobbling, you pulled yourself up until you were nearly chest-to-chest with Peter.

It was still and quiet for a few moments.

Now that you were so close to him, your mind went blank.

“Um—” his eyes darted from your eyes to your moving lips. “What… what year is it?”

Wow. Out of all things you could’ve broken the tension with, the only question that comes to mind is the date. You instantly want to bash your head into a wall. It’d been too long without any Peter Parker interaction; you were beginning to lose your touch.

It seemed like a bucket of cold water fell on Peter’s head. The anticipation in his gaze melting into amusement. “It’s, erm, it’s 2015.”

Your jaw dropped, leaning back to sit on the bed again. “Are you serious?”

Your grip on his hand didn’t waver. Truthfully, you weren’t sure why you got up in the first place—you just didn’t want him to leave your side yet.

“Yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a chuckle. “Imagine my surprise when I landed in your world.”

The first aid kit clattered at the movement, uncomfortably hitting his shoulder. Getting a grip, you finally released his hand.

“Right…” you murmured, watching as he went to store the kit underneath the bathroom sink. There was a hesitance in his step, as if he too didn’t want to linger far from your presence.

He sauntered back over to you. Sitting crisscross-applesauce, Peter gave you a smile that made your heart stop.

“So… what have I missed?”

It was a bit strange at first, you had to admit, but eventually, you and Peter fell into a routine.

Well, it was more like you had assimilated into his routine… staying at his apartment (though you definitely had the choice of leaving if you wanted to) without complaint and attempting to chef up whatever you could with the sparce ingredients Peter picked up from the grocery store.

When you weren’t cooking something, you found yourself tidying the small space up, despite the man urging you to rest your ankle.

It’d been days, almost a week, and your injury was on the precipice of full healing. The only word for Peter’s behavior was doting.

It was only the seventh night of your arrival on this strange world that you and Peter finally moved past the awkward roommate stage.

It was late… or rather early in the morning. The clock read 3:27 AM, the LED lights flashing behind your closed eyelids from how many times you’d checked on it throughout the night.

Peter had arrived twenty minutes ago from his Spider-Man duties. The shower was on, the only sound in the apartment and you found yourself hyper fixating on it.

Sighing, you dreadfully thought of how he would open the bathroom door, hair damp and eyes weighed down from the lack of sleep. How he’d smile at you brightly despite it, and wish you a goodnight before softly closing his bedroom door and quietly making his way to the small couch in his even smaller living room.

It made you feel like a burden, even though Peter did everything in his power to make sure you felt like anything but.

Reassurances could only work for so long.

Which triggered the same discussion every morning—you’d tell him you were more than happy to take the couch and he’d endlessly argue against it.

Tonight was going to be different.

Your eyes squinted against the light of the bathroom, the door opening slowly. Steam poured into the room and along came Peter, shaking out his messy hair.

As usual, his tired eyes lit up when he saw you sitting up against the bedframe. Even with the messiest bedhead and crumpled t-shirt, you were the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

God, he never would’ve thought you’d be in his life again. The multiversal incident was something out of his wildest dreams, an instance that should’ve never happened, a blip in the timeline of the universe… but God, was he glad that it happened.

Otherwise, he would’ve never known that you were the same here and in every universe, with a spirit as shiny as gold and as bright as the sun.

You were his sun.

Dragging his feet to the door, he began to give you his usual goodnight.

“Wait,” you cut him off.

He did just that, hand hovering over the doorknob expectantly.

“If you won’t let me sleep on the couch,” you swallowed down your nerves. “Why don’t we just share the bed?”

Silence.

“I just hate that you’re out there and I’m in here so I thought there’s more than enough space… if you want.”

More silence.

You overstepped, of course you did. That’s the only thing you could gather from the impassive look on the brunette’s face. An apology was at the tip of your tongue, regret staining your ears red.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Peter protested. Still, his hand slid off the doorknob.

“It’s your bed,” you pointed out.

“Still,” Peter shook his head. “I don’t mind the couch. Really. It’s more convenient too, you know—”

“More convenient than your own bedroom?” You chuckled, realizing Peter was as nervous as you were.

In all honesty, he couldn’t want anything more. He longed to close the distance between you constantly. When once your touch practically burned him in that small supply closet in Midtown High’s lab, now it was all he could think about.

Fear held him back. The fear of getting too close and then losing you again. The fear of falling even more in love with you because it scientifically just couldn’t be possible. Loving someone any more than he loved you would surely send him to the hospital.

But you were staring at him with glistening eyes, cheeks flushed from embarrassment, but still letting the corners of your lips curl into an anxious frown.

“It’s just that… ever since that night—when I fell off the Statue of Liberty—”

Every muscle in Peter’s body seized up, eyes shutting on instinct. Endless images of your falling body replayed like a broken record.

“—I haven’t been able to sleep. Every night, I’m right back there. Falling into a bottomless void—” your voice cracked and you quickly cleared your throat. It was pathetic to cry about something that had already happened. Especially when the person in front of you had experienced it before, twice.

“I’m sorry,” you gathered your bearings. “If I’ve crossed a line…”

“Absolutely not,” breathed Peter, eyes glistening with unshed tears. With that, he finally gave into his desire, rushing toward you before you could break down entirely.

Arms wrapped around your waist, the bed sinking with his weight, and you finally let yourself feel.

It was a mixture of fear—no, terror—and comfort. The sensation of falling again but being caught in the arms of the person you trusted with your life. Peter had saved your life and you knew he’d do it time and time again.

So that’s how you fell asleep that night, pressed into the crook of Peter’s neck.

You barely heard it, but as you drifted off, a quiet whisper was uttered with a gentle press of lips against your forehead.

“I won’t ever let anything happen to you. Never again.”

You were happy to find that every night after was nightmare-free, instead replaced with dreams of your happiest moments growing up in Queens. Flashes of your friends in Midtown, giggling with Ned, Peter and MJ. Memories of the last moment you had with Peter, who was quickly becoming your favorite person, at the bottom of the monument of your original universe.

The two of you were slowly becoming more comfortable with crossing more boundaries, tangling your limbs together in bed or wrapping each other in a hug whenever Peter would return home from his Spider-Man duties.

It seemed like he couldn’t get enough of you, a stark contrast to how he’d acted the first time you met him. But the bandage had been ripped off and things were different now. He had a second chance to make things right with you, to not commit the same mistakes he once had.

You were his second chance.

Though you were constantly fretting over pulling your own weight around the place, Peter felt like you were doing too much. After all, his home would always be yours.

So, it’s how he ended up taking a night off from patrolling to instead gather all the ingredients for your favorite dish. (At least he hoped red pepper pasta was your favorite dish, everything else he’s known about you has been consistent in both universes).

When you woke up from your nap that evening, seeking the delicious smell that was wafting in from the kitchen, your heart melted when you found Peter at the stove. Dashing between the counter and the sizzling sauce on the burner, he had never been more handsome.

It was pathetic really, the speed it had taken you to cross the small distance between the bedroom door and where the hero stood.

But it didn’t matter. Because you had one single thought in your mind—one that had been floating around for weeks now in the back of your head—and it took over.

A sound of surprise escaped Peter when you crashed into him, spatula crashing onto the ground forgotten. You wasted no time in tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him close enough that his shaky breath hit your lips.

You sought permission in his eyes, searching until he gave you his answer. And it came faster than expected, the tiniest of nods bringing his mouth closer to yours before Peter pressed his lips to yours.

Slightly chapped but a sensation that turned the spark in your belly into a full-blown fire… uncontained and wild, burning through every emotion until all you could feel was unconditional love.

A feeling you didn’t know you were searching for all your life until you ended up in this precise moment, wrapped in the arms of someone who loved you more than the moon loved the stars and the sun loved the moon.

You pitied those who wouldn’t find a love as extraordinary as the one you’re consumed by… because you’ve said it again and again but only just realized the raw depth and truth to these words— the universe had created your souls for each other, beyond the voids of space and time, destined to intertwine infinitely until the world ended and another began… It was destiny that had brought him to you the first time.

And fate that would have you sharing this moment of forever in a small, dingy apartment in Queens.

hey! missed you all <3 i’ve had about 10 peter parker drafts in my computer for a few months and they’re finally coming together.

hope you’re all doing well & much love to you all<3 feel free to send me a pm with any updates or rants or requests. i’m aware that there’s a good amount of requests i never got to. don’t worry, i didn’t ignore them. i’ve just lacked inspiration to write for so long and i’m still not quite confident in my ability to write in a style that i genuinely like. still, tumblr makes me extremely happy and i love interacting with all you readers and creators.

anyway, that’s all for now.

— elle <3

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 5 months

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summary

The gang meet up at a restaurant. They have business to discuss. Things to do. They have to see each other. That's the only way the world stays whole. (who's been writing for 10 years and still can't do summaries? this writer! anywaayy please read the six prettiest demigods you know being all over each other and also terrifying to the outside world I love them)

beginning notes

this is for my jana (@disappearsreappears) who loved the other group (cough polycule cough) fic of these six troublemakers so much. you are everything bright in my universe jana bear <3 I hope you enjoy this (p.s. fun fact the google doc title for this fic is simply "for jana") first thing I've written in like two months LMAO girl????? and my darling pjo readers have beeeeeennnn getting the brunt of my dry spell cause I've written here and there for other fandoms but my pjo writing has been at the lowest possible output this year. UGH I'm sorry my sweet angels, uni life really gives you no time to deep dive into your favourite chaos bears. anyway I hope you enjoy this ! I wrote it in a night and a half, and honestly it's a little loose and if you expect any kind of coherent plot I'm going to need you to lower your expectations to exactly negative one million. but you will find my usual mess of a writing style and good old unedited fun. if you see a mistake, make a wish! they all come true on my birthday i promise MWAH! songs for this one: closer to you by jungkook (title) (FUCK. THIS EXISTS NOW????) yes or no by jungkook (WHAT THE FUCK I CAN SAY THAT WHAT THE FUCK I LOVE THE WORLD) aphrodite by RINI 24/7, 365 by elijah woods guilty by taemin call d by NCT U the weekend by Stormzy and RAYE for us by V (im so normal about this entire list by the way) no content warnings this time. if you think something should be flagged let me know, but i think this is pretty tame so we should be good.

i love you forever, please enjoy!

#pjo #hoo #pjjg fanfic #jana things #jason grace #percy jackson #annabeth chase #piper mclean #leo valdez #reyna avila ramirez arellano

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glorious-poetato · 2 years

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[Coffee conundrum]

Tommyinnit x reader

Warnings:none (correct me if I'm wrong)

Summary: Tommy and you meeting for the first time

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

I had been day dreaming of future plans at work again only to be interrupt by the small chime of the bell signifying some had entered. Altho I didn't need the bell in this case as I saw two guys laughing and joking being quite loud if I do say so myself. I didn't mind though it had been a slow day anyway so not many people were at the Cafe at the time. The two guys began to walk my way that's when I took note of their appearance both being quite tall one shorter then the other though the shorter one had caught my eye with his blond curly hair and bright blue eyes. By the time I had taken in his appearance they had made it up to the counter. "Hello welcome to cassie's Cafe, what can I get for ya?" I said in a somewhat cheerful tone.

"Umm.. I'll take one small capacino please and a chocolate croissant." The taller one said "will that be it for the order?" I asked. The taller one then looked over at the blonde stood next to him and asked. "Tommy do you want any thing." "Oh um I'll have a chocolate croissant as well." Who I assumed to be tommy stated. "That will be all"the taller one said kind of quietly. "Okay all I need is a name for the order." I told them " wilbur" the taller man said calmly. The two walked away and I began on their order. ..

Wilbur pov:

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"Tommy just go ask for their number.....the worst thing she can do is say no" I told tommy. I had been trying to get him to talk to the barista while we waited for are coffee. "Fine but aleast film from afar so if it goes bad I'll have some good content." Tommy told me as he stood up walking backwards for a moment. I was just about to tell him to look where he was walk but it was too late...

Your pov:

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I had been bringing the coffees out when the blonde boy had ran into me spilling wilburs hot coffee all over me. " I'm so so sorry. I should have been watching were I was going." The boy quickly apologized. "It's alright can you take these to your table please" I said handing him the two croissants. I then walked away to grab some napkins to dry myself off and the rag for the floor. Returning to the spill I saw the boy Return. " I can buy you a new shirt if you need." He said to me"thankyou but I'm okay" I told to him "I'm tommy by the way." He blurted out "well nice to meet you tommy I'm y/n." You said "well y/n here's my number my number in case you change you mind about the shirt." He said handing me a small slip of paper. I took it and smiled as he walked off. I walked back to the counter taking out my phone and making a new contact Tommy and texting "hey its y/n"

The end

Bonus

Tommy's pov:

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"So chat that's how my coffee conundrum got me a girls number. But I'm a handsome man so she would have begged for my number anyway." I told chat

(This is my first time writing something so sorry if my Grammer or spelling is bad)

- poe <3

#tommyinnit x you #tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit x y/n #mcyt x reader #fanfic

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eddiessweetheart · 1 year

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Ok hi I just started this blog because of my brainrot. The brainrot isn’t new or anything but it’s reached a point tonight that I just can’t stop thinking about something. I’m so sorry if this post is too much™️ there’s a lot happening in my brain space. Essentially I have an Eddie and kind of Steve (and technically other people) x reader idea and I don’t know if I should post it. It’s incredibly self indulgent. But… I CANT STOP THINKING. But also I’m NOT a good writer. I do not write publicly ever, only ever wrote ideas in the notes app kinda shit. Im just not good at it, obviously. It’s like I don’t have the words or enough substance but 🤷🏻‍♀️ anyway.

I read a n.s.f.w steddie thread on Twitter earlier (minors pls go away now)

*****oh boy I uh… never finalized this and i lost my zing for it but like it still exists in my notes app somewhere I just don’t know if ppl like Y/N content and poor writing*****

about Eddie spying on the locker room and getting found and subsequently “used” (consenting) by the whole team including Steve aaaaand. While I love steddie. My brain is also a depraved x reader space. And I am mostly female presenting so my brain said this but different. And then I went way different. It held the same energy buuuut. Right so please tell me if anyone else is interested in this? Here’s the idea…

Basically reader is in need of money for like medical bills or whatever, small town jobs aren’t exactly cutting it but there’s an opportunity to make more, by means of a (mostly) anonymous free use glory hole kind of sex club a couple nights a week. It’s not always her there but on this particular night it is.

The patrons don’t know who’s working and the workers don’t know who’s using them. the aspects that aren’t that anonymous is the employers know who’s working. And basically the people who are attending, even if they’re using fake names, they’re all in one room getting off… it’s not hard to recognize someone just outside of hawkins. But you wouldn’t necessarily rat someone out for being there because it would out you too. There’s not a TON of people going or working but it’s enough to pay some bills.

So Steve, who’s on a dry spell from getting laid convinces Eddie to go with him and check the place out. It’s kinky and kinda fucked up watching a bunch of people fuck someone in a giant glory hole, just their lower half through a hole in the wall, but they end up enjoying it more than they thought they would. Aaaand if the person they end up fucking sounds a little bit like Eddie’s best friend (the reader, who it very much is) well that’s kinda crazy right? But hot… but it totally couldn’t be her, no way.

Is that… interesting to anyone else because. It sure fuckin is to me idk.

#eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #steddie x reader #kind of #blurb idea #it would be more Eddie focused in the end but #I just don’t know if anyone else would want to read #eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut

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queenofdenest · 2 years

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Title: of a love that gave and gave Fandom: Hetalia Warnings: no warnings apply Relationships: nyo!denest Characters: nyo!est, nyo!den, others mentioned Tags: Raised In A Cult AU, Human AU, Underage Smoking, flirting, minor age difference*, minor sufin, implied disturbing content**

Summary: Eha has always lived among those on the compound, but new convert, Else, makes her want to change that.

AO3: link

A/N: there's a really really long story behind this au and if anyone wants to hear it, hit me up, but the short version of why you're getting a fic set in this au is i watched the netfl*x docu about my old church, got reminded of this au from years ago, and decided to write a little drabble in it. honestly don't really get why but i do adore this au, but then again, it's a great au to play with my issues. anyway, sorry for disappearing, i've been working on series fics and planning fics that i completely forgot to update anyone on anything, so that's where i've been.

*quick note on the age difference tag, nyo!est is 17 in this fic, while nyo!den is a bit older (not listed in the fic but is about 23 according to my notes about this au) and while this is perfectly legal in my state - and honestly they're in a cult - i did want to list it as i know age differences can be some people's squick. so here's your (second) warning. also they literally do nothing but hold hands and stare at each other.

**also this fic lightly goes over several implied disturbing themes, nothing like any archive warning, it's mostly just getting betrothed while underage, death, end of the world type preaching, and just the implied but not dealt with trauma of some heavy internalized messages that these type of cults give you.

**title inspired from the crane wives, icarus, even though that song has nothing to do with the fic.

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Eha felt her hands shaking as she ducked away from the crowds, smiling to the people she knew as she passed them by as unassumingly as she could. Her plain blue dress almost tripped her several times as she walked through the near empty streets of the compound, and she decided that after what she was doing, she was going to go right home and sew the hemline of her dresses to be a bit higher than they were. That way, next time she decided to do this, she’d not have to worry about face planting on the ground as she walked.

Next time, that thought brought a shiver to her spine. One hand reached up to play with the end of her braid, Viktorija had done it earlier that morning and she had felt so pretty afterwards, but now – now it felt like she had several heavy blankets covering her head.

It was Saturday morning and while most the others were heading towards the meetings rooms or their chores, she was headed towards freedom.

Or, well, temporary freedom.

She’d never actually leave the compound. As the minister had often explained, there was nothing for her – or anyone else – out there, and while she disagreed with much of what the man preached, he wasn’t wrong there. Her family had lived on the compound since before she was born; her mother had fallen in love with the former leader’s wife and had joined if only to be closer to the woman. Eventually the words the leader had spoken had actually penetrated her mother’s brain and she had opened herself up to the truth of the Society and had joined in true faith, eventually marrying Eha’s father and having her and her siblings. Her mother had soon brought in the rest of her family – including Eha’s two uncles and their families – and that led to the unfortunate truth: if she left, she’d have nowhere to go.

Shaking her head, she tried to focus instead on being stealthy but her footsteps sounded so heavy as she stepped over dry grass. If the minister was to believed, this was a sign of the end of times, but she figured that their area was just going through a dry spell and the upcoming rain that Jan had said was coming would help the crunchy grass become uncrunchy. Which was good, she thought as she ducked under a large willow tree – which was the only tree of it’s type on the anywhere on the compound – as less crunchy grass was always more fun to lay on. The willow tree branches brushed against her hair and she paused to make sure none of it tangled, her eyes making contact with the minister's home. The poor tree sat directly next to the minister’s home lot, and while the minister was off preaching to the 16 and up male group right now, it didn’t change that she felt watched.

It was all worth it though.

Else Løkke waited behind the compound's tall fence, right next to the loose fence board, a pack of cigarettes held in one hand. She was a new convert to their compound; her father had joined the group two years ago but he had held off on getting his family to join, only in the last three months bringing his four daughters to join him, and Else had caught her eyes immediately.

Eha knew that nothing could come from their friendship – not only was Else in a different age group than her, Eha had been told since she was 14 that she was to be married to her cousin – but she hardly thought that what they were doing was too wrong. Sure, sneaking off the compound to smoke was forbidden: cigarette’s being a way to be led astray, and yes – Else did often talk about things she was supposed to have left behind when she joined the compound, but Eha loved learning, and since much of what Else spoke about was banned for being things that could lead them away from their supposed honorable path into paradise after the world ended, Eha wanted to hear everything.

The world outside the compound fence did scare her. Again, nothing out there for her. Yet at the same time, she couldn’t help but want to know more. To see the large cities the other talked about – to be able to walk into a library and know that none of the books had been cherry picked or ripped apart to protect the innocent-minded among them.

“You’re earlier than I thought,” Else said, a smile on her face as Eha came to stand next to her.

The other woman had her hair plaited down her back, but instead of the careful way the more devoted women of the compound did theirs – making sure no hair was out of place – Else’s looked as if she had scrambled to put it together. Eha reached out, pushing a stray piece of hair back. It was nothing more than a friendly gesture, she decided as she watched Else drop to the ground, splaying out her legs in front of her. The dress she wore wasn’t as long as the one Eha wore and her bare flesh stuck out in a way that was supposed to be indecent according to the minister, but Eha found to be intriguing.

“I just had to drop Raivis off at the grade school,” she replied, ducking her head as she added, “I'm supposed to be in reflection today.”

Else’s smile morphed into a grin, “What is a good girl like you doing in glorified time out?” She asked as she held out a cigarette.

“Reflection isn’t glorified time out,” Eha argued as she held her hand out for a lighter, quickly lighting up before she continued, “It’s a time where one is supposed to reflect on their sins and their faith and their future. It’s a time of reflection.”

Else laughed lightly. “You don’t have faith, you think the minister is a crackpot!”

“Yeah, well-” It wasn’t the full truth; she truly did believe in some of what the minister spoke about. The world did seem cruel; the bits of history that was spoken about during history classes talked about world wars and mass murders and horrible things of that nature; if there was ever a sign that it was going to come to an end, it’d be that (right?), but she was also correct. Eha thought the minister was a crazy man. He was the son of the former leader – because that was what those in charge were called before the minister came along – and while in charge, he had spoken of nothing but doom. Other things had happened that changed the group in weird ways; things that had never been apart of the group began being introduce.

Eha could still hear her mother arguing about clothing when the minister made an edict declaring certain clothing as dooming the group to damnation, swearing that it was a sign that things were going to get worse. She forced those thoughts from her mind as she listened to Else's words.

“So, to ask again, what were you doing in time out?” Else flicked her cigarette, the ashes falling to the ground.

“Me and my cousin are trying to get out of our betrothal,” she said after a second, “Tino feels like it’s weird with the age difference between us – he thinks that since he was nearly an adult when the betrothal happened, he should be with someone closer to his age and not have to wait until I come of age.”

Like Birgitta, Else’s younger sister. Her cousin had been making moon eyes at the girl since they had joined and Birgitte joined him in working with the 10 and unders in the after school program. It was, in equal parts, adorable and disgusting: she loved that her cousin had fallen for someone, but by god, he could learn to lock the bathroom door every now and then.

Still, she wasn’t going to say that.

Eha wasn’t exactly sure how close the two sisters were – not only did they have two different last names, but they seemed to be at each other’s throats a lot. At least the third and fourth of the sisters, who’s names Eha could never remember, were pretty normal in behavior.

“Ah, well, sorry?” Else seemed to frown and Eha felt her head shake.

“No, it’s fine, neither of us want it.” She took another drag of her cigarette, before dropping the mostly gone thing to the ground, crushing it. It sat there for a second before she bent to pick it up, tossing it in the old gum container that someone had left behind years ago. Though smoking was forbidden, a lot of people on the compound smoked, at least, a lot of people Eha knew, and more than a few of these containers existed somewhere on ground.

“Plus,” she added after a minute, green eyes sparkling slightly. “I have a year before I turn 18, I might find someone else.”

Else looked towards her, bottom lip between her teeth. “Yeah?”

“I mean, it’s a big compound – there’s like 700 of us, my cousin can’t be the only person I could marry.” Not that she wanted anyone else but the other in front of her.

Else moved, holding out her hand for help up. Eha gripped her hands, their fingers intertwining as she pulled the other up. For a second, her eyes closed as the other pulled one hand out of her grasp to swipe the dirt off her dress, and she waited for the moment that their little touch would end, but instead, as soon as Else was done swatting dirt away, she rejoined their hands. Eha opened her eyes and noted that they were of a height to each other, and Else's brilliant eyes seemed to shine in the light of the bright morning. Else bent slightly after a moment and pressed a kiss to her head, before rubbing their noses together. “You’ll have a line of suitors once this comes out,” she said as she moved away slowly, not moving her second hand.

It was a sweet thing to say and something that those who were without a betrothal were told, but as she thought on that, all of her earlier bravado fell away. Eha didn’t want a line of suitors, she only wanted the woman in front of her. “Maybe.”

Looking down at the dirt, she wondered what would happen if she told Else that. Even though she knew that nothing could come out of it – most marriages between women on the compound only happened after they both had children and lost a husband already – she didn’t want to have to wait that long to express her feelings towards her. Yet at the same time, she didn’t want to lose what she had gained.

Else was more than a crush, more than the person who would talk to her about the outside world without censoring herself – she was the first person who spoke to Eha about what Eha wanted. Not even her parents, who were quite overbearing, did that. Else questioned Eha about her life, about her likes and wants and dreams and dislikes and – she made her feel as if she was the only person in the whole world who mattered.

“I-”

The bell in the town square rang loudly, cutting off her words.

“Shit.” Else yanked her hands away, pulling at her dress before messing with her hair, trying to push it into a respectable way. Eha frowned as she watched her rush to make herself look presentable before her eyes darted around the empty space as she shoved the cigarette pack into her bra. “Do you know how long it takes the minister to get to the community rooms?”

“Um, twenty minutes,” She replied before asking, “Were you supposed to meet him?”

“Yeah.” Else looked absolutely unapologetic as she grinned, “He wants to talk but honestly I was a little more interested in talking to you.”

Oh.

“I doubt what we’ve talked about was of any interest to you-”

Else moved close again, cupping her face with a hand, “Everything about you interests me,” she said, earnestly. There was a look in the bright blue eyes but Eha couldn't figure out what it meant before Else was adding, “Never forget that.”

“Okay.” Her face felt hot as Else stared at her. This was the closest they had ever been to each other, and Eha was amazed at every little feature she could categorize on the other's face, before she remembered why they were so close and she shook herself out of the daze, “Your meeting – you’re already – you’re going to be late.”

The other nodded but made no move to duck under the fence again. Instead, her eyes were still trained on Eha and she felt her heart skip a beat.

“I gotta go,” Else said, after a few moments. The look on her face spoke only of how little she wanted to do that, but still she moved. Halfway through the fence hole, she looked back, “Meet up with me again tomorrow?”

“Always.” Else could ask anything of her and Eha would listen. Perhaps that was a sin in the eyes of the minister – the only person you should have unwavering support for was him and his words for only he knew when destruction would befall the world – but she didn’t care.

The other disappeared from her view and Eha waited a few more minutes before she ducked back into the compound, sliding back into the person she was expected to be. She’d head back to her room to reflect more on her betrothal before meeting up with Tino to explain that she truly felt it was the best they end it – perhaps if she said she had a revelation about it the minister would listen – and then wait for the next day to happen.

She pressed a hand against the willow tree before she began to take crunchy steps back towards the main square. A distant rumble sounded and she looked up towards the east, dark clouds hung overhead. Jan was right, she thought, rain was coming in.

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A/N: Not really much else to say. Don't know if I'll ever write anything more in this au - unless you guys want to see it - but um, I do like it so who knows.

human names: Eha - nyo!est Viktorija - nyo!liet Else - nyo!den Birgitta - nyo!swe Jan - neth

#hws denmark #hws estonia #hws denest #hetalia fanfiction #hws hetalia #ii. character;; aph estonia #ii. character;; aph denmark #iii. story;; mine #iii. story;; one shot #iii. story;; complete #v. pairing;; denest #iii. au;; cult au

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 2 years

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HEART'S PRICE - CHAPTER 56

*Warning: Adult Content*

If you can call six bags packed with drive-through breakfast foods a 'feast,' then Julian Hart comes, as Shanti says, bearing one.

He also comes with a warm, dry change of clothes for Noah Hunter, including a fuzzy pink sweater with a picture of a llama on the front.

It isn't his judging by the size and color, Noah would say it's Chloe Foley's but he doesn't care, it feels like he’s being snuggled by a cloud.

He might have to ask Chloe where she got it.

They sit on the floor in the only clear space in the shop, a small area in front of the old desk with the antique cash box and indulge in a variety of exceptionally unhealthy food while filling Julian in on what he's missed.

Shanti alone eats nothing, eyeing the array with mild distaste.

Usually, Noah would avoid such epicurean horrors himself but at the moment he can't imagine anything more delicious than the greasy breakfast sandwiches, fluffy ‘if flavorless’ hotcakes and crispy hash brown squares Noah is stuffing in his face.

At the same time, as Noah’s Wolf's metabolism and the hot food, warm clothes,and comforting atmosphere combine to speed him towards a swift recovery, his guilt grows teeth and begins to gnaw at him.

Noah ran.

He ran and he left his Mate behind.

And he can't help thinking that, faced with a similar situation, Dane or Freya would not have done the same.

But he’s not Dane or Freya, Noah reminds himself and he did run and now there's nothing to do but get himself well, listen to Shanti's tale and hope that by the end of it there's still a chance to save his Mate from the danger he left him in.

"Spare yourself such unkind thoughts, my friend," Shanti says, reaching over to touch my hand as she seems to read my mind. "Courage is not the only virtue. Perhaps it would have been courageous to stand and fight, but it was wise to flee. You are no match for a rakshasa and it would have been cruel to force the one who loves you to watch you meet so violent an end, even if it was an end met in loyalty to love. You have chosen instead a way of compassion, for yourself and for those who love you, for it is clear that the Dragon is not the only one who does."

She looks between Dane, Julian and Freya and they each nod in turn, two pairs of amber eyes and one of amethyst but all equally bright.

"Mom and dad, too, Noah, not to mention Travis and Martin," Dane says, naming the other two-thirds of my triplet set. "And poor Monty," he adds. "He'd cry for the rest of his life if something happened to you."

"There are eight of us, Dane," Noah reminds him. "Statistically, one of us is gonna die, eventually."

"Yeah, well, we're all gonna die, eventually, but I'll be damned if it happens on my watch," he growls, "and doubly damned if it's you."

Julian leans to rest his hand on Dane's knee.

Something passes between them, quick as a spark and Dane relaxes.

"Anyway," he turns his attention back to Shanti, "you were gonna explain some shit, right?"

As far as Noah knows, Dane had an exemplary record as an officer and then as a homicide detective but from what I've witnessed of his interview skills so far, he’s beginning to wonder if he didn't just rely on scaring the more impressionable suspects into confessing their guilt.

"Indeed." Shanti offers him a serene smile before turning her attention once more to me. "Let me begin with an apology. I am sorry, Noah, for I must confess that I am partly to blame for the fact that you are here at all. You remember when we met, when you first chanced upon this place, that I said I had cast a small spell of attraction to draw the right sort of person here?"

Noah nods.

"Well, it was a very specific spell, in fact. It was a spell to attract you and only you, although I did not know it at the time. It was a spell to attract a Dragon's heart."

Noah swallows around the sudden tightness in his throat.

"Why?"

"To understand that," she says, "we must begin further in the past."

Resting against the side of the tall desk at her back, Shanti crosses her legs and pulls her long hair forward over her shoulder, beginning to weave it into an intricate braid as she speaks.

"What I am about to tell you is a tale I have pieced together over the years, from the recollections of others and from my own memories and it begins some years before I was born. In the last decade of the 19th century, two men set out on a quest for the ultimate prize, the magician's equivalent of the 'philosopher's stone' something that would impart the dual gifts of immortality and a heart's desire. Rowan Oakfield and Aengus Thorne devoted their lives to this goal and by extension the lives of all those whose destinies tangled with their own. Even so, despite their dedication, talent and the wealth of learning they each accumulated, it seemed their efforts would be in vain, for the prize remained as elusive as smoke in their grasp. Their hopes of finding it began to fade and as the pair entered middle age, they had all but given up and resolved themselves to more attainable pursuits.

Then, one day, when the air was so thick with fog that one could hardly see one's own feet in it, Aengus Thorne chanced upon a strange little shop down a dirty side-street in London, the sort of place inhabited by 'foreigners' and those for whom Aengus would have had worse names and into which he would, under usual circumstances, never have ventured. On this day, though, to escape the fog a while, he went in. The shop was crammed with curios and old, outlandish tomes in strange scripts. Intrigued, Aengus began to browse this odd collection and so happened, by chance, it seemed, upon exactly what he had been looking for, a book that spoke of dragons, the elemental serpents of water, fire, earth and air and of how to summon and speak with them and to bargain for their favor. The man who owned the shop wondered at the wisdom of releasing this knowledge but such was his custom, he did not take it on himself to decide if knowledge was 'good' or 'bad,' or to judge the intentions of those who came seeking it. He only provided it when it met a seeker's need.

So, Mr. Thorne was allowed to depart that day, book in hand and the strange little shop vanished with the fog. Aengus, at least, was never able to find it again, though he searched every corner of London many times. It took some year, but at last Rowan Oakfield and Aengus Thorne were ready to make their attempt. Aengus' wife had borne him a son, whom he adored and a daughter, whom he did not. The daughter, though, was what he had been waiting for, the final ingredient in his great spell. That little girl, as you have deduced, was me. My mother was Rosie Macleod, after whom your Ambrose was named. She wanted to call me 'Katyayani' which was her own mother's name but 'Katherine' is the nearest she was allowed. Disliking this, she called me 'Kitty' instead. I remember little of that time, save a vague impression that my mother was gentle and kind, that she loved me and that did not deserve the cruel fate forced upon her by a man she had not married by choice."

Shanti's voice has so far remained even and calm, light and serene as bells sounded by a breeze but now it takes on a harder edge.

Her face is set, her expression unreadable and she sits still as stone, only her lips moving as she speaks.

"And so, having everything they needed, seven fellow supplicants, a medium, and a sacrifice, Aengus and Rowan made their attempt. Over the waters of a sacred lotus pond, built for that purpose, Aengus summoned a great serpent and the Naga king came or, more accurately, he spoke through his native element to my mother, whose mind was receptive to such things. Then, of course, Aengus made his mistake and attempted to exchange the life of his child for the extension of his own."

Shanti pauses and pulls down the front of her green silks a little, revealing a scar above her left breast.

"This is where he struck me, aiming for my heart. By fortunate chance, he missed, though I was gravely wounded, nonetheless."

Rearranging her garments, she continues.

"Thinking me slain, my mother went mad with grief. In her rage and despair, she set herself alight, attempting to extinguish her pain and to destroy her tormentors in furious flame. The water lord, too, was righteously enraged, doubly so, for it was from his own store of knowledge, in the form of a strange and humble little shop, that Aengus had discovered the very spell by which he was now bound. With my mother's destruction, though, Nagaraja was freed of the ritual's constraints. He might have departed, then, instead, as my blood spilled into the sacred pond through which he gazed, he saw that I yet lived and was moved to pity, for without aid, the minutes of my life might be counted on one hand.

Struck with guilt and a sense of responsibility for having supplied Aengus with the means and inspiration, however misinterpreted, of causing such harm, he resolved to help me, if he could. All water is one water, to the Nāgas and so, possessed of his full freedom and power, Nagaraja manifested himself in the lotus pond there, amidst the roaring flames. Taking me in his arms, he then retreated to his native realm once more, to heal and raise me as his own. He nursed me himself, male Nāgas being able to produce milk, if needed and by such sustenance I was endowed with and acquired all the traits of his nature. By the time I could speak, I was as much a nagi as if I had been born of one.

"So," she concludes, "I lived, and was raised in the jewel-like lotus lakes of the Naga realm, never dreaming I was not the same as the brothers and sisters with whom I played."

"Nagaraja never told you where you really came from?" Julian asks.

Julian has been leaning against Dane, half in his arms and seeming half asleep as Dane strokes his hair with one hand.

The sight has been causing Noah pangs of irrational jealousy and longing, as he remembers that he might be asleep in his own mate's arms right now, if he just hadn't been so damned curious.

Then again, Aengus might have been watching them from within the walls the whole time, waiting for his chosen moment to strike.

The thought makes Noah shiver even as Shanti answers.

"He told me enough but human or nagi, I was a child and did not understand. It was not until years later, after Aengus disappeared, that Nagaraja revealed the full truth."

She pauses a moment, taking a breath and half-shutting her eyes.

"After the tragedy of my mother's death," she goes on, "Nagaraja imagined that Aengus had learned his lesson and that the harm was done, so when he learned that, in his hubris, Aengus had not only attempted the ritual a second time, successfully but had bargained with a Lord of Fire, Nagaraja took it on himself to watch over him and those of his circle, to ensure that the knowledge he had provided was not further misused. When Aengus disappeared, however, Nagaraja grew concerned. It was then that he told me of my history and determined that care of this place..." she gestures at the shop around her, "as well as responsibility for the knowledge it contains, should pass to me."

"Seems kinda cruel," Freya comments, "to put that on you."

"Nagaraja's remorse is deep," Shanti replies evenly, "and I owe him not only my life, but a life that he filled with love, kindness, and delight. When he asked me to take on this duty, I was honored to accept, for it was no longer a task he felt himself fit to carry out. Like all such elemental beings, my father can only cross the thresholds between realms at certain times, for certain purposes, or when summoned by powerful magics. Because of this, there were long stretches of time in which he was absent from this world, and it was during one of these that Aengus vanished. I, on the other hand," she adds, turning her dark eyes on me, "being partly human, may pass between realms as often as I like, and remain in either for as long as I choose."

Noah rubs his hands over his face and sighs.

Despite feeling much better for the hot food and warm clothes, nothing can change the fact that he still smelt like fishy lake water, that he hasn't slept in twenty-four hours or that during those twenty-four hours he had almost died... twice.

He’s exhausted and worried and what he wants more than anything is to see Ambrose and know that he's okay.

"So...once again," Noah asks wearily, "what does all of that have to do with what's happening now? How are you involved with the thefts and why did you need Ambrose to find his 'heart?'"

Folding her hands in her lap, Shanti regards Noah with a slight frown.

"You must understand that there are limits to what I can do to interfere in the affairs of this world," she says. "Noninterference is a central tenet of the Naga race, and I could face dire consequences for breaking it. That is, in part, why I banished you from this place for a time, and sought my father's advice: I needed his permission to act as I have now, and to reveal all this to you."

"The cat's paw stamps," Noah says. "That was you?"

Shanti nods.

"When I learned of Rowan's death, and then the thefts began, I sought ways to warn the others of their imminent danger without revealing myself or taking direct action. I have a small gift of foresight, imparted, strangely enough, from my mother's side and so I was able to predict when and where each relic would be taken. I thought the cat's paw—the reminder of my name and of that first failure, would serve as a warning,but it did little good. None of them were willing or able to do what was needed to prevent the theft of their precious gifts. At last, at Thaddeus' party, I risked a more direct approach, attending myself but I was too late. Thaddeus was already poisoned and dying when I came upon him. I did my best but I could not save him. Most fortunately, your Fae brother," she nods at Julian, "escaped a similar fate, thanks to Ambrose Thorne."

"Ambrose..."

Noah thinks back to that night and to what and how much, he might have known.

"Did he burn Thaddeus?" he asks.

To Noah’s dismay, Shanti nods.

"Aengus Thorne was blessed with two Dragons'-children, Ambrose and I and yet he can call neither his own. Through his actions, I am Nagaraja's daughter, while Ambrose has always been Ainach's alone."

She pauses a moment, playing with the end of her now complexly woven braid.

"I did not know until quite recently, until the night that Brutus met his end, that it was Aengus who was behind it all, as he had always been. As for Ainach's involvement and why I sought to draw his fated heart to me... perhaps he himself can tell you."

"Ainach? What do you.. ?" Noah glances up sharply but at almost the same moment the door of the shop swings open.

As one, they turn and framed in the doorway, Noah sees something that makes his heart take flight even as it freezes with fear.

Ambrose stands there, his clothes torn and his long hair wild, three long gashes marring the right side of his face and blood staining his collar and the cuffs of his sleeves.

His eyes meet Noah’s and light with sparks like coals that are blown upon,and the young man’s breath catches in his throat.

For a moment, a heartbeat, the time it takes a piece of ash to be torn apart on the air, Noah hesitates, not sure whether to be hopeful or afraid.

Making his choice, he rises and speaks Ambrose’s name and reaches for him and with a sigh of relief, his Dragon-born mate stumbles forward and falls into his arms.

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eurynome827 · 3 years

Text

A Whiskey & A Dance

A/N: see this post for the picture that inspired this story. This story is a standalone oneshot and is not connected with my other 1940s Bucky stories.

1940s preserum Steve x Bucky x reader (female)

Word Count: 3,033

Warnings: 18+ ONLY for m x m x f (taking turns), protected sex (this is the 40s so I used the word 'rubbers'), loss of virginity (Steve), oral (m receiving), smoking and alcohol, masturbation, language and dirty talk, cumplay, Steve is having thoughts about Bucky that he's trying to understand but there are no overt acts of Stucky in this fic.

By clicking the Read More below, you affirm that you are 18+ as this fic contains adult content!

"Slow down already, punk!" Steve struggled to keep up with Bucky's quick footsteps on the sidewalk, sidestepping the other pedestrians, out of breath and wheezing. "What's the big rush? Afraid you'll miss out on your doll?"

Bucky stopped suddenly on the pavement and Steve ran right into his back, damn near bouncing off. "First off, jerk, she's not a doll. She's a dame." Bucky emphasized the word, drawing it out with a raised eyebrow. "And tonight's not for me. It's for you."

Bucky whirled and took off down the sidewalk again as Steve shook his head, dazed. "For - for me? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you - dancing. Smooching. Maybe more." The mischief on Bucky's face made Steve swallow, hard. He pulls on Bucky's arm to stop him again.

"Buck...you didn't...pay her, did you?"

"Will you listen to yourself?" Bucky pulled his arm from Steve's grip. "No, I didn't pay her. She's not like that. She just likes to have fun. Lots of fun."

Steve can't help himself. "Have you...had fun with her?"

Bucky nods, but it's written all over his face anyway. "Oh yeah."

"What's she like?"

Bucky looks up towards the two stars visible in the Brooklyn sky. "Like heaven, Stevie. Like walking through the gates to heaven."

The dance hall is loud and crowded when they arrive, and Steve's heart is hammering in his chest. He stares listlessly at the bodies moving on the dance floor until Bucky elbows him.

"There she is..."

You're not like any other girl Steve has seen.

You're definitely older than the other girls they know, and Steve doesn't recognize you from when they were in school. Your heels are a little higher, your dress is tighter and your smile is knowing, worldly. Bucky mentioned that you have your own apartment and you work in Manhattan, someone's secretary or something. You're drinking whiskey in a glass stained with the red of your lipstick and Steve's mesmerized by the column of your neck as you lean back to swallow. Bucky's right - you're not a doll, you're a dame. A woman.

"C'mon, Steve, let's dance."

You hand your glass to Bucky and grab Steve's hand and he's afraid for a moment that his palms are too sweaty or that you can hear how hard it is for him to breathe. The music changes from a fast song to a slow one, and you take Steve's hands and put them on your waist, drawing him in close. You're looking at him like he's the only guy in Brooklyn and in that moment nothing else matters - just you and your red lips and your perfume in his nose tickling the back of his throat.

"Bucky said maybe we could go back to my place and have a few drinks." You're whispering in Steve's ear, and you giggle when a shiver runs down his spine, his hands trembling on your waist. "Would you like that, Steve?"

"Y-yeah. Let's go."

You sneak the boys in through a side door, you tell them it's to avoid the nosy landlady. Bucky and Steve tiptoe up the stairs behind you and wait while you unlock the door and then you grab them both by the lapels of their jackets and pull them inside, your giggles floating out into the hallway. Bucky is laughing softly and he ducks his head to kiss the back of your neck while you're locking the door from the inside and Steve wonders again what am I doing here? What's going on?

"Let's have a drink, gentlemen," you kick off your shoes and grab the bottle of whiskey off the counter in the kitchenette. Bucky's taking three glasses out of the cabinet and it's clear he's been here more than once. You take a cigarette from your pack and offer one to Bucky, who takes it but opens a window before lighting yours, and then his.

"Oh," you look over at Steve, "will you be alright with the smoke?"

"He's fine with the window open," Bucky answers, sitting on the couch and leaning his head back, exhaling a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.

You pour out the whiskey, three glasses neat. The cigarette is perched between your pouting lips and Steve's mesmerized. He's never been in a place like this with a woman like you. You catch him staring and smile, soft and knowing.

"I'm going to get comfortable. Is that alright, Steve?" You ask, voice low as you hand him a glass. Bucky smirks at you when you hand him the other glass.

"Um, sure," Steve answers, taking a tiny sip and wincing at the burn. "I don't mind."

You drink, and Steve's watching your neck as you swallow again, everything about you soft but sophisticated, in Steve's eyes anyway. Putting down your glass and the cigarette in the ashtray, you unbutton your dress with your eyes on Steve the whole time. His mouth goes dry, his body feels numb, and he knows he's staring as your skin is revealed to him but he can't stop himself. You toss your dress on a chair, pick up your cigarette and lounge on the couch, next to Bucky in only your undergarments and stockings.

Steve can't breathe and it has nothing to do with the smoke. Bucky draws lazy circles on the inside of your thigh with his fingertips, and you open your legs wider for him but your eyes are fixed on Steve. You sigh before drawing more smoke into your lungs, exhaling a cloud around you and Bucky that looks like a magic spell hanging in the room.

"Do you want to touch me too?" You ask, quietly, like you're trying not to frighten him off. "I want you to. I like to play." Your lips curl up in a smile, and you put the cigarette in the ashtray again to beckon him forward, crooking your finger with a mischievous giggle. "Come here, Steve. Come and play with us."

Steve's mouth and throat go dry, and he takes a drink but starts coughing when the whiskey burns down his throat. You shake off Bucky's hand and stand up from the couch, walking to Steve and cooing, "oh, sweet baby boy, are you alright?" Steve's eyes nearly pop out of his head when you kneel in front of him, rubbing your hands up his thighs closer to where he's suddenly hard in his pants at the sight and presence of you. One of your hands rubs over his clothed cock and his head falls back, his eyes closed as he struggles to control himself.

"Steve," you're whispering, your hands unbuttoning his pants, "I know you want me, and I want you too. Will you let me make you feel good, baby?" A strangled moan escapes from Steve's throat as your hands grasp him and pull him free and he opens his eyes in time to see you lick the head, humming at the taste.

It's too much, and he has no experience and he knows he'll embarrass himself. "I can't - I won't be able to -"

"Yes, you will. Let me take care of you." Your red lips smile at him once more before you take Steve in your mouth, lipstick smearing on his skin and he raises his hips before he can stop himself, completely lost in the warmth of your mouth. You hum again, swirling your tongue and holding his hips, pushing him back down to sit and looking up to catch his eye, looking filthy and beautiful with your mouth full of him. Steve thinks he may have to close his eyes again but then he looks over and sees Bucky.

Bucky - he's unbuttoned his shirt, dog tags laying on his chest. His hair's a mess from how many times he's pushed his fingers through it, his lips are bitten swollen and pink from how aroused he is and his hand is slowly fisting his hard cock, watching you suck Steve further down your throat.

Steve's pretty sure this sinning will be worth a lot more than ten Hail Mary's, but he's in for whatever reckoning is coming his way. He gasps, feeling himself getting too close, but you know too and you pull off, tightening your hand at the base of his cock and holding him off. "I told you," you say breathlessly, "I'd take care of you." You surge up to capture his lips, rubbing off what's left of your lipstick on his mouth. You lick along his bottom lip, and Steve opens his mouth, letting you tangle your tongue with his and tasting himself in your mouth.

Steve's still painfully hard, but he could kiss you all night long. He wants to touch you but he's not sure where to put his hands, finally resting them on your shoulders and pulling you closer. Steve thinks you're about to straddle his lap and he's wondering how he'll control himself with that when you suddenly giggle and pull away from Steve's mouth and he opens his eyes.

Bucky's behind you, his hands smoothing over your skin, his mouth pressing open, wet kisses along the skin on your back and shoulders. "Sorry, sugar," he murmurs into your skin, his nimble fingers pulling the straps down your arms, "I couldn't wait to touch you."

"Bucky," you try to scold, but your voice is light and amused, "you have to be patient. Steve's first, remember?"

Steve watches as Bucky strips you, his eyes following Bucky's hands and breathing hard at every curve revealed to him. Bucky cups your breasts and teases your nipples with his thumbs as you lean your head back on his shoulder, closing your eyes in pleasure. "Bucky," you whine, "you're being bad."

"You love it," he chuckles in your ear, and Steve watches as Bucky slides a hand down to feel you between your legs. "Stevie, she's so wet for us," Bucky licks his lips and winks at his best friend. "Told ya you'd have a good time tonight."

Steve laughs, nervously. Part of him still can't believe he's here, that Bucky would share you with him and give him this experience. But then you're slapping Bucky's hands away with a soft, "behave," and pulling on his dog tags to bring him in for a rough kiss that has Bucky's hands wandering again. "Patience," you breathe out when you break away again. Bucky grins and kisses your forehead before helping you to your feet and extending a hand to Steve as well.

"The lady says you're first, pal," Bucky teases, and you pull Steve to your bed as Bucky follows.

"Why don't you lay down on your back," you tell Steve, pushing him back gently. "I'll take care of you, remember?"

Steve nods, his heart racing. He lays back on the mattress and watches you rummage in the drawer by your bed. You pull out rubbers - you're a real woman - and you straddle Steve with one in your hand. "Do you know what this is?"

"Yes, ma'am."

You smile, and lean over to kiss him, and Steve shivers at the feeling of your bare skin against his. You're so warm and wet between your legs and Steve can't believe this is really happening. "Do you trust me?" You ask, whispering into his ear.

"Yes!" Steve answers quickly, nodding when you sit up and take him in hand, rolling the rubber on and soothing him when he hisses at how sensitive he is. Then you're hovering over him, lining him up and sinking down - and oh shit Bucky was right.

Heaven. Like walking into heaven.

Steve lets his hands slide up your body as you roll your hips, touching all those valleys and curves he watched Bucky touch. He's drinking in your sounds and moans and he's loud too, he can't help it with how good you're making him feel. He fights to keep his eyes open and watch you above him, but he's falling fast and he can't stop himself. "I'm - I can't stop -" he stutters out, biting his lip, and you lean down to hold his hands and rock against him harder.

"You don't have to stop," you tell him, breathing hard, "I want you to feel good, Steve."

You're squeezing him inside you and he can't hold back, filling the rubber with a loud shout. You slow your movements, riding out his orgasm, and you kiss him hard before rolling off to lay on the bed next to him.

Steve's quiet, staring at the ceiling with a grin on his face, and you giggle and curl into his side. He's almost forgotten about Bucky - until he appears at the foot of the bed, rubber already rolled on and pulling at your ankle impatiently.

"Hope you had fun, punk, but now it's my turn."

You laugh, and move to your hands and knees, winking at Bucky over your shoulder before turning your gaze back to Steve.

"Should I go?" Steve asks, unsure, and you shake your head, balancing yourself to reach for his hand.

"No, sweet boy, you stay right there, and if you want to play more we can, but -" your voice is cut off by your moan as Bucky's pushes inside you, his hands gripping your hips. He leans over to brush a kiss to your shoulder before starting a quick and rough pace.

"But it's my turn now," Bucky groans out the words, jaw clenched and lips bitten. His dog tags bounce as he thrusts into you, and you - you're a vision, fists clutching the blanket, back arched, breasts bouncing and when you open your eyes you smile at Steve.

Steve's eyes are wide and he can't stop watching. He can't believe it but he feels himself starting to stir again, and he hurriedly removes and ties off the rubber, tossing it on the floor in a daze. Not like you care where he throws it, because the headboard's banging against the wall now with how hard and fast Bucky is fucking you.

"Can't get enough of you, you know that," Bucky's muttering, and your head falls to the mattress, moaning in response. "Dreaming about you, about fucking you everywhere, getting my head up your skirt and not caring who sees."

Steve can't believe the words coming out of Bucky's mouth, and the wild look in his eyes. Then those eyes drift to him, and Bucky grins, letting go of your hips for a moment to push his hair out of his eyes.

"You like this, Stevie? You like sharing a girl?"

Steve nods, too stunned to speak, and wraps his hand around his cock, stroking as he watches. He's not sure what he wants, but he wants more and he can't stop watching you, or Bucky.

You wail, something's happened and Steve's not sure what. Bucky pulls out of you and rolls you over and your head lands close to Steve's shoulder. You look up at Steve and smile, your eyes glassy and unfocused. Bucky crawls over you and licks a drop of sweat from between your breasts and you whimper. "Gonna cum for me again, baby?" Bucky asks you, softer now.

"Yeah, want more, Buck. Need more." Your voice is rough, and the slight begging tone shoots straight to Steve's cock.

Bucky grins, charming and roguish, and leans down to kiss you before sitting up and positioning himself between your legs again. Steve is mesmerized as he watches Bucky slide inside you again, watches the way Bucky's eyes roll back at the feel of you and watches how your chest rises and falls with the effort to breathe. Steve syncs his strokes with Bucky's thrusts into you, steady but longer this time, dragging in and out of you and making you moan.

You look up at Steve and then back at Bucky, and he understands what you want.

"Touch our girl, Stevie," Bucky says, nodding to him. "Let's make her feel good, huh?"

Steve nods, rolling on his side and figuring as long as he has permission he'll do what he's wanted to all night long. He lowers his head to your breast and sucks your nipple into his mouth, his hand keeping a steady pace over his hardening cock as your whimpers drive him faster and faster. His tongue flicks around you and Bucky suddenly groans.

"She's squeezing me, Stevie, she likes that," he encourages, and Steve lifts his head before moving to the other breast and sees Bucky wet his thumb in his mouth and then start rubbing you on a spot between your legs. You lurch up, back arched, and Steve files that away to ask Bucky about later.

"Bucky! Steve!" You're crying their names, and Bucky speeds up.

"Cum for us, darlin'," he demands, low and husky. "I'm right there with you. Look at Steve, he's gonna paint you up all pretty."

Steve looks at Bucky, and then down at his own hand flying over his cock, and he realizes what Bucky's saying. Is he - is that what he's supposed to do? You're wailing again, eyes closed and mouth open, and Steve shouts, his mess covering your breasts.

"Fuck..." Bucky swears, and thrusts into you twice more before he cums into rubber, pulling out of you slowly and collapsing onto the bed on your other side.

Steve watches you and Bucky, stunned silent. Your eyes open slowly and you look up at Steve, and you start giggling.

"You should see your face right now, Steve. Are you okay?"

Bucky looks over, and snorts. "Punk can't believe his good luck."

Steve smiles at you, sheepish. "Yeah, something like that, I guess."

You lift your hand, cupping Steve's cheek. "Was it a good first time, baby?"

Steve holds his hand on yours, moving to press a kiss to your palm. "Yes."

Bucky removes and ties off his rubber and looks over at Steve. "Do me a favor, grab a cloth from over there," he points, "and help me clean up our girl. She takes care of us, and we take care of her."

You move your other hand to Bucky's cheek, smiling up at him. "You were right. This was a really good idea."

#a whiskey and a dance #1940s preserum steve x bucky x reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #divider by imerdwarf #steve rogers #bucky barnes #female reader

556 notes · View notes

cower-before-power · 3 years

Text

Slippery When Wet: Part 2

Summary: An untimely accident in the shower leaves you injured and in need of rescue. Lucky for you, the object of your affections is more than willing to help.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

TW: swearing, nudity, implied sexual content, description of injury (nothing graphic), unintentional voyeurism? (idk i mean like voyeurism in the name of helping i’m not sure how to say it ha), lots of dick talk, prolly really bad sex jokes

Link to A03 here

PART 1 HERE

A/N: First of all, THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO READ, LIKED, REBLOGGED AND COMMENTED ON PART 1. You are all amazing, I am so glad you are enjoying this silly little venture Gojo has dragged me on. Again, thank you so much to @ghost-party for her beta skills, you da best! I hope Part 2 makes you all happy :) please enjoy, sweet potatoes!

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You shouldn’t look. Not because you don’t want to, but if you do you’ll know what is absolutely not warming your bed at night and then you’ll probably just feel worse. But, you were overwhelmingly curious. Just a quick look couldn’t hurt.

Right?

You peek through your fingers, just at his upper half. The sight makes you curse softly under your breath. Of course he’s absolutely beautiful out of clothes, did you really expect anything less?

“If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll get dressed,” he says, “just thought this would help you out.”

Help you out? Good grief this is going to be the star of your late night fantasies for months. Because instead of dreaming it up, you now have the real thing to recall.

“No,” you take a deep breath and drop your hands. “I’m fine.”

Are you though? He’s built to perfection, checking off all the boxes on your “Things I find physically attractive” checklist. You marvel at this long column of his throat, sweeping down into a set of collarbones that would make models die of envy. His chest is hairless (did he wax or was it just naturally that way?), miles of smooth skin and muscle that your fingers were just itching to trace.

Your eyes trail down past his stomach, briefly cataloging the very nice set of abs, before settling on what you were the most curious about.

The snort of laughter escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“Excuse me, did you just look at my dick and laugh?” He asks accusingly, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry,” you giggle at the disgruntled expression on his face. “It’s just, I’ve always wondered if the carpet matched the drapes since I assumed you dye your hair. Guess I was wrong.”

For the first time since you’ve known him, Gojo Satoru visibly deflates.

“That’s what you’ve thought about?” His voice is full of frustrated disbelief. “My pubic hair?”

You can’t stop giggling. “You can’t blame a girl for being curious! Are you sure you shouldn’t get rid of it though? Doesn’t the white make people think they’re boning an old man?”

“The utter disrespect,” he gasps, shaking his head. “I can assure you that is the last thing on their minds when I’m working my magic.”

You wonder why you aren’t feeling more flustered. The fun and teasing atmosphere feels almost refreshing after the intense back and forth that was just occurring.

“What, you casting spells for dry weather?”

“Oh, you are evil!” He moans, then looks down at himself. “Don’t listen to her, big guy. You know what you can do.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t talk to it,” you roll your eyes, trying not to grin. “And don’t oversell the merchandise. It’s average, at best.”

(It isn’t. It’s probably the nicest looking one you’ve ever seen. But him and his astronomical ego do not need to know that)

Gojo grabs his chest as if you’ve physically wounded him. “Ouch! Shots fired, target annihilated!”

“You’re such a drama queen,” you sigh. You wonder if he notices the quiet fondness in your voice.

He opens his mouth as if to retaliate, but then suddenly shuts it. A look comes over his face as if he’s just remembered something very interesting and important.

“Hey,” he says, and you watch his mouth spread into a smile. “You said you’d wondered if the carpet matched the drapes. That means you definitely imagined me naked at least once.”

And your blush is back.

“What of it?” You huff, cross your arms and looking away. “It’s only natural. I’ve thought of lots of people naked.”

“Do you ever imagine sleeping with me?”

The question causes you to choke on your breath.

“What-why would you ask that?”

“Inquiring minds want to know.”

You take a look at him, standing naked and unashamed in front of you. His smile is different; there’s a sultry edge to it you’ve never seen before.

“Maybe inquiring minds should stuff it,” you stick out your tongue. Immature, but he’s got you feeling all funny now.

“Well, I’ve thought about it,” he says. “I’ve thought about it quite a lot, actually.”

Your heart misses a beat in your chest.

“You have?” Your voice squeaks as you force the words out.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” He asks, tilting his head like a curious puppy.

You consider the question. You’ve got insecurities, but you know you are a decent looking person. And despite his flightiness about many things, Gojo has actually never given you the impression that he’s shallow in that way.

“I don’t know,” you say truthfully. “I guess I just never considered the possibility that you were interested in me in that way.”

He sighs. “Pumpkin, I’m not blind. You are stupidly attractive. Every time we’re out in Tokyo you’ve got a million guys and gals staring at you.”

“I just always assumed they were staring at your and your stupid blindfold,” you scrub at your cheeks with your palms, trying to rid yourself of some of the perplexing confusion you feel swirling inside you. “How come you’ve never made a move?”

“Would you have wanted me to?”

You want to shout at him, to say of course yes a thousand times yes, but you pause. You realize you’ve never given him any signals, any hint that he was more than just your often annoying friend. Sure, you blushed at his silly flirting, but so did lots of people.

You shift back through your interactions, all the missions, the late night hang outs, the strolls through the city. Nowhere can you find any instant where your ever expanding feelings might have risen to the surface. But still, would your seeming indifference deter him? He was a very self assured man, after all.

“You have confidence coming out your ass, it’s hard to believe you wouldn’t make a move anyways, just to see,” you say instead.

His whole demeanor softens. “I didn’t want to fuck anything up.”

Oh.

OH.

And you know exactly what he means. It’s why you’ve never said anything, why you forced your desires deep down into the pit of your being when in his presence.

It seems even the strongest shaman could be afraid of something.

“It’s not just about fucking, is it?” You ask, feeling your whole body start to tremble.

“It was never just about fucking,” he replies, and it’s like the universe explodes before your very eyes. “Why do you think I spend all my free time with you?”

“To annoy me?” You croak feebly. “To eat all my snacks? To enjoy torturing me by spoiling the end to every movie we watch?”

He chuckles. “Just side bonuses. Being with you is the real prize, pumpkin.”

“Oh,” you whisper, and your brain whirs like an overworked laptop. You’re having trouble processing that this is actually happening, that the man you’ve been pining after for what feels like forever is really standing there, confessing his own feelings.

Buck ass naked.

“You’ve got two options right now,” Gojo takes a step closer to you, and you shiver at the dominant aura that suddenly swirls around him. “Either I get dressed and we put today behind us, or I come over there and kiss you until you can’t remember your own name. Make your choice.”

Was there even a choice? There was only one option. A slow, warm feeling blooms in the middle of your chest and spreads outwards, dousing your whole shaking body in molten yearning. It’s not a new feeling, but the sensations are different. Because now you can give in to it.

“Kiss me,” you blurt out, breathless and giddy. “Get the fuck over here and kiss me.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

A flash of a savage grin, the soft thump of footsteps and then you are numb to everything but him.

He tastes like sugary coffee and chapstick, lips hard and hot against yours as he kisses you like he’ll die if he stops. He’s everywhere at once, in all your senses, drowning you in his onslaught of desirous fervour. It’s not a timid kiss of new sweethearts; it’s a passionate embrace of long overdue lovers.

Your hands run over every inch of him they can reach, mapping the ridges and valleys of his exposed skin. His own slip beneath your shirt to spread across your back, crushing you to him with a grip of iron. It’s not enough; you want them everywhere, you want him everywhere, until he’s branded onto your body. Until you no longer know where you end and he begins. Until he’s sunken himself into your very bones.

You need to breathe- you pull away with a gasp, one gossamer thread of saliva lazily trailing after you.

“Why didn’t we do that sooner?” You pant, digging your nails into his arms. He’s unwilling to keep his mouth off you, now pressing scalding kisses along your jaw.

“Blame it on mutual stupidity,” he sighs into your skin, teeth slightly grazing the spot just below your ear. “Let’s make up for lost time, eh?”

“I’m game,” you say, a soft whine leaving your lips as he works steadily on what is sure to become a bruise.

“Good,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue across the blossoming mark before leaning back to smirk at you. “Have to make you take back all your snarky comments about me and my game.”

You giggle. “Oh, so you’re saying it won’t be as dry as a desert ‘round here?”

“Well let me just check tonight’s weather report,” he laughs, grinning cheekily as he slips a hand down between your legs, brushing gently over the front of your underwear. You bite your lip, grip on his biceps tightening.

“Ladies and gentleman, we’re in for a wet night,” he says in what you assume is his best weatherman voice. “Expect a great deal of precipitation, more so than what’s already accumulated. Perhaps we’ll even see some flooding. We’re talking possibly record setting levels here.”

You snort with laughter, pushing at him slightly. “You are such an idiot. Just shut up and put your money where your mouth is.”

“Oh, I intend to put my mouth in a lot of different places,” he removes his hand, snapping the elastic band of your underwear against your hip as he goes. “I know I just got you into these, but shall I undress you now?”

“Yes please,” you nod eagerly, already wiggling out of your shirt. He quickly helps remove the offending garment, but in all the lust and excitement you’ve forgotten about your shoulder, and you moan in pain when you jostle it.

“Owwwwwwie, stupid shoulder!”

“Shhh, pumpkin,” Gojo coos gently, leaning down to pepper the area with kisses. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

You feel yourself melt at the sudden tender display, and you can’t help but run your fingers through his luscious hair as he continues to smother your bruised shoulder in affection. “You already are, Satoru.”

The first name slips out unexpectedly, but you like the way it rolls off your tongue. He seems to as well, judging by the pleased noise that rumbles from his chest.

“Well, allow me to continue then,” he purrs, and his lips leave your shoulder to capture yours in another toe curling kiss. You press yourself to him, the feel of his bare skin against yours sending a thrill shooting down your spine.

An idea suddenly pops into your head.

“I never got to finish my shower,” you break your kiss to speak, looking up at him under your lashes.

He catches on immediately, his smile once again turning primal. It makes your knees weak and your gut clench in anticipation.

“Maybe you should help me, since I’m injured and all,” you push yourself even closer to him, shivering at the feeling of his not-so-average excitement pressing against your belly.

“Hmmmm, I could do that,” he’s already got his fingers hooked in your underwear, slowly starting to push them down your hips. “But what if you slip again?”

“Well, you’ll just have to catch me then,” you wink at him. “With your dick.”

He roars with laughter, and your heart has never been more full.

“Oh, I’ll do more than just catch you, pumpkin,” he growls playfully, and before you can blink he’s rid you of your bottoms and swept you up into his arms. “I’m going to absolutely wreck you.”

You reach up to kiss him as he pounds towards the bathroom, your blood on fire and only one thought in your head.

Bless that stupid, slippery, wonderful bar of soap.

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#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #gojo satoru fic #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo #jjk gojo satoru #jjk anime #my writing

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gingersnaaps · 3 years

Text

making things right

you and iwaizumi just aren't meant to be, and if he has to fuck some sense into your little brain for you to understand, then so be it.

wc: 2.8k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): noncon, explicit n*fw, blackmail, emotional manipulation, emotional sadism, dumbification, degradation, fem!reader with inner genitals, has something resembling an actual plot

a/n: i couldn't decide which way i wanted to go with the plot, so i just did both. read a darker version of this here

i don't want minors interacting with my content

Oikawa really doesn’t like how much time Iwaizumi has been spending around you lately.

It’s not that he’s jealous, of course - that kind of pettiness is far beneath him - it just doesn’t seem right. It’s not the natural order of things for someone as pretty as you, all soft skin and glowing smiles, to be practically draped around Iwaizumi all the fucking time.

He’s counted, you know, and today was the thirty-eighth time that you’ve visited their lunch table and somehow ended up on Iwaizumi’s lap.

And doesn’t he also have to think of his team? The Spring Interhigh’s coming up, and it wouldn’t do for one of the most important players on the team to be constantly distracted. He’s seen the way Iwaizumi looks at you: it’s adoration encapsulated in a gaze, the kind of tenderness and admiration that he’s only ever seen Iwaizumi direct at himself.

Oikawa’s going to have to fix this, isn’t he? He’s going to have to make everything the way it should be.

He finds that he enjoys the constant planning and brainstorming and especially the fantasizing far more than he’d anticipated.

Oikawa notes down which days you go home immediately after school, which days you stay, and the routes you take home. He writes down all your friends in a little notebook, familiarizes himself with the classes you take, and pays extra attention to your mood swings.

Of course, as he spends more and more time detailing every aspect of your life, it’s only natural for his thoughts to… wander. In class, he catches his own attention drifting away from Japanese literature to thoughts of what you’d look like strung out on his cock, eyes squeezing out tears as he stuffs you full and claims your pussy. He thinks about how slutty your skirt looks when you’re bending over, and about how much he’d like to rip it off of you. He likes to imagine how Iwaizumi would react, too - the way he’d cry and sob and finally understand that you don’t belong with someone like him.

He finds that these thoughts allow him to tolerate Iwaizumi’s presence near you a lot better, even though the two of you have only grown closer as of late. When you start getting particularly obnoxious with your flirting, he just has to picture you screaming in pain as he fucks you dry, or think about the bulge in your throat from his cock shoved deep inside your mouth. And when he sees Iwaizumi finally ask you out on a date to the ramen place nearby, he almost feels sorry for how short-lived, how temporary, your romance is going to be.

As the weeks go by and the Interhigh draws near, Oikawa thinks he’s got a pretty good idea of how to make it happen.

It starts off almost too easy.

Oikawa’s usually the one who stays late after practice, slamming his serves into the opposite end of the court until his vision goes dizzy and his arms turn numb. But Iwaizumi - bless his generosity - had planned on staying after to help a few of the first years out with their serves.

He waits at the school gates, scanning the entrance for any sign of you. You should be finishing up with your little club soon if the notes he’d been keeping were any indication, and sure enough, he spots your bright teal jacket scurrying towards the gates after just a few minutes.

Oikawa plasters on his friendliest smile, waving you towards him. “Hey,” he greets. “Iwa-chan told me to wait for you today. Do you want to come over? He’ll be along in just a minute - he’s just cleaning up the gym a bit.”

“Aren’t you the captain?” you tease. “So much for being responsible.”

He forces out a laugh. Do you realize how insufferable you are? Because you’re really not doing yourself any favors with the way you’re acting. But he pushes down the surge of anger that threatens to spill over, because he knows you’ll change your tune as soon as you arrive at his place.

He can’t wait.

The walk home is filled with empty banter, useless conversation that flits back and forth on the most boring of topics. To be honest, Oikawa appreciates this - it gives him the mental room to think about much more interesting things, like the way your breasts are pushing against the jacket, or the slight sheen of your lip gloss. Or, alternatively, the way your breasts would look spilling out of his hands, and the way your shiny lips would look smeared with spit and cum.

He places a hand on your waist as he guides you inside his house, but you stiffen. “Isn’t Hajime supposed to have caught up to us by now?” you ask.

Hajime.

First name basis, huh?

It’s a small detail, but it’s the kind of change that has him seeing red at the periphery of his vision, the kind that makes him want to ruin your slutty body until it's bruised and leaking cum. He’s been friends with Iwaizumi for twelve years. Twelve years, and all he’s gotten from him is a nickname. You’ve known him for barely a fucking year, and here you are, sauntering away with his first name.

His hand on your waist tightens, gripping and squeezing at your lovely flesh until he can feel you wince in pain. “I’m afraid it might be a while,” he says, voice brittle.

“What do you mean?” you ask, turning around, your eyes widening.

Oikawa shoves you inside and slams the door. “I mean,” he hisses. “That your precious Hajime won’t be coming around anytime soon.”

Panic rises in your throat, but he slaps a hand over your mouth quicker than you can scream. All that escapes is a strangled cry, weak and thin, one that quickly dies out in the entrance hall of his house. It’s much too quiet to reach any neighbors, you realize with a sinking feeling. The last bit of faint hope you harbor in the back of your mind dies when you realize that there’s no concerned housewife coming to check on the commotion, no fumbling child who might stumble in on you and Oikawa. You’re alone. You’re fucked.

He’d made sure of it.

“Bitches like you are so stupid, aren’t you? Making me spell everything out for you.” His voice drips condescension as he yanks you by the hair towards the bedroom. There’s no reason to put up an act anymore, he thinks, so he can be as rough as he wants with his new toy - he just has to make sure he returns you in one piece to Iwaizumi. Oikawa’s sure he won’t mind if you’re a little beat up around the edges, a little used by the end of this.

As he throws you down on the bed, the thought gives him immense satisfaction. You’d been so eager to do things with Iwaizumi - he’d coaxed out embarrassed confessions from his friend over late-night calls - so he’s almost sure that you’re a needy slut during sex.

Of course, you’re not nearly so eager now, not when he’s holding your squirming body down on the bed.

“You do realize that this is what you get, right? It’s your fault for being this fucking easy. Should’ve thought a bit harder about going home with me. Did your mommy and daddy never teach you to not trust men?” he says, face curling into a smile.

You’re unable to get a word out, mouth dry and cottony from the fear that pierces you. He watches your eyes flicker between the bulge in his pants and his face, uncertain and wary, like a deer caught in headlights. Oikawa can’t help the sick pleasure that bubbles up within him at the look on your face.

“Please,” you say hoarsely. “Please.”

“You have to use your words, you know. You could be begging me to stop, but I think you like this. I think you’re begging me to get on with it,” he says.

Maybe he’s taking it a step too far with the dramatics, but he can’t bring himself to tone it down - not when he’s right about to get to the good bit, and certainly not when he sees those pretty tears trickling down your face.

He looks you up and down appraisingly. He’d always thought you were rather pretty, with your soft halo of hair and your glittering smile - but he can’t deny that there’s a special sort of charm in the way you fidget uncomfortably under his gaze.

It makes him hungry.

As he spreads your thighs apart, all he can think about is how much he wants to claim you, to ruin you, because that’s what he imagines fucking you is like: ownership and victory spread on his tongue while your juices drench his cock. All the filthy dreams he’s had, every fantasy he’s gotten off to late at night, and the stifling heat spreading through his core is begging him to fuck you, to ravish your tight hole until the only name you know is his own.

He doesn’t really want to bother with prep. He’s sure that stretching you out on three - no, maybe four fingers until you scream would be fun, but you don’t deserve that kind of special treatment. Aren’t sluts like you supposed to be wet all the time anyway?

You can feel the outline of his dick dragging along your soft thighs, pressing close to your cunt, a breathy moan escaping his lips from the friction of his sweatpants grinding against your body. It’s not long before he pulls his cock out all the way and strokes it a few times. He grabs at your hips, maneuvering you like a rag doll, and fits the tip of his cock at your fluttering entrance. Nudging at your hole, he pushes in just the head of his cock - enough so you can feel the sting of his girth, but not nearly deep enough to offer any real relief.

You whine involuntarily, and a grin lights up his face. “You’re desperate, aren’t you?” he asks, dragging a thumb against your lips. “Is it because Iwa-chan doesn’t fuck you well enough? Is his pathetic dick too small to fill up that hole of yours properly?” he leers. “I’ve seen his cock before… mine’s bigger, you know.”

“Fuck you,” you mumble. You’re dizzy from the fear and panic that clouds your brain, but anger still seeps into your veins at his crude words.

Maybe if your head was a bit clearer, you would’ve realized that only stupid girls talk back.

Oikawa’s hips snap into yours harshly, his cock tearing at your insides, and you let out a strangled gasp. You’re not prepared for how well his cock stretches you out - it’s curved in all the right places, ramming into your cervix, brushing up against your tender g-spot - and as he ruthlessly pounds your frail body into the mattress, your mind blanks, overloaded with sensation. You can’t remember who you are, or why you’re getting fucked. The only thing on your mind is the raw feeling of being cunt split wide open, of having your insides rearranged until you’re a drooling, dumb mess.

“Fuck who?” he asks, shoving two fingers inside your sloppy mouth,

“F- fuck…” you whisper. His fingers are gripping at your hips so tightly you can feel the skin beginning to bruise, and there’s just too much to handle. He’s everywhere; his fingers probe around your mouth, making you gag, and his cock drags along your tender walls until you’re left quivering around his length.

He leans down to kiss at your forehead, his lips brushing tenderly against your hair. “You can do it, baby,” he encourages, cooing at you. “You can say it.”

“Fuck me,” you whimper quietly, cheeks burning with shame.

“Good girl,” he says, voice sickly sweet. “I knew you could do it for me.”

Fucking you feels so much better once you’re compliant, he thinks. He slows down a bit, savoring the sensation of your cunt twitching uselessly while you writhe on the bed in pleasure. He feels a sharp jolt of arousal as he looks at the marks he’s left all over you, admiring how the angry bruises on your hips and waist are beginning to purple.

You tug at his shirt, sniffling and crying. “Please,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re asking for anymore, not even sure whether you want Oikawa to stop or continue, but you can’t handle the way he’s slowly fucking you senseless.

He raises an eyebrow. “You want it faster?” he asks cruelly, bouncing you into his cock. There’s no response on your end, but Oikawa thinks he’ll take that as a yes. And if that’s what you want?

Well, that’s what you get.

The hum of pleasure in your core intensifies as he picks up speed again. This time, he angles his cock until it grinds down harshly on your sensitive spot, leaving your legs limp and body helpless as your cunt tightens like a vice. As you shudder from the orgasm that washes over you, he spills into your pussy until your hole is leaking white down your thighs.

You can feel him laughing softly as he pulls out and climbs to rest beside you, leaving you stuck in a pool of your own sweat and cum and. He wipes the remaining cum off of his cock, smearing it on your face, but you barely react. You feel so dirty, so tainted and violated, but you’re not sure you could move even if you tried - his cock has left you boneless and made sure that every square inch of your body is sore and aching.

“Well,” he says, breathless. “Better run home unless you want Iwa-chan to know you’ve been all used up.”

Hajime? Your eyes widen, welling up with tears.

Oikawa unlocks the phone in his hand and presses play.

The sounds that echo through the empty room make you feel like screaming, because there’s no denying the solid, tangible proof that’s being played back. Your breathy moans are clear as day, and it’s unmistakable when you hear yourself begging Oikawa to fuck you harder, faster, to split you apart on his cock.

With a sinking feeling, you know there’s no explanation that would ever satisfy Hajime if he heard this audio. You can already see the pain in his eyes if he were to find out that his best friend for the past twelve years had ruined you, fucked you so thouroughly that you could barely tell the difference between pain and pleasure.

You don’t want that, you realize miserably. You can’t have that.

“I’m not going to send it,” he says. He sees hope creep into your expression, as if you’re almost daring to believe that you could go back to your normal life after this little session, but he doesn’t feel any pity for you when he speaks again.

“Not if you stay away.”

You and Hajime don’t belong together anyway, so why would he be sorry?

Your eyes drop as you inhale shakily. Oikawa watches you fumble around for your clothing, entertained by the way you trip and stumble as your weak legs attempt to hold you upright. It makes for an awkward, ugly image - but he can’t deny the warm thrill of satisfaction that runs up his spine as you slink out of his bedroom.

He’s finally making things right.

When you go to school the next day, you’re glad that you don’t have any classes with Hajime for the first time ever. It makes it easier to avoid him, and you purposely choose to sit as far away as possible from their table in the lunchroom. You don’t bother responding to his messages either, every single text of his sending a bitter jolt of pain through you, and you eventually block his number.

Weeks later, you’re not sure he’d believe you even if you were to explain everything. What would you even say? That you’d been ignoring him and ghosting him because his best friend of twelve years had raped and blackmailed you? That someone he knows and trusts was capable of devastating violence? Oikawa and him seem closer than ever, and you start to wonder at your own stupidity. To think that you could ever get in between a bond as close as theirs - maybe Oikawa was right all along.

You’re walking home alone one day, the hazy late-day sun bathing the roads in a shimmering heat, when you hear footsteps and a voice behind you. Your heart hammers unsteadily, getting ready to run, when you hear three words that make your stomach drop.

“I’ve missed you.”

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa x reader #haikyuu #yandere x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #yandere #hq x reader #hq yandere #iwaizumi x reader #tw.noncon #tw.blackmail #tw.manipulation #lin.n*fw #tw.dc

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americxn · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Cortez

James Patrick March x GN!Reader

《 as a detective, the reader attempts to infiltrate James’ life at the hotel for information regarding several disappearances centred around the Cortez 》

requested by @just-some-lesbian - the original request asked for smut, it is likely that I will write a part two and incorporate smut into that but this scenario seemed too heavy and inappropriate for smut. (I’ll write out the headcanons you requested too, I just really liked this idea and wanted to turn it into a full fic!)

wordcount: 3.8k warnings: swearing, blood, violence, gore, death

Your stomach leaped as James opened the door, a mere second following the last rap of your knuckles against the hard wood. Dressed in his usual finery, his appearance sucked all moisture from your throat, your fingers betrayingly stiff as you expected the hand he held out to you. You had been meeting twice weekly with the man, your nervousness in his presence seeming to only grow with each dinner you were subjected to; this evening, your nerves were at an all time high. This wasn’t a scheduled meeting. Several hours ago, Mr. March had instructed Miss Evers to invite you for an impromptu meeting that evening, which could only mean bad news for you, an undercover detective that had been secretly prying into the several recent disappearances at the Cortez, Mr. March being your prime suspect.

“Come in, dearest. You look wonderful.” He drawled, leading you into the all too familiar room, full plates of food and tall glasses of wine already ornamenting the long dining table. You thanked him, allowing him to lead you through the twice weekly routine: pulling out your chair, pressing a swift kiss to your temple and offering you a cigarette before skirting around the table to his own chair, the brush of his fingertips on your shoulder a cold, lingering touch as he moved away from you. “So, why did you call me here?” You enquired, taking a deep drink of your wine in the hopes that it would quell your nerves, your words presenting a feigned confidence. “Not that I mind, of course.” You adding quickly, causing James to smile softly as he glanced down at his food. Your own stomach growled quietly, the fragrance of the food beckoning; James never ate in your presence and out of caution, you didn’t dare touch the food either. “I just wanted to see you again, my apologies for any convenience.” He’s lying. You smiled pleasantly, looking down at your plate in faux flattery. “No convenience at all, James. You know I always look forward to our dinners.” Now who’s lying? You silenced your inner voice, taking another sip of your drink, utilising the opportunity to scan the room over the rim of your glass, looking for anything out of place that could potentially raise alarm. James never did anything without ulterior motives. That was something you had learned very quickly; he always had a reason for everything. James matched your easy smile, taking a swig of his own drink, some sort of liqueur. Strong liqueur, if the smell of it was any indication; he was always drinking but you had never seen the alcohol hold any effect over the man. You had always just written it off as high tolerance, but watching him now as he drained the remaining liquid from the glass before immediately filling it back to the brim, the ice softly clinking from within, it tugged at some part of you, willing you to question why. The room fell into awkward silence, your eyes flicking back to James as you lowered your glass, setting it gently back onto the table. He was already staring right at you, his eyes dark and gleaming with something you couldn’t place as they searched your face. You blinked at him, shifting slightly on your seat, his intense gaze unsettling. The corners of his mouth rose, almost as if he knew he was making you uncomfortable and took pleasure in it. “So, uh, you were telling the me other night about those hotel renovations. How are they going?” You took absolutely no interest in whether or not James recent renovations to the Cortez were going successfully or not, but asked anyway, if other to clear the awkward tenor of the room. “Progression is slow, but I suppose that perfection can’t be rushed.” He responded mildly, his eyes still trained on you. Clearing your throat, you nodded, your spine prickling in warning. Leave. There was no ignoring the voice whispering from the darkest pocket of your mind, not as James cocked his head, predatory intent settling over his pale features. Your stomach tightened to the point of pain, your eyes dropping in a vain attempt to avoid his vindictive scrutiny. “Well James, I appreciate you having wanting to see me this evening but I’m feeling kinda tired. Do you mind if I go back to my room? Sorry, I know I haven’t been here for long.” James’ mouth quirked upwards at your timid explanation, taking another long sip of his drink before leaning forwards, his eyes flicking down to the fist you had laid on the table before you, your fingers tight with stress. “Yes, I do mind.” Your mouth went thoroughly dry, your mouth parting in surprise. “I dismiss you. And I’ll be damned if I let you leave so soon.” All coherent thought cleared from your mind at his statement, his dark eyes filling with utter amusement at the mask of alarmed surprised that slipped over your features. “What do you mean?” You ventured, your feet shifting beneath the table, soles pressing firmly into the floor, readying to flee from the man if this interaction grew any more worrying. He seemed to blindly track the moment, his self-satisfied smirk only growing. “I mean, I’m not permitting you to leave yet.” He spelled the words out for you, taking pleasure in employing a condensing tone into his voice. Your spine straightened, your eyes flicking around the room to ensure that there was no one hidden within the dark corners of the space; James was an odd, eccentric man, his energy charged with a strange humour. But even for him, this situation was uncomfortably disarming. “You don’t get to ‘permit’ me to do anything.” You breathed, pushing back your chair slightly as you readied to stand, wanting nothing more than to be out of this room and away from the man before you. James sat back, his eyes twinkling in the light of the candles scattered across the surface of the table between you. Pulling the small silver case from his breast pocket, he flicked it open with a thumb, surveying you darkly as he took a cigarette and tapped it on the lid. A lighter appeared in his other hand, a spark flashing before a small flame sprung up; James lifted the cigarette to his lips, storing it between his teeth as he brought the flame up, a swift inhale lighting the cigarette. “You’re prying around my hotel. I would be inclined to argue that I can permit you to do as I please.” His words clanged through you. Prying.| Taking a glance to the side of the table, your eyes landed on the smaller wooden table beside the one you dined on; several platters, their contents spilled on the plates before you and James, resided on a silver tray atop it, but you didn’t miss the gleaming slice of the edge of a knife, almost completely hidden from your view behind a large bowl full of untouched buttered vegetables. Flicking your eyes away from the knife, careful to keep your possible intentions hidden from the sly man before you, you focused all of your attention on his predatory scrutiny, not daring to so much as shift under his stare. “I want to leave.” You stated firmly, growing increasingly anxious as to the real reason he called you here, and having absolutely no intention of staying in his presence long enough to find out. “You don’t get to leave until I dismiss you.” “Then tell me why you actually called me here.” You threw your words across the table at him without hesitation, every nerve in your body attempting to recoil from his dark gaze as his eyes widened with glee. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you already know full well why I called you here... detective.” You were on your feet the moment he uttered the first syllable of that condemning title, your chair falling onto the floor as you reached over the dining table, your fingers straining to reach the knife winking at you from the silver tray. The carving knife was as long and cruel looking as you had hoped it would be, a cool weight in your palm as you pushed away from the table, twisting towards the exit and preparing to step over your fallen chair. You squealed in surprise when, instead of meeting open air, you slammed into a hard, suit covered body, the knife in your hand tilting and driving up into his stomach; it was a reflex, a terrible, terrible reflex and your mind emptied as you stared at the hilt in your hand, already slick with hot blood, the blade fully submerged is his gut. Your eyes were wide as your gaze travelled up his body, his own already trained on your face, his head tilted to the side with what you could only describe as curiosity. You recoiled in horror, the edge of the table hitting the backs of your thighs as you released your hold on the knife, his blood running in hot rivers down your hand and wrist, dripping onto the tips of your shoes as James’ mouth curled upwards in a slow, predatory smile. “That was one of my favourite shirts.” He mused, gripping onto the simple handle of the carving knife and drawing it from his abdomen with a flourish. You gaped at him, rooted to the spot as the sharp intruder was removed from its burrow, expecting him to collapse to the floor as a torrent of blood spurted in wake of the knife. A multitude of questions formed on your lips as you watched him take a step towards you, frozen as he chucked the knife onto the table behind where you stood motionless with a loud clatter, his hand bloody. All words dissipated into the cold air as James reached up, looking right at you as he pulled his signature neck tie away from his throat, the fabric immediately drinking in the thick coating of blood on his pale fingertips. Ripping open the top button on his neatly laundered shirt with one hand, his smirk turned positively feral as your eyes widened, your jaw falling slack as you beheld the fleshy chasm marring the base of his pale throat, sinew and torn tissue exposed in a deep slice. “An admiral effort, darling. But you can’t kill the dead.” You lurched to the side, stumbling over the long legs of the capsized chair as every nerve in your body bleated in terror, urging you to put as much distance between you and the ghost leering before you as possible. The floor swooped towards you as you lost your footing, only just managing to recover before your body slammed into the soft carpeted ground. It took a matter of seconds for you to cross the room, your palms slamming into the surface of the door as you ran at it, unable to slow your momentum as you reached for the handle, wrists creaking at the impact. Pulling the door open, you threw a sparing glance over your shoulder, your racing mind slowing as you beheld James standing motionless where you left him, his bloodied neck tie discarded on the table as he placed another cigarette between his lips, watching you with an amusement disposition as he coaxed a flame from the lighter. Time seemed to slow as you turned back around, Sally appearing before you on the threshold of the room, her lipstick-smeared smile teary as she reached forwards, taking ahold of the side of your head and slamming it into the wall to your left with a savage force, hard enough to cause the world to slip away into blackness.

Reality presented itself to you in throbbing waves, light infiltrating your lightly shut eyelids, coaxing you to stir with a small groan. Your allowed your eyes to open, trying to pull a hand to your throbbing temple; in your dazed exhaustion, your inability to move your hand failed to register as you forced your eyes open wider, the dim light of the room aiding in the slow process of pulling your mind back to full consciousness. James surveyed you from across the room as you stirred, the artful pleasure he took in having you at his disposal evident in the neatly tied ropes that secured your wrists to the centre of the dining table you had sat at hours earlier, your torso stretched to the edge of the table, your legs dangling freely off the side. He walked slowly to you as you turned your head, your eyes alight with terror as the brutal seriousness of your situation settled over you. James smiled warmly as you beheld him, hot, unrestrained tears already sputtering from the corners of your eyes as you watched him near, dressed in a fresh shirt, another necktie neatly secured around the base of his throat. You moaned in defeat as he paused by your head, taking a long pull on the old fashioned pipe clutched in his pale, slender fingers. You jerked away from him as he dropped his cold gaze to your face, physically recoiling from his stare and shifting on the surface of the table as far as the ropes would allow. “I’ve spent a long while thinking of what, exactly, I wanted to do to you.” You felt physically ill at his words, the pounding headache racking your temples doing nothing to soothe the sudden roils of nausea. “But then I realised,” he began, his mouth quirking to the side as he leant down, running the tip of his finger down the side of your wet face from your ear to the sharp angle of your jaw, “why should I have to choose just one scenario?” You willed your mind to fade back into unconsciousness, your mouth turning utterly dry as his finger completed its journey down the side of your face. “You knew.” You groaned quietly, James’ eyes flicking from the exposed length of your throat to your lidded eyes. James didn’t need an elaboration to know what you were talking about. “Of course I knew. I was made aware of your prying intentions from the moment that you stepped foot into my hotel.” His face blurred through your gathering tears, pouring down the sides of your face and disappearing into the wisps hair just above your ears. At your silence, he sighed, withdrawing his finger from where it rested on the line of your jaw, ensuring that his nail scraped against your soft skin as he did so. You flinched, looking up at his harsh face. “Aren’t you curious to know what I’m planning to do with you?” Your chin wobbled at his question, the hesitant shaking of your head in response worsening the pain radiating through your skull; your very scalp felt tight, with pain or fear, you could’t tell. Perhaps both. James tutted in disappointment, moving to sit on the table just above your head, your eyes straining to follow him as your chin lifted slightly, terrified to take your eyes off him for so much as a second. “Well, I suppose I can let you in on my plans. It’s not as if you have anywhere else to be.” He winked down at you, malicious cruelty twinkling in his eyes. He was toying with you, taking twisted delight in watching your eyes shutter with terror. “Cruel bastard.” You hissed quietly, shrinking away from him once more in regretful fear as soon as the words were spoken. “Yes.” James mused simply, taking another puff on his pipe, directing the exhaled smoke down at your face. “Yes, I suppose I am.” He closely tracked the movement in the column of your neck as you swallowed thickly, a dim ache glowing in the back of your throat as you fought to keep your cries contained, a wave of sobs trying to claw their way out of you, threatening to spill over. “As I was saying.” He continued, his eyes locking with yours as he explained with brutal simplicity: “I intend in killing you first.” The air caught in your throat, your worst suspicions confirmed with condemning simplicity. But James continued, elaborating further: “As I’m sure you have come to realise, no one really dies in this hotel. Therefore, once I’ve taken your life, you will be unable to leave these grounds and your eternal punishment will begin.” The fruitful information that he had just provided you regarding the supernatural nature of the hotel fell deaf on your ears as his final statement settled over you. “No, James! Please. Please, I’ll leave. I’ll leave this hotel and not say a word, I swear.” He smirked in response to your frantic words, pulling a short, slender blade from his breast pocket. You shrieked, bringing your legs up onto the table and twisting your torso away from him, your eyes squeezing shut as his cold grasp settled on your wrist, holding your trembling arm still as he cut the rope securing you to the table in one smooth motion. One of your eyes cracked open hesitantly as he did the same with the second coil of rope, the two of you moving in synchronisation, anticipating one another’s next move as you pushed yourself upright, lurching forwards; James’ arms wrapped tightly around your torso, pulling you back to him before your toes could so much as skim the deep red carpet. A sob bubbled up from your chest as your body collapsed into his, your arms clawing at the hands he had secured around your waist in savage desperation, his lips moving to your ear. You stilled as his warm breath settled over the side of your face. “Plead all you want.” He sneered, his voice a low growl in your ear. “In fact, I prefer it.” You clenched your teeth, lunging forwards in his hold with a cry of indignation; it was an attempt made in vain, his hold was too strong. “Are you familiar with my black closet?” He crooned, taking immense pleasure in your futile struggling. Groaning despairingly, your head fell forwards as more tears built and spilled, staining your hot cheeks with salty streaks. “Let me show you. And then you get to make a choice.” James slid off the table, taking you with him, forcing you to stand and heaving your body across the room, through a small archway set into the wall and depositing you in the large room that served as James’ personal bedroom and living space. With a harsh kick to the back of your calf, he forced you deeper into the room, spinning you around to face him and gripping onto your jaw, forcing your head up and exposing the flesh of your throat to him. You reached up, hitting at his chest and clawing at his face. In his other hand, a cruel, curved blade was summoned into his grip, the metal cold as he pressed it to your throat. You froze, your breath catching as your eyes searched his, pleading silently with him. “It’s your choice.” He grunted, eyes bright with perverted excitement. “Choice?” You repeated on a stammering breath as he pressed the wickedly sharp blade further into he soft flesh of your neck, itching to rip into skin, to spill blood. James’ eyes flicked over your shoulder, an exalted smile curving his lips upwards as he applied even more pressure to the knife at your skin, his other hand coming to grip the back of your neck, pulling it towards the instrument at your throat. Small scarlet beads of blood appeared around the sharp edge, igniting a pyre of utter dread within you. You took a step back, James closely mirroring your actions, closing in on you. Heart hammering at his close proximity, you stepped back, again and again, your eyes frantically searching his, his own glowing in building excitement as he backed you to the wall. Your back bumped against the edge of the room, cruel amusement slipping onto James’ face. The wall behind you gave way slightly as he pressed you even further into it. “Excellent choice.” He uttered darkly, eyes flashing before he allowed the knife at your throat to fall to the floor, his hand coming to rest on your chest. Your brows furrowed, your relief at the removal of the blade at your throat short lived when he gave your chest a sharp shove. The wall behind you parted entirely, James quickly driving you into very small, dark room, the air suffocatingly stale, his force on your chest causing you to stumble back. A blinding pain ignited in your lower back and you cried out, straining to push away from whatever was causing the pain. But James’ body proved an impenetrable barrier and he gripped onto your throat with both hands, driving you even further into the room. An ungodly scream ripped from your throat as the pain worsened, your insides bleating as they were unforgivingly torn through, bone splintering, skin ripping and stretching. James’ face was alight with perverted satisfaction, your shoulder blades hitting the wall behind you. Pain like you had never know radiated outwards from your centre, your hands falling to your stomach as more burning pain grew from the front of your abdomen, akin to the one at your back. James landed a harsh kick to the front of your thighs and with a sickening crunch, your full back collided with the wall, your mouth parted in a silent scream as the world spun, dangerously close to pulling you under. You prayed that it would, begging the darkness to quell the unbearable pain radiating through every nerve of your body. Your hands fell onto something hard and slick with warmth. In the dark, it was almost impossible to make out what it was and the sickening spinning of your pain fogged mind only made it more difficult to decipher what you were touching. James watched on in eager delight, releasing his constricting hold on your throat, allowing your head to fall forwards. The world tilted on its axis as you beheld the impossibly thick wooden stake running straight through your stomach, your blood running off the dull end, it’s surface marred with deep gashes and bumps; it pried your flesh apart, your hands completely covered in the blood that ran in torrents down its length, dripping from the blunt tip and pooling around James’ feet. James leaned in as the corners of your vision began to fade, your body beginning to slump around the stake that held your upright. You felt utterly numb, the pain dimming as the world was swept away. “Welcome to the Cortez.” He whispered, pressing a sickeningly sweet kiss to your temple before every sense of life slipped from your limp grasp, consciousness and feeling fading into blissful nothingness.

taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler @liandav @tatesweaterweather @evanmybeloved @tatelangdonsupremacist @ikkleroniekins

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ladybugg1235 · 2 years

Text

Satisfy

Dabi x fem reader Teaser

Hello lovelies its been awhile lol I've been a little apprehensive about posting as I'm not very confident in my writing skills but i wanted try again and something a little more risque lol ( I been having mha kick as of late these days lol) I got this idea from a song this is just a little short teaser still a wip if it gos well probably be split in 1 or 2 parts maybe hope you enjoy:) sorry for any mistakes spelling etc

Warnings:adult content

Its was a cool rainy dark night as you walk the streets of the most lascivious parts of your hometown where the unruly and the wicked come out to play .

The sent of sexual engery and cheap cologne lingered and carried through the air you flared your Nostrils, your eyes turning a violet hue as you picked up the pace.

As your favorite night club came into view the sounds of blaring music reaching your ears sighing to yourself thinking. "Finally " "My old hunting grounds" " I'm starving"

Entering the club you make your way in Your quirk in full swing your eyes on the hunt so many scents succulent in their own way but tonight a new scent caught your attention it was faint but enough to ensnare you.

Many restless nights you've come here ,many times you've fed, but never left satisfied only enough to sedated , having a succubus quirk it was essential to feed on others sexual energy anyway you see fit it made you strong and powerful even( if you take enough) but the downside you were relentless in hunger ready for the next on your infinite list of lustful souls. One was never enough not one could keep you grounded.

But this redolence it was new sending a deep pleasing hum straight to your core it was strong ,villainous and completely unhinged "hmm" u purred... you wanted it.. your violet eyes scoured the dance floor frantically, covering ever crook and craney of the club but sadly coming up dry.

Not one to give up so easily especially when on the hunt you continued on "Oh well" the nights still young" you thought adjusting your dress you made your way to the bar but stop mid way on the dance floor. That scent !!! "There it is again"you breathed in deep. " omg its heaven"! you thought but where, its close you could feel it.

Your violet eyes pressed on searching through the sea of dancing bodies til finally resting on a pair of glowing teal blue eyes.

To be continued....

#mha #teaser #toyua todoroki #dabi x female reader #fanfiction #dabi x reader

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Only One Choice, Chapter 11

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Spark.

She watches Ethan from the couch as he pulls a tin of muffins out of the oven, arranging a few on a plate. She’s been thinking a lot about what Mulder said about not having a spark with his ex. She wonders if she and Ethan have a spark, or if they did at one point. When she thinks about her relationship with Ethan, what stands out to her is commitment, dedication, stability. And love, of course, she does love him.

When they first met through mutual friends, she wasn’t particularly interested. He was perfectly nice, and good looking enough, but struck her more as a potential friend than a boyfriend. He was steadfast, kept showing up, kept gently working to get to know her, and eventually she started to grow fond of him. They’ve joked that while his attraction to her was immediate, hers to him was more of a slow burn. This is what mature, adult relationships are like, right? Measured, practical, logical. When you’re young, wild, and free, you date whoever you have the most fun with, chasing the next exciting experience and the rush of a first kiss. But the person you marry should be someone who you know will be a dependable partner, a good parent, and a lifelong support. That has always been her belief.

Ethan returns to sit with her on the couch, setting the muffins on the coffee table to cool. He picks up her feet and puts them in his lap, casting her a brief smile before he goes to work pressing his thumbs into her arches as he watches TV.

Spark.

Is that what she feels when she’s with Mulder? A spark? Is that why her stomach goes into knots when he looks at her? Why she feels the overwhelming urge to touch him? The sensation that there is an electrical current passing between them is not one she’s ever felt with Ethan, that’s for sure. There was no adrenaline in their first kiss, only contentment. Comfort, safety, security. These are good feelings, ones you can build a life on. Can you build a life on a spark?

“You still going to try on dresses tomorrow with Missy?” he asks, his eyes glued to the TV screen.

“Mhmm,” she answers over her book, which she hasn’t gotten through a page of in over thirty minutes.

“Are you gonna let me see what you pick?” he asks, glancing at her from the corner of his eye with a surreptitious smirk.

She sets the book on her stomach and gives him a chastising smile. “Of course not, Ethan. That’s against the rules.”

“Who made that rule, anyway? I’ve already seen you naked, I should be able to see you in a fancy dress before the big day,” he says with a pointed look.

She swats him with the book.

“The fact that you’ve already seen me naked is also against the rules, so I guess we’re 0 for 2. Don’t tell my mother that,” she lectures playfully.

“I’m sure she has her suspicions, given that we live together,” he says dryly.

“Leave the woman to her ignorant bliss,” she retorts, and they hold eye contact for a moment, exchanging affectionate smiles.

Not a spark, but maybe an ember. Burning steady, carrying them through the dark nights. Sparks die out quickly. She only hopes her spark with Mulder fades soon, because right now it’s burning so bright it’s distracting her from the ember sitting right at her feet.

———

She frowns at herself in the mirror.

“This one is really pretty, Sis, you don’t like it?” Missy asks, tugging at the train to straighten it out.

“I don’t know. Maybe. No.”

She looks forlornly at the rack of dresses she’s already tried on. Every length and cut, style of bodice and neckline. They all seemed wrong.

“I mean, I know you’re generally hard to please, Dana, but this is getting ridiculous,” Missy laments.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she replies, casting Missy an apologetic look.

“Which one do you think Ethan would like? Would that help you decide?” Missy offers helpfully.

Ethan. Right. She realizes that she’s been thinking about what Mulder would make of her in a white dress. She suspects he’d go for the mermaid fit.

“Can we just try again another day, maybe? I think I’m just not in the right headspace for this,” she pleads with her big sister.

“Sure, whatever you want. Let’s go get coffee or something,” Missy says as she ushers Dana back into the changing room.

They go to her favorite local spot, finding two open armchairs near the fireplace, which is off for the summer. Dana tucks her legs under her torso, sipping at an indulgent white chocolate mocha; she feels the need for small pleasures right now. Missy eyes her appraisingly, and she can feel the third degree that is about to commence.

“So what’s up with you?” she finally asks, her tone inquisitive but not abrasive.

“What do you mean?” Dana asks in reply, avoiding her eyes.

Missy’s head drops to the side in exasperation. “Are you really going to make me spell it out for you, Dana? I’m trying to be supportive of your decision to marry Ethan, but you’re making it really hard being so openly miserable all the time.”

Dana looks at her with surprise and indignation. “I am not miserable.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Missy says sarcastically.

Dana shakes her head. “I’m just...I don’t know, I have a lot on my mind.”

“Care to elaborate?” Missy asks with an expectant look.

She sighs and sets her shoulders. She needs to talk to someone about this, and Missy is literally her only option.

“Okay, but first I need you to promise me you’re not going to make a big deal about this, because it’s really not a big deal,” she prefaces with a stern look.

“You know me, I don’t do big deals,” Missy replies, working hard to hide her anticipation for whatever her little sister is about to reveal.

“Okay. So, I met this man at work,” she starts, and Missy’s eyes go as round as oranges. “Missy, don’t look at me like that.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Missy defends, “go on.” She’s leaning forward in her chair, creating less space between them.

“He’s an agent, he was just picking something up for a case he’s working on, but he asked me out, and we’ve kind of been...we’ve become friends,” she says hesitantly, glancing at Missy to gage her reaction. Missy is forcing a blank expression.

“So...you’re dating him?” she asks flatly.

“No! Oh god, no. I mean, he asked me out and I told him that I have a boyfriend, but now we’re just kind of friends, and….Jesus Christ.” She drops her forehead into her palm. Even describing what’s going on with Mulder is apparently impossible. “We are just friends, but...but I’m having a hard time reconciling how I feel about him.”

“How do you feel about him?” Missy asks.

Dana shakes her head. “I don’t know how to describe it, Missy. I love Ethan, I’m not having doubts about him, but this man...I feel so drawn to him. Being around him feels...almost electric.”

“Like you have a spark?” Missy asks, and Dana’s head snaps to look at her. She’s open, curious.

“Yeah...exactly like that,” she replies regretfully.

Missy nods in understanding, and it somehow makes Dana feel a little better, like she’s not totally crazy. “Tell me about him,” she requests, and Dana can’t help but smile.

“Um, he’s a criminal behavioral analyst, in the Behavioral Science Unit. Oxford educated. He’s funny, but in a dry, intellectual way. He has some pretty outlandish ideas, but he’s so passionate about what he believes in, it’s impossible not to take him seriously. He’s kind of intense, but really alluring.” She pauses, knowing she can’t go on much further without veering into gushing.

“Is he cute?” Missy asks, and Dana closes her eyes.

“SO good looking. Painfully so.” She opens them and Missy is smiling knowingly at her.

“Sounds like a real catch, Sis.”

“Yeah, but I’m engaged to someone who is also a great catch in his own right. I feel like I’m in a romcom.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Missy asks earnestly.

Dana looks at her with surprise. “What do you mean? I’m not going to do anything. It’s just distracting, but obviously nothing can or will come of it.”

Missy gives her a doubtful expression, but then raises her eyes to meet with someone over Dana’s shoulder, giving them a questioning look. Dana turns to see Mulder standing beside her, a cup in his hand and that damn boyish smile on his mouth.

“Hey, Scully, we meet again,” he says, glancing between her and Missy.

“Mulder, hi,” she stumbles, bringing her feet to the floor and squirming around as though he’d caught her in a compromised position. “Um, Mulder, this is my sister, Melissa. Missy, this is Fox Mulder.”

He steps forward and extends his hand to Missy, and she shakes it with a flirtatious smile. “Nice to meet you, Fox.”

“Oh, please call me Mulder,” he replies.

“Alright, Mulder, would you like to join us?” Missy asks, and Dana shoots her a look.

“Um, yeah, I can hang out for a minute,” he replies cautiously, pulling up a chair between the two of theirs.

“So, how do you and Dana know each other?” she asks, and Dana isn’t sure if she’s asking because she realizes who he is, or because she doesn’t.

“We work together, technically speaking. I’m a criminal behavioral analyst in the Behavioral Science Unit.” Missy gives Dana a look that tells her it was the latter. “What are you two up to today?” he asks, running his palm over a stubbled cheek. She can hear the scratch of the short hairs against his skin and it sets off a tingle at the back of her neck.

“We were just doing some wedding dress shopping,” Missy offers, watching his reaction closely.

“Ah,” he says, only moderately concealing his dissatisfaction, “sounds like a good time.” His tone is dry and not at all genuine. “So, Scully,” he says, directing his words to Dana, “Priscilla was wondering if you could stop by next weekend. She has something to show you.”

She smiles coyly. “Does she? Not a hairball, I hope?”

Mulder chuckles. “No, it’s a file, actually. Her personal favorite, she’d love to share it with you.”

“I think I might be free on Saturday,” she replies, “I just need to check, um…”

“Check with Ethan, right,” he finishes, his smile fading a bit.

“Right,” she confirms, her own smile quickly extinguishing.

Mulder stands. “I’ll email you, to confirm.” He turns to Missy, “It was nice to meet you, Melissa.”

Missy beams at him. “Likewise.”

Mulder turns to Scully and gives her a longing glance, then leaves. They watch him go, waiting until the door has closed behind him to speak.

Missy slaps Dana’s arm. “Oh. My. GOD, Sis!” she exclaims with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“What?” Dana returns.

“Spark? That is a goddamn bonfire. Even I could feel it,” she says with a look of wonder.

Dana gives her a pained expression then drops her head into her hands with a groan.

“Why does he call you Scully? And who the hell is Priscilla?” Missy adds.

Dana lifts her head, looking at her sister regretfully with a shrug.

“He said I don’t look like a Dana. Priscilla is his cat.”

Missy closes her eyes for a moment and gently shakes her head, her eyebrows furrowing like she’s trying to reconcile all this information in her brain.

“Whoa, so you’ve been to his place?” Missy asks incredulously.

Dana nods hesitantly.

“Sis, what are you doing? If you were to tell me that you’re going to break it off with Ethan and run away with that beautiful man I would honestly support you. But if you’re trying to keep things on the up and up here, a private rendezvous at his apartment seems like a really bad idea.” Missy is deeply confused, not used to being in the position to tell her sister what decisions are unwise. That is typically Dana’s role in their relationship.

Dana glares at her sister defensively. “We’re just friends, Missy. Men and women can be just friends.”

Missy shoots her a ‘do you think I was born yesterday?’ look.

“Sure they can, if they aren’t insanely attracted to each other. That man practically devoured you with his eyes, Dana. He wants to be more than your friend,” she says emphatically.

“Well, he’s not going to be. I’m with Ethan. And I’m an adult who can control myself enough to maintain boundaries with a platonic friend who happens to be an attractive man. I’m not a Neanderthal, Missy.” She’s using her professor voice, presenting the topic with supporting evidence. Only the facts, folks.

“Okay,” Missy says, acquiescing. “If you trust yourself then great, have fun with your friend. Does Ethan know you’re gallivanting around with a sexy behavioral analyst?”

The guilty look that overtakes Dana’s face is answer enough.

“Well,” Missy continues, “just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she brings levity back to the conversation with a little smirk.

“That leaves me with a lot of options, Missy,” Dana retorts, and Missy slaps her arm again.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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chockfullofsecrets · 3 years

Text

Critical Role: Embarrassing and Undignified

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: Caleb doesn’t smile much. It’s something he rather likes about the man, that he prefers to save his pleasure for that which is truly worth it - but there’s nothing else he can call the expression that briefly narrows those blue eyes. “Reacting like that in front of a friendly tiefling?” he says - teasing, almost, and Essek feels his stomach flip. “I am not so sure.”

Essek's time in the hot tub goes a little awry.

Wordcount: 3.3k

A/N: Fill for this anon prompt! (i’m so sorry for taking 2+ months to write this... i love Essek so much and he needs more tk content)

---

Essek is no stranger to being - unusual. He often welcomes it, really. Achieving a status such as his for the better part of a century comes with its fair share of eccentricities, his floating among them, and at this point hovering just above the rest of the Dynasty has become something of a favored routine.

And yet, it seems, the Nein have him beaten at every turn.

He had meant to take his leave directly after dinner, unsure of his place among Yasha’s solemn questions of loneliness and Beauregard’s transparent attempts to pry information from him and Jester’s threat to invoke a Zone of Truth for idle gossip -

(and the slight jealousy, he admits, if only to himself, of seeing Caleb, ambitious and focused and loved, among them - )

But. Lonely and friendless he is, as has been quite thoroughly pointed out to him through the evening, and he’s intrigued enough by the rarity of this hot tub to clamber up awkwardly onto the enclosing stone wall and dangle his feet into the water while his hosts bustle around and shuck off various pieces of clothing.

Caleb sits next to him, rolling his own pant legs crisply to the knee and lowering his feet in. “What do you think?”

He looks over - thank the Light, Caleb’s still wearing his shirt. “It’s - nice,” he says. He drags his toe through a slow stream of bubbles rising from what he assumes must be the hottest parts of the depths. “Unfamiliar, but quite impressive that you’ve constructed it on your own.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “The hot tub, or -” He traces a small circle with his index finger, encompassing himself and his companions. “- all of this?”

Decades of court experience well up unbidden on his tongue. “The compliment extends to you either way,” he offers smoothly.

Caleb squints at him, but before he can say anything more the rest of the Nein are joining them with pleased exclamations and a thoroughly distracting amount of splashing. Essek watches, bemused, as Jester flops in belly-first before even unbuckling the last clasp of her outergarments - she wrestles them off, finally, crumpling the dripping green cloak into a ball and flinging it away, and he winces on behalf of the fine Kryn fabric.

She looks around, eyes lighting on him, and her hands fly to her round cheeks with an excited gasp. “Essek! Your legs!”

Startled, he looks down - they seem quite normal, with his boots off and his neatly pressed trousers folded at the knee, if a little more purple than anyone else’s present. “I would prefer to keep my clothes dry, yes.”

She leans in, eyes wide. “Are they re-al?”

Light be with him - she’s hardly said anything, but he struggles not to flush under the scrutiny. “Ah, yes? Why should they not be?”

Just then, something brushes lightly over the sole of his foot - he startles, and -

His seat is well made, certainly, but not enough to stand up to the Nein’s shenanigans; as he recoils, his center of gravity shifts right off the narrow ledge and he’s tumbling backwards before he can do more than blink.

Light, if this is how he dies -

He flails for a solution - it’s been years, at least, since he’s done something so pedestrian as fall, and there are spells for this, certainly, but what he’s prepared for today is more showy fare, in case the Nein asked for a demonstration, why can’t he think -

A hand closes roughly around his bicep, then another around the opposite shoulder, and then he’s dangling from Caleb’s grip with his back nearly parallel to the floor - he reaches out too, panicked, and crumples the front of Caleb’s shirt in a death grip.

“Good reflexes,” he says, breathless. Blood pounds in his ears. Caleb stares down at him, blue eyes wide and jaw tight -

“Ooh, now kiss!” Jester hoots.

The rest of the Nein burst into laughter behind them. Caleb goes bright red and hurriedly turns away, looking over his shoulder. “One of you jokers come here and help me, please,” he chides, strained, “I am not the muscle of this group.”

The tension in Caleb’s face becomes infinitely more explicable - finally capable of rational thought, Essek flicks his fingers and casts a weight-lightening cantrip just as another strong hand latches onto his knee and bodily tows him upright. Yasha nods at him, chest completely bare, and wades back to her corner as Veth pops up from nowhere with her long ears twitching maniacally. “I’m SO sorry,” she screeches, insistent far beyond the point of sincerity. “I brushed against your feet COMPLETELY ON ACCIDENT.”

“VERY ACCIDENTAL,” Jester agrees loudly. Next to her, Fjord winces.

Veth’s voice softens, then, as she pats him gingerly on the leg. “I didn’t think you would do that - are you okay?”

“It’s all right,” he says weakly. Her ears droop in what seems to be genuine relief - it is pointless to care, perhaps, but he feels better for having reassured her.

He sucks in a solid breath for what feels like the first time in minutes and turns to Caleb to thank him. There’s still a guarding hand resting warmly against his back - and worse still, he realizes belatedly that his own hand is still fisted in the buttons of Caleb’s shirt.

He snatches it hastily away, ears burning. “Ah, my apologies. I shall pay closer attention to gravity, for the rest of the night.”

Caleb doesn’t smile much. It’s something he rather likes about the man, that he prefers to save his pleasure for that which is truly worth it - but there’s nothing else he can call the expression that briefly narrows those blue eyes. “Reacting like that in front of a friendly tiefling?” he says - teasing, almost, and Essek feels his stomach flip. “I am not so sure.”

A friendly -

Surprised, he glances over at Jester and finds her wearing a smug expression that might not be out of place on Da’leth himself, if significantly sweeter. “E-ssek,” she wheedles, wide-eyed with delight, drawing every syllable to its maximum extent. “Are your feet like, super ticklish?”

Essek blinks - ticklish? But he hasn’t - really, he can’t remember the last time he might have known. As a child, perhaps, when Verin used to tempt him into playing by tackling him straight off his feet and -

Oh. Oh, dear.

At least that particular piece of evidence is decades out of date - a poor excuse to discard it, but he’s willing to compromise in the face of Jester’s ever-sharpening grin and the traitorously pleased squirm in the pit of his own stomach. “What? No, of course not, I was merely surprised-”

“You can be surprised and ticklish,” Jester corrects, skipping forward with a splash. Essek shirks back into Caleb’s hand, millimeters from tumbling off the ledge again, and she giggles. “And I’m pret-ty sure that you’re both.”

The hot tub, for all of its excellent qualities, is unfortunately not large enough to keep her at bay for longer than that. She reaches out as he’s still deciding which direction would be the best to flee in and scoops his ankle up in a grip like steel. “Ah-” he sputters. “I - Jester, wait-”

She drags a fingernail up the arch of his foot.

It feels like one of the few times while developing a lightning-based spell that he’d electrocuted himself - but the feeling doesn’t stop, shooting up his leg and tickling at his lungs too to make them shiver, and it’s silly, and he just -

He panics, jerks back against Caleb’s hand again, and in a moment of brash stupidity the animal instinct of his brain decides that the only safe place to hide is Caleb himself. He buries his face in Caleb’s side and grabs him around the waist just in time to shriek as Jester repeats the same lazy route up and down the sole of his foot, pausing only to scratch tingling patterns into his heel. “Tickle, tickle! Aw, guys, he’s so ticklish, look at how much he’s laughing!”

The fabric of Caleb’s shirt isn’t much of a barrier to Jester’s teasing - or to his own ticklish laughter, embarrassingly high-pitched and loud in a way that makes his whole face heat with shame - but at least they can’t see him blush.

Caleb jumps a little as Essek latches onto him, but his hand stays put, stabilizing, and starts to rub gentle circles on his back as Essek dissolves into cackling at another spidering assault on his arch. “Jester, please be gentle,” he says, amused. “I am not sure that is a good idea.”

Essek’s not sure how he feels either. It’s terribly embarrassing, and undignified, and if this was happening in front of any other being in the Dynasty he would have to learn some sort of memory erasure spell, but - the Nein have never cared for his layers upon layers of decorum anyway, have they, always prying for indignation and confusion and warmth that he’s not certain he even possesses.

Caught between Jester and Caleb and a vat of hot water, with the rest of the Nein making relatively amused noises behind him, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt warmer.

Jester just laughs. “I’m barely doing anything!” she teases, shaking Essek’s leg lightly. “He’s just so sensitive - oh, Essek, is it ‘cause you never walk anywhere? Is that why your feet are so soft and tickly?”

He’s giddy, even with the sudden reprieve, giggling too hard to speak. “I - ha - I dohon’t - ehe-”

“Of course it is,” Beauregard says smugly from a distance that seems far too close, “waving all those secrets and magic over our heads and he’s hoisted on his own fuckin’ petard-”

“What’s that?” Caduceus asks. Essek vaguely remembers the term to describe some sort of bomb, but Jester chooses that moment to send her mischievous fingers exploring under his fucking toes and it tickles like absolute hell. He shrieks even louder than before, if such a thing were possible, and makes a solid attempt to burrow his way straight into Caleb’s ribcage as his entire leg jolts in involuntary protest. No amount of desperate attempts to flex or curl his foot make the sensation any more bearable - it’s like the sucking feeling of a Teleport spell, like everything inside him is unmoored and floating in a sea of mirth and the only way he can get any of it out is to scream.

His cheeks hurt and he realizes, suddenly, that he’s beaming.

Jester cackles. “Come get his other foot, Beau,” she urges, easing off to just pinch his big toe between two fingers and wiggle it. “He totally loves it, he’s not even kicking-”

“Uh-huh,” Beauregard says, and there’s another splash. “Maybe I will.”

Caleb’s still rubbing his back - he stops, briefly, and from his huddled position Essek feels that Beauregard has jostled his other side on her way past. “His feet might be worse than yours,” she murmurs. He can hear the grin in her voice. “Better hope Jes doesn’t remember and go after you next.”

“Don’t remind her,” Caleb says, strangled. It’s remarkably friendly for Beauregard, though, and Essek is once again caught up in the paradox of this little group - merciless but fiercely protective, reluctant but trusting. It’s hard to be regretful - or wistful, maybe, one of those feelings that twinges in his chest every time he thinks of the Nein nowadays - with Jester tickling her way up the back of his bare calf and cooing over the way it makes him wriggle. But his heart, a traitor to the last, manages. There are so many secrets between them still.

Beauregard seizes his other ankle, hauling it up from the water, and he realizes for one terrible moment that if they were to, say, force him out of hiding and keep tickling, he might be inclined to spill some of them. “Scoot over, Jes,” Beauregard says, and there’s a squeak that, for once in the evening, doesn’t come from him. She chuckles. “Good thing he’s not trying to tickle you back, huh?”

He expects Jester to sputter and redirect her, as he would, but she sounds entirely unconcerned at the prospect. “Oh, Beau, do you want to have a tickle fight? We totally could, after this-”

“No,” she says, not entirely drowning out the little panicked noise that Caleb makes. “Not the kind of wrestling I want to do when half of us aren’t wearing shirts, if you know what I mean-”

“Beau!” Jester shrieks, giggling. Fjord groans loudly from the other side of the hot tub, and Essek, still squirming, is very sure that he’s blushing enough for it to show on the back of his neck, under his high collar. “Who do you want to wrestle with? Is it Yasha-”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, moving on.” Beauregard interrupts hastily. There’s a popping noise that takes a second for Essek to place as her cracking her knuckles. “Hey, Essek - you think you’d trade another favor to get us to stop?”

Essek flails for something resembling a complete sentence as Jester’s fingers curl teasingly behind one of his knees. “Nngh - heh-”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She squeezes the back of his other knee, barks out a laugh as he jumps. “Jes, stop messing around, let’s get his feet.”

That makes him kick, but at this point his entire lower half is restrained - all he can do is take one last breath before fingertips are scribbling over both his soles and he’s cackling so forcefully that his laughter peaks into agonized wheezing with each fresh gulp of air. “Hhh - ha - ahahaaaa, hA -”

Caleb shifts a little, bending until one of the strands that always hang stubbornly loose from where he ties his hair back brushes the tip of Essek’s burning ear. Essek shivers. “You can tell them to stop, you know,” he murmurs.

Essek’s almost entirely sure that he’s crying into Caleb’s shirt, tears leaking from squeezed-shut eyes as Beauregard and Jester torment his feet, but Caleb seems - fond, oddly - as he starts to rub his back again. “They’re not trying to be cruel - I believe they’re just excited that you’ve. Ah. Lowered yourself to our level, perhaps.”

And what level is that, Essek wants to ask, suddenly conjuring a mental image of Caleb in the same throes of helpless laughter. But he’s barely capable of that, as he’s currently dying, so he just tightens his grip on Caleb and shakes his head. He can barely even register Jester and Beauregard’s teasing anymore - he doesn’t think he can speak right now without embarrassing himself even more if he tried.

“Fuck, alright,” Fjord says abruptly from somewhere miles away, “I think he’s actually crying now, the Dynasty is going to have our heads if we break him.”

“He wouldn’t let them, he’s our friend,” Jester trills, but she does stop tickling, ghosting a hand up over his heaving shoulders to pat him gently on the head. “His ears are really purple though, like magenta purple, I think he’s blushing.”

For some reason - perhaps because he can finally think - it strikes him, fighting through the warm and pleasantly tingling haze of being touched and gentled back into himself, that as much as the casual label of friend pleases him he cannot afford this kind of vulnerability.

“Or suffocating,” Beauregard says a moment later, dropping his foot unceremoniously back into the water. “Thelyss? You alive in there?”

And, a beat later, when he doesn’t reply - “Are you just, like, smelling Caleb now?”

“Gross,” Veth squawks. “Get him off, get him off!”

Caleb smells quite pleasant, actually, but that’s not the point - his self-awareness is slowly trickling back in as he remembers who and where he is, and what he’s done to the Nein, and now they’ve broken him and he would rather die than look any of them in the eye for the next year.

Caleb pats his back. “Come on, friend, chin up.”

And he’s right, Essek can’t afford to cling to this veneer of comfort any longer - but to his immediate and eternal shame, he whines and nuzzles further into Caleb’s ribs. Just a moment to gather his wits, maybe, and he’ll be able to Misty Step to the front door and don his mantle-

“No? Alright, then - I’ll go to work too, if I have to.”

The hand on his back lifts away and walks itself on two prodding fingers neatly up under Essek’s arm, gently wriggling into the hollow until he can’t bear to keep his arms up any longer. “Nnn, hnn! - eheh, thahat’s - enough, please-”

It’s. It’s not, is the problem - he tries to stir up anger, distaste, but there’s only fear. He would deal with this indignity again, suffer it gladly, even, just to have them speak to him kindly. It’s new, and terrifying, and he needs to think it over alone with a generous glass of wine in his tower.

He shrinks back in on himself, still snickering at the tickling under his arms, and Caleb takes the opportunity to grab him neatly by the shoulders and sit him back up - Essek catches a glimpse of his blue eyes shining with rare merriment and promptly swivels to look away from all of them. No one stops him as he rolls his pant legs down and shoves his feet into his boots, heedless of the damp. He can feel their curious gazes prickle on the back of his neck - shifting into an unconscious competence that’s carried him through many anxieties before, he’s already floating off the ground before he can remind himself otherwise. “I’m going to go now,” he says, rushed, still too terrified to turn his head. “Thank you, I -”

“Essek, wait!” Jester says, confused, and Beau scoffs, and he’s not going to think about how he can recognize their voices without even seeing them, he’s not -

Yasha’s voice, at last, breaks through the hubbub, and it’s only in deference to their conversation before dinner that he pauses to listen.

“Hey,” she says, quiet and certain enough to shake him. “You said that you’re lonely, right?”

The noise fades away. He inches down to the ground with it. “Recently, yes,” he replies, just above a whisper, fighting to keep his voice steady with the enormity of this, this feeling -

“I didn’t say so before,” she continues, perfectly calm, “but it’s a little scary, right? To not be so lonely, anymore.”

Essek says nothing - he knows, without the mantle, that they can all see the slight tremble of his shoulders.

“Go away, then,” she says confidently, and then, hastily, “oh, no, that’s not right -”

“Yasha,” Jester squeaks, horrified, and Essek, to his own surprise, laughs. More of a chuckle, really, but. That’s a relief, after all this.

He can place her roughly in the rightmost corner of the hot tub, turns just enough to catch her heterochromatic gaze in his periphery. Her mouth drops slightly open before she gathers herself. “I just, I meant -” She inhales nervously. “I used to leave all the time, to go do - things - and come back when I was ready. You can do that too, if you want, we won’t mind, as long as you come back. And the tickling - we’re all ticklish, you don’t have to feel bad about it - ah, maybe someone else should say something.”

Caduceus pats her shoulder. “Nah, that was pretty good.”

Essek agrees, despite his better judgment. He rolls his shoulders, forcing them loose. “No, no, that’s - helpful,” he assures, and then, taking a deep breath and praying that his cheeks have cooled, he turns to look at them all. “I am to show you my abode tomorrow, yes?”

Caleb looks extraordinarily stressed. “Ah, you don’t have to, if you would rather-”

Beau punches him in the shoulder harshly enough to make him wince. “Yes.”

“Yes, and breakfast pastries!” Jester cheers, clapping her hands together - he’ll have to talk to his staff tonight.

“Until tomorrow, then,” he says, and spares only a brief smile before casting Misty Step to take him to the door and then again to the street.

He’s not quite ready to lose all his dignity, yet.

#tickling #critical role #shadowgast #essek thelyss #jester lavorre #caleb widogast #chocfic #it's been a long monday and i needed to post this before i give in to the impulse to collapse hhh

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