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cupid-styles · 5 months

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I feel like grumpy H gives off a snow day vibes

and you're 1000% right for that

word count: 1.7k

content warnings: smut (dirty talk, mentions of anal and squirting, slight size kink, degradation if you squint, riding)

grumpy h masterlist

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

Y/N thinks this may actually be heaven on earth.

She's bundled up beneath an array of cozy blankets, burrowed into a plushy bed, and every time she wakes up, she feels her boyfriend's chest pressed against her back. His slow, even breathing is always enough of a lullaby to get her back to sleep in minutes, but especially when the world around them is entirely silent, too.

It's only then that she shuffles a bit, stretching out her ankles and straightening her back. Beside her, she hears Harry stir, pressing a light kiss to the side of her head.

"'s a snow day," he murmurs groggily into her ear. "Go back to sleep."

"Snow day?" Y/N echoes, her eyes peeling open immediately. Harry grunts, though she knows he's just being dramatic, as he always is, as she rises up to her knees, pressing them into the foamy bed. She sits up and leans her elbows against Harry's headboard and peers through his curtains to see that he's correct — their small college town has been inundated with inches of snow, granting them a rare, unplanned day off in the middle of the week.

Y/N loves snow days. Mainly because growing up, the only people who loved them more than her were her parents. She's always been a busy bee, aiming for near-perfect grades, volunteering, tutoring, and working, supplying her with limited free time in her schedule. Even from a young age, Y/N demanded to be in multiple activities to boost her college application.

(Y/N's parents were never sure where such anxieties stemmed from, considering all they wanted was for her to be happy, even if that meant backpacking through Europe for two years after graduating high school.)

So when it snowed hard enough to the point where everything was canceled, Y/N's mom always had activities on deck as a source of stress-relief for her. Hot chocolate, face masks, fuzzy blankets, and her favorite movies queued up. So, naturally, when Y/N's face glowed as she told Harry about these fond memories the second the campus buzzed with the potential of a snow day, he did the same thing.

His girl worked too hard. She was exhausted every night, sometimes even falling asleep on the phone during their evening conversations when she was too tired to come over. While she was at her last class of the day yesterday, Harry quickly ambled to the grocery store, picking up ingredients for her favorite soup, matching pairs of fuzzy socks, and hot chocolate mix. He told her that he would pick her up from her lecture and bring her straight to his place, just in case they ended up getting snowed in.

(Realistically, the thought of having a day off without Y/N by his side all day sounded painful. He'd never admit that this whole plan was as much for him as it was for her. When his housemates snooped through the grocery bag Harry brought home, teasing him about the matching socks, he sent them a deadly glare, muttering out something about them being lonely, annoying assholes.)

Harry's not sure how long he lets Y/N inspect the falling snow through his bedroom window, but he does know that when he glances at the alarm clock on her side, it glowed an angry 8:02 a.m.

"It's way too early to be awake on a day off, lovebug. Come lay back down with me."

She huffs in discontent like a disappointed child. "'s so pretty though."

"You know what's also pretty, though?"

A hum leaves her throat, only to be quickly cut off by Harry grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back down to the bed. She squeals, a giddy, shocked expression on her face as she reaches out to gently bat at his naked chest.

"Harry!" she yelps.

"What?"

He delicately molds her to the side of his body, lightly pushing her head down so it's on his chest. He keeps his arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders, giving them a small squeeze.

"I could've gotten hurt." she mutters stubbornly, her words slightly muffled. Harry chuckles.

"I'd never let that happen," he presses a kiss to her forehead. "Are you gonna go back to sleep now?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I don't think I can, to be honest. The snow makes me excited."

Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes, "You're like a puppy, I swear to god."

“Meanie.” Y/N murmurs through a teasing smile. He raises his eyebrows, tilting his head to look down at the girl below him.

“I’ll be mean if you really want me to,” he nearly purrs, trailing feather light strokes over her hip, “But a meanie wouldn’t fill your cute ass with a plug and make you squirt.”

She gasps at his crude words and it makes him smirk. Ever the innocent girl, she always acted as if she wasn’t just as filthy as him.

He makes quick work to roll her over onto his front, almost manhandling her as he parts her thighs to straddle his waist. Her cheeks warm and he chuckles, folding his arms behind his head. “You’re being mean.” She grumbles, hips twitching over his brief-clad length.

“How so?”

“Because!” She whines, swallowing tightly, “You know what you’re doing and you’re not doing anything to help it.”

Harry's chest vibrates with a low snicker, shaking his head at his girl's stubbornness. His hand slips underneath her — his — tee-shirt, his cold fingers sending a shiver down her spine.

"Baby, you know I never wanna be mean to you," he says softly, "I'll help you get what you want, hm? Does that sound good?"

She nods quickly and it makes him smile. Using his free hand, he nudges her sleep shorts to the side, cooing when he feels the damp fabric.

"Needy," he murmurs. "Take me out, puppy."

Wordlessly, she sits up a bit, granting just enough room for her to dip beneath his briefs and pull his hard cock out. The tip is already flushed pink with pre-cum bubbling at the top. The sight is a small ego boost, letting her know that she's not the only one being affected by their current position.

"Do you need any prep?" he asks quietly, jaw clenching when she makes a few slick passes over his tip. Quickly, she shakes her head.

"No— can put it in, I can take it."

He smirks. "Yeah? Not too big for you?"

"Harry—"

He cuts her whining off by nudging his hips up to meet her core, silencing her pouting with a breathy whimper. Despite the tightness, she's slick enough between her legs that he's able to slip in with minimal resistance. (Besides, after recent experimentations with anal, Harry's realized that she likes small bites of pain.)

They both moan quietly when he bottoms out, his length pressing deep into her g-spot. Her eyes flutter closed as his hands find her hips, giving them a gentle squeeze.

"I know, 's deep, isn't it?" he purrs almost mockingly, "Need me to help you?"

"P-please."

With a grip on her hips, he begins to help her bounce on his cock. Instantly, a series of mewls fall from her lips and he presses a hand to her mouth, a teasing smirk curling at his mouth.

"Those noises are mine, sweetheart. Try to keep quiet."

She nods quickly as he starts to nudge his hips upwards to meet her thighs, his other hand maintaining a stiff grasp on her skin. He's doing his best to keep his own groans in as she bounces up and down, but her tight, wet pussy is almost too much for him to take. He shuts his eyes, knowing he's already far too close to coming from the sight of her in his shirt riding him.

"Lemme— fuck, lemme grind on you," Y/N mumbles. Harry nods, slightly relieved from the intensity of their previous position. He removes his hand from her hip and she almost instantly reaches to intertwine their fingers together, eyes rolling back as she rubs her pelvis against his. His cock is still impossibly deep, feeling as though it's deep in her tummy, but now her clit is being stimulated against his pelvic bone, too. Gradually, her muscles start to contract faster, and she feels her orgasm beginning to grow in the pit of her tummy.

"You look so pretty like this, fuck," Harry mutters, lifting his hand to bite his knuckles. "So obsessed with you, baby, you're so good. Gonna make me cum."

"'m gonna cum," she slurs, echoing his words. "Y-you're so deep— feel you so deep, oh—"

He bucks his hips up once, twice, three times to meet her grinds and that's all it takes to send her spiraling. Her head ducks back as she moans out his name, her pussy spasming around the girth of his cock. He tries his best to keep his eyes open so he can watch her, his own personal wet dream, but the sensation of her muscles squeezing him triggers his own orgasm. Quickly, he pulls out, reaching down to pump his slick-covered cock once to paint her mound with thick spurts of cum.

"Oh!" she breathes, her pussy still contracting as he uses his tip to smear his cum over her skin.

"S-sorry," he stutters, swallowing harshly, "Didn't wanna come inside."

She nods understandingly as she catches her breath. They hadn't had that conversation yet, so she appreciated him being respectful of that, even if she wasn't able to finish around his cock.

With a deep breath, he sits up slightly to press a light kiss to her lips. "You always look so fucking pretty when you ride me."

She blushes. "Shush, you."

"Budge up, I wanna get you cleaned up," Harry murmurs, helping her part her legs so she can roll over and lay back against the bed. He gets up and grabs a spare towel, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. "Also, I picked up stuff for that soup you love. And hot chocolate... and I thought maybe we could watch some of your favorite movies and stuff."

Y/N's eyebrows raise. "Really?"

As he wipes the mess from her skin, he nods wordlessly.

"That's what my parents used to do with me—"

"I know, baby. You told me," he pauses to swallow. "I wanted to do the same thing for you. Or at least something somewhat similar."

A toothy grin covers her face. "Have I ever told you how perfect you are?"

"Hm, I don't think so. You can do it now, though."

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princessbrunette · 3 months

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omggg i adore kitty!reader so much shes so !! me !!! how do u think jayj would put her in her place … i feel like whenever shes having her mini tantrums people get equally as frustrated bc she gets feisty but jj has like .. magic on him or something 💭

"⭒˚｡⋆🍡⋆⭒˚｡"

you’d been in a bad mood since coming home from work. bartending wasn’t for the weak, especially when the locals constantly harassed you and berated your drink pouring skills — which was mostly put down to being a woman. by the time you get back to jj’s empty house, the blonde sat on his messy porch with a bottle of beer when you got back — you had quite the attitude.

“if it ain’t my favourite bartender. how’s m’girl, come over here.” he opens his arms and you storm right past making his brows shoot up, lips pressed together as he adjusts his cap. “alrighty, guess someone’s in a mood.” he pushes up onto his feet, swaggering in through the open door.

“‘somethin’ happen? what’s up?” he calls after you, spotting you in the kitchen angrily opening and closing cupboard doors as you try to make yourself something to eat.

“where is my plate?” you demand, clearly frustrated. he blinks, thinking back to your special plate that you always ate off. some cutesy antique thing you found at a yard sale, a beloved item of yours. he silently winces, eyeing it sat in the sink, soaking in bubbles.

“yeah uh, so basically i ate my lunch off it ‘cus i forgot to do the dishes, uh — again. that’s my bad. i got paper plates you can use? great thing about those is that when you’re done with ‘em you don’t gotta wash ‘em. you just throw ‘em away. makes me wonder why we even buy regular plates in the first pl—”

“no i don’t want a paper plate jj j want my plate! i just want to eat my food and— and you’re here just— just—” you explode, still refusing to offer him even a glance as you continue hunting for something to eat your leftovers off.

“hey, hey— put them claws away kittycat. no need for that. c’mon pretty girl where’s that smile?”

you spin around, fists balled at your side, tears of anger in your eyes.

“dont tell me to smile! go away!” you yell before turning away with a loud huff. jj drops his head down, tongue in his cheek as he nods, thinking for a moment before approaching slowly.

“easy, alright? you’re not gonna take that tone with me, mama i’m on your side.” as he speaks, you feel the warmth of his front press to your back, an arm cautiously sliding around your waist to keep you stable. his other arm snakes around your neck, pulling you into a light headlock, just enough pressure to ground you. he lowers his head to talk into your ear as you stare directly at the cabinet, already melting a little against him. “you wanna talk ‘bout your day? y’already know i’m all ears baby. but you gotta watch that attitude, yeah? you’re home now, i’m here. just… dial it back.”

there’s some silence, and you nod — releasing a shaky breath as you feel some of the grossness from your day leave your body. “uh-huh, that’s all you needed wasn’t it babydoll? needed to be told. that’s okay, i get it.” he kisses your temple before removing his arm from your neck, using both hands to squeeze your waist and turn you around.

the gaze he receives from you is nothing short of guilty, doll-like eyes blinking up at him slowly as you take deep breaths. “now what you’re gonna do, is sit that cute lil ass down and let me fix you up a plate. you’re gonna eat that shit, then, you’re gonna talk to me about your day,” he walks you backwards until your legs hit the chair at the table and you drop down to sit in it. he leans forward, hands cupping your cheeks. “and after that, oh i’mma fuck the shit out of you. like, you’re not even gonna remember what day of the week it is— let alone what shitty customers ran their mouth at you today. that sound good?”

“yes, jj.” you respond, pupils pretty much taking up your whole eye like an entertained kitten.

“thats what i like to hear, ma’am. alright, wait there. i got you.”

"⭒˚｡⋆🍡⋆⭒˚｡"

#anon #kitty!reader #jj maybank prompt

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nebulaafterdark · 7 months

Text

Exile (Part 1)

Summary: Y/N Undersee thought the games were over after becoming a victor. Unfortunately, life outside the arena has become just as dangerous. Prequel to Moves & Countermoves

Trigger warning: forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, alcohol abuse and other mentions of trauma. 18+ ONLY

It’s a crisp autumn morning when Y/N wakes to a pounding at her door.

Bam!

She rushes down, still in her pajamas, flinging open the door to see what the emergency is.

Haymitch, her former mentor.

Haymitch, the town drunk.

Haymitch, her…friend?

“Haymitch, what’s wrong?” Y/N asks, moving away from the doorway as he stumbles in. Clearly intoxicated. Not in his right mind.

“I fucked up.” He snarls, anger rolling off him in waves.

“What do you mean?” Y/N follows him, until he comes to a stop, in her living room, pacing and pacing. Ready to come out of his skin.

“Congratulations, we’re getting hitched.”

“What?!”

“Snow…I don’t fucking know.” Haymitch scowls, “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Haymitch, please, what’s going on?” Her tone is frantic now, to match his own.

“He told me he wanted you to come work in the Capitol and I-“ Haymitch drags a hand over his face. “I lost it.”

“Work in the Capitol? Like as a stylist?” Y/N tries to make sense of it.

Haymitch lets out a bitter scoff, “this is just perfect. You are so- of course I have to be the one to tell you. Of course it has to be me who-” breaks your heart.

“Help me understand.” Y/N puts a hand out towards him. “I need you to tell me. Otherwise I’m clueless and I can’t help you if I’m clueless.”

“Help me? I’m trying to help you!”

“Tell me how.” Y/N tries again. “Tell me how getting married helps me. Or you, or anyone.”

“If I marry you, Snow won’t sell you.” There it is. The truth in it’s horrible entirety.

“He wouldn’t do that.” Y/N gasps.

“He would and he wants to.” Haymitch assures her. “Bad.”

“How do you know that?”

“He told me while I was…”

“While you were what?”

“Do you need me to spell it out?” Haymitch spits, his voice full of venom. “While I was fucking the highest bidder so you didn’t have to!”

Her eyes grow wide, welling with tears. That doesn’t make sense.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that.”

“I’m just,” she fumbles for the words. “I didn’t know. I could’ve married you before and-”

“And what?” Haymitch demands, taking a step toward her. “It’s bad enough that I have to make you my child bride-”

“I’ll be twenty in a few months.”

“And I’ll be thirty.” He says, pointedly. “Before you’re twenty.”

“Ten years and some change is not unmanageable. I’m sure lots of people-”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I get it, you don’t want to marry me. I don’t particularly want to marry you either. But more than that, I don’t want anything happening to you when I have the power to stop it. I know you feel the same way or you wouldn’t have agreed to this when Snow brought it up. If we just work together, we don’t have to be miserable.” Y/N offers, wringing her hands anxiously.

“I want to keep my house.” Haymitch tells her.

“Sure.” Y/N has no qualms about it.

“And my liquor.”

“Of course.”

“What are your demands?” His blue eyes are frantic, wild.

Demands; as though they’re negotiating a business deal. “I want you to be honest with me about what’s happening.”

“Fine.”

“I want you to stop blaming yourself for everything that happens to me. It’s not your fault.”

“I’ll try.”

“And never refer to me your child bride.”

“Deal.”

“One more thing.” Y/N says, it’s more of an afterthought really.

“Name it.”

“I don’t want to be trapped in a loveless marriage. I want it to be real someday.”

He narrows his gaze, “ok.”

“Congratulations,” Y/N repeats his earlier sentiment. “We’re getting hitched.”

————————————————————————

The wedding is thrown together in a flash. In under a week, to be exact. Y/N’s family, Madge especially, doesn’t understand.

I thought you hated him?

When you’re older, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.

She protects her, because that’s what big sisters do.

All through the ceremony, the poofy wedding dress scratches at her skin. As if it knows she doesn’t belong.

The crowd of Capitol witnesses is massive, no family or friends. When it is over, the happy couple is escorted to their ‘honeymoon’ suite. A pristine, white room, with ivory bedding; topped with pale rose petals to match.

On the side table, a sealed envelope.

‘Mr. & Mrs. Abernathy,

tonight is cause for great celebration. One to be shared with beloved members of Panem. You will find cameras against the side walls, set to begin commemorating this joyous occasion, at 7:00pm this evening. I am sure you will perform accordingly, to ensure the safety of those you hold most dear.

Best regards,

President Snow.’

“We have to-“ Y/N chokes over the words.

“Tell me what you like.” Haymitch says, shrugging off his suit jacket.

“What I like?” Not this, anything but this.

“Look, we only have a few minutes to get warmed up before those cameras come on, there’s no time to be coy about it. Tell me how you like to have sex.”

“I don’t,” Y/N stammers, “I don’t know. I’ve never-”

“You’re a virgin?” Haymitch pales.

Y/N nods.

“Ok,” he shakes his head, to clear it. “That’s ok.” There’s nothing they can do about it now.

She’s shaking, trembling from head to toe. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re ok.” Haymitch soothes a hand up her arm. “I’ll never hurt you.”

Y/N nods again, “I know.”

“We’re gonna figure this out together, alright? But I need you to talk to me, let me know if you’re uncomfortable or if you don’t like something and we’ll reroute.” He can’t stop this, but he can make it good for her. He can get her through it.

“Ok,” Y/N sighs. Trusting him. Giving herself over to him.

They start with a kiss, his hands cradling her face as the cameras come to life. There are two, fully articulated and seeming to move of their own accord. But clearly they are being operated to catch the best angles.

After a while, Haymitch pulls back, slightly. His lips brushing hers as he murmurs, “I’m going to unzip your dress.”

Y/N startles at the words, toying with the buttons of his shirt. Undoing them to distract herself. She is trembling again.

Haymitch catches her hands in his, peppering them with kisses to calm her.

When they are both down to their underwear, Haymitch lies her back on the bed, situating her against the plush pillows. “Comfortable?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Good,” he half smiles. His lips meet hers, hands coming up to palm her bare breasts.

Her nipples tighten into peaks and she lets out a pretty little gasp.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Haymitch breathes. “An angel. My angel.” He closes his thumb and forefinger around her left nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

Y/N cries out. She needs- she wants...

“Here.” Haymitch cooes, bringing his thigh flush with her sex.

“Haymitch,” her voice is pinched. Brows furrowed, sweaty and overwhelmed and all but sobbing.

“I’m right here, angel.” He noses at her cheek. “Never let anybody hurt you. Only make you feel good.”

And he does.

So heartbreakingly, mind numbingly good. Lowering his mouth to her right breast.

Y/N works herself to a fever pitch against his thigh. Grinding against him as he licks and plucks at her nipples. Coming apart against the coarse hairs of his leg.

“So pretty,” he encourages her to ride out her high. “My pretty wife.”

Oh. That’s right. She is his wife. The word twists uncomfortably in her gut. She isn’t supposed to like it. But she does. Haymitch is her husband and she is wife and the rest…really just semantics.

Through the cloud of lust fogging up her brain, Y/N registers that he is moving. A peck against her lips and then lower, lower, lower, “oh!” Her back arches, head pressing against the pillow.

He’s going to kill her, Y/N realizes. He’s going to kill her softly, with his face buried between her thighs. With his mouth on her…

“Haymitch,” the sound of her voice is light, dreamy and he sighs into her wetness. She’s going to kill him. God, she tastes like heaven. And sin. Her hands find his hair, holding him tight to her cunt.

“You can move, angel.” He whispers the reassurance into her heat.

Y/N whines, bucking up against his tongue.

“That’s it, sweet girl.” Fuck my face. Use me. Let me make it better.

“That feels so good.” Her brows pull together and her breathing hitches as his fingers join the exquisite torture. Stretching her open, getting her ready for him. Because Haymitch will never let anyone hurt her.

He sends her careening over the edge a second time.

How many times could she possibly-

She’s so wet by the time he poises himself at her entrance, any nervousness nearly lulled to submission.

“Just you and me.”

The head of him slides in easily, her eyes the size of saucers as he reaches her hymen.

He eases a hand between them, thumbing at her clit, soothing her, distracting her. “Just a little pinch.” He coos, feeling her tense. “I need you to relax.”

To her credit, she does try. Y/N is no stranger to pain but this is different, so different. He’s splitting her open, on the inside. “Ahh,” she squeals as he bottoms out.

“There you go.” Haymitch murmurs, sealing his lips over hers in a haughty kiss. He doesn’t move, only his fingers do, brushing her clit incessantly.

Her orgasm catches them both off guard. Haymitch affords her an appreciative grunt as her muscles spasm around him. But he never stops kissing her, drinking her in.

“You can move,” she says, after a long moment.

He fucks her so sweetly her heart aches. Like he loves her, like she’s the most precious thing in the world. Coaxing her slowly towards another climax.

Oh, no, no.

“It’s too much.” Y/N whines.

“I’ve got you.”

“I can’t,” she wails, feeling the coil tighten in her belly.

“You can, I promise.” Haymitch presses his forehead to hers, drawing gentle circles on her swollen bundle of nerves. “Nice and slow.”

Her fingers are in his hair, desperately clinging to him. “I’m-“ going to cum. Y/N realizes, much to her dismay.

“Good girl, angel.” Haymitch kisses her, swallowing her pleasure. “Such a good, sweet, girl.”

She’s overworked, overly sensitive, but his fingers circle and circle her bundle of nerves. Aching and slick with her arousal, the obscene sound of Haymitch moving inside her makes Y/N dizzy. It’s too much, too good and she’s too full.

Hot tears spill from the corners of her eyes and she’s sobbing. Cumming hot and hard all over his cock. Squeezing him, milking him for all he’s worth as she keeps cumming and cumming and cumming…

“Fuck,” Y/N cries, “holy fuck.”

Haymitch presses sloppy kisses to her damp cheek. “That’s fucking perfect, angel.” He empties himself inside her. Slumping against her, hiding her from view of the cameras. Not that it matters now.

She runs a hand along his back, absently.

When the cameras turn off and fold in on themselves, Haymitch pulls away.

Staring at her face, long and hard. Inspecting her for damage. But she looks content, sated.

“How did I do?” She asks, sweetly and he wants to die.

Rolling off of her without explanation and making a mad dash for the toilet. Managing to lock the door behind himself, before emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

When he returns, Y/N is curled in on herself, shoulders shaking. This is it, what he’d been afraid of.

He comes around, kneeling on the side of the bed, taking her hands in his. “I’m sorry, angel.”

“I’m sorry. I was just nervous, I’ll do better next time.” Her bottom lip quivers.

Oh, honey. Sweetheart. Angel. Don’t fucking do this to me. “You were perfect.”

“I made you sick.”

“No, please never think that I- that wasn’t because of you. Nothing you did. Just this whole thing is fucked. I didn’t want…to take anything else from you. It’s bad enough that you had to marry me, you shouldn’t have had to- and with the cameras-“ Haymitch breaks off again, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“So you didn’t hate…being with me?”

He shakes his head.

Y/N draws in a shuttering breath, attempting to settle her nerves.

“Come on, let’s get you in the bath.”

————————————————————————-

At her request, Haymitch doesn’t leave her alone. Instead he insists on bathing her.

She hisses as she leans up, the soreness between her thighs making itself known.

“I’ll get you something for that.” Haymitch frowns at the discomfort etched into her features.

A pill. Something for the pain.

“I’m ok,” Y/N shakes her head. I don’t want you to leave me.

“I know.” Haymitch assures her, “but you don’t have to be.” I’m going to take care of you now.

She leans into his touch as he continues running the damp cloth over her skin. “That feels nice, thank you.”

“Anytime.” He won’t let her rub her skin raw, the way he had after the first time he had to- Anything for you.

“I still want it to be real one day.”

“You tell me when it’s real and I’ll ask you to marry me again.”

“K.” Y/N tucks her bottom lip between her teeth.

Haymitch knows he’s in trouble then. When she’s looking at him like that. He knows it as he dries her off, dressing her in an oversized shirt meant for him. Knows it as she cries herself to sleep, curled up against his chest. He’ll burn this world to the ground for her.

Part 2

#haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch x y/n #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy smut #haymitch x reader #thg haymitch #haymitch smut #haymitch abernathy #moves & countermoves

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 2 months

Text

V The Mysterious Wayne Family

Dick Grayson V Gotham - Chapter 2

“Why can’t I sit in the front seat?” Danny demanded to know, crossing his arms from the back of Dick’s car.

Dick sighed, peering back at him with the rearview mirror. He’d been shaky as they escaped the apartment without getting attacked by the media. Did the idiot get sick? Was the media in this dimension such a big threat?

Truthfully, Danny didn’t know a lot about this dimension, despite having lived in it for around a year. That year was spent almost entirely homeless, spending only the last few weeks with Dick. Otherwise, he was sleeping where he could, spending his days in libraries and conning people out of cash as a child medium.

…Well, calling it “conning” was a bit of an overstatement. He did get people in contact with dead relatives and the like. He just… didn’t always quote them exactly, especially when it meant he could get enough money to eat for the day.

“It’s unsafe, Danny, you know that.”

Danny glared at him from his booster seat, which put him perfectly at eye level so he could lock eyes with Dick with the rear-view mirror. He hated this whole situation: the booster seat, his age, needing to rely on an adult, the stupid media, the stupid police, the stupid Dick… Okay, he kinda liked the booster seat. It was based off of some hero—Superbman—who was an alien? But looked like a human?

That may be one of the biggest differences between this dimension and his hom–the dimension he was born in. Danny had been one of the only heroes back there, along with Valerie and Dani, if you could even call them heroes. In this dimension? There were hundreds. There were space aliens to normal people in costumes to other humans with powers, and while not all of them were heroes, a lot of them were.

And Danny hated how easy they had it.

Every day back in Amity Park was a fight for acceptance, a battle to convince people that yes, he was a ghost with good intentions, only for that trust to be lost the moment he wasn’t fast enough to stop a ghost from hurting someone, or got thrown through a wall trying to protect people. It was constantly one step forward and one step back, and nothing Sam or Tucker or Jazz said ever truly made him okay with it.

Despite everything, he hoped Amity Park was doing alright without him. He couldn’t go back—wouldn’t go back, even if he had an open portal and his powers, not after what happened—but hopefully they were doing okay.

He hoped his rogues had listened and stayed away from the Fenton portal. For their own safety.

Like every time he thought of his pa–the Fentons, the scars across his chest flared up. They might have been long-healed, but the pain always lingered, a sharp lance that lingered in the thin skin of his wound. Fiddling around in his pocket, Danny found his juul and puffed. Exhaling, a bubble gum smoke filled the cabin as the CBD started to work its way into his blood.

Dick coughed. “You know you won’t be able to do that in the manor, right?”

Danny grumbled, rolling down the window a crack.

“I’m serious, Danny. I know you need it, but the rules are different at the manor. You’ll need to go outside to smoke.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll smoke outside. Wouldn’t want your gramps to get bent out of shape.”

He laughed. “I think Alfred would be alright, once we explain your medical issues. It’s Bruce we’ll have to worry about. He’s got this thing about drugs… once he learns what’s in your juul, he do whatever it takes to get you off it. He won’t even listen if we tell him about your chronic pain, he’ll just think you’re lying!” Dick threw his hand up in the air. “Honestly, it’s just lecture after lecture with him.”

“He can suck a cock then!”

Dick laughed, all traces of anger gone as his bright eyes glanced at him through the mirror. “Say that to his face, and you get ice cream for a week.”

“Done!”

The illusive Bruce Wayne. Danny had heard the name from the TV that morning, and apparently he was Dick’s dad. Not that Dick ever mentioned him in the months they knew each other. Not that this Bruce guy ever visited on the occasions Dick managed to convince him to stay the night, nor in the weeks after his foster placement was finalized. Danny didn’t even know Dick had a dad until this morning, so clearly something was going on here.

If he focused on this case—the mystery behind the estrangement of Dick and Bruce—then he’d finally be able to get his mind off Mrs. Bennett’s case. The Shade had approached him early that morning, flickering in the moonlight, barely visible and just formed. Her case was so easy too; her killer was her son-in-law, she’d been awake when he killed her and he’d definitely left behind evidence too, but there was no telling if the other detectives at Bludhaven PD would find it. Or would care enough to find it.

Corrupt bastards.

Speaking of which—”Are we actually going to be able to consult on cases while we’re in Gotham, or was that just something you said to make me feel better?”

“I believe I said case, as in the singular one with Mrs. Bennett. But yes, I’ve already arranged it with the Commissioner.”

“But she works for the Damir family! We can’t trust her.”

“We can’t trust her when it comes to cases related to the Damir family,” Dick corrected. “Other than that, she’s decent at her job.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“She’s better than the other officers in our department?” he tried again.

“Also not a compliment. I’ve met dead guys that are better cops.”

They bantered back and forth, but the closer they got to Gotham, the tenser Dick became. Dick wasn’t the type to get serious out of nowhere—the only times Danny could remember were when a case involved a gang or that one terrible time when some ugly-ass assassin with a stupid-ass name came to town—but whatever was waiting for them… must be bad. Right?

Gotham, Danny noticed as they drove through town, looked better than Bludhaven, like how rats look better than turds. Danny had heard the rumors about Gotham, mostly about all the dangerous villains, but there was clearly some money going into infrastructure. Beautiful gothic buildings dripping with gargoyles towered overhead, and there weren’t nearly as many boarded up shops and potholes.

It wouldn’t have been a bad place to set up shop if it weren’t for all the Shades around.

The ghost population of this dimension mostly comprised of Shades with the occasional Poltergeists and Wraiths. Ectoplasm wasn’t as accessible here; just traveling to this dimension had stripped Danny of almost all the ectoplasm in his body and he still hadn’t recovered, so his powers barely worked. But Shades were shadows of humans when they were alive, weak and incorporeal unless you were a ghost too, barely kept together with their obsession.

Bludhaven had a lot of Shades. That’s why Danny settled down there when he first arrived. He wanted to help people move on if he could, either by solving their murder or contacting their loved ones.

If Bludhaven had a lot of Shades, Gotham had a colossal number.

Shades clogged the walkways and the streets, dissipating when someone or something went through them and reforming in an instant. Some alleys were plugged with them and some alleys were empty. Danny watched with wide eyes. Ghosts were supposed to be rare. He’d thought ghosts were rare. But Gotham was plagued with violent crime… violent, unique, indescribable crime, worse in intensity from Bludhaven, but not quite there in frequency. There were women with their faces melted off, men ripped in half down the center, children blown to bits, creeping around the streets of Gotham.

Danny sunk down in his booster seat. “I want to go home,” he admitted quietly.

Dick sighed. “I know, kiddo. I want to go home too.”

He blinked away stubborn tears. Dick didn’t understand. This wasn’t Danny’s home, this dimension wasn’t Danny’s home, Dick wasn’t Danny’s home (as much as Danny appreciated Dick, he wanted his family, but they hated him, they attacked him, they—)

Dick continued talking. “But you know what? Everything’s going to be okay. Because my grandfather is going to love you. And Bruce— He’s a little rough around the edges and we might not get along right now, but he’s going to love you too.” Dick sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Danny. “Tim’s going to adore you; he’s told me that he’s always wanted a younger sibling and I can’t blame him; his house looks so lonely and his parents were always gone. He’s staying with Bruce now as a foster since his dad’s in a coma, but he’s been family long before that…”

He listened to Dick continue to ramble about his family. Bruce was rarely touched upon in his stories, but Alfred was spoken of with unmistakable love (Danny never knew his grandparents, Mom and Dad were disowned years before he was born, he could probably guess why), and he clearly adored Tim (He could understand that, Danny loved Jazz with his entire soul, but what would it have been like if he had a younger sibling? Would his relationship with Dani have turned into this if they could’ve spent time together?). Dick continued with stories about his best friend and ex-girlfriend, Barabra (Sam and Tuck, Tuck and Sam, his friends were dead and it's his fault—), and even a few including Tim’s ex-girlfriend too.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think.

Before long, the car slowed to a stop. Ahead of them was a grand manor, the kind shown in those regency tv shows that Jazz loved watching, with obsessively maintained gardens and beautiful, clean exterior. A stone staircase led up to larger-than-life wooden doors; Danny couldn’t identify what kind of wood, but it was probably something expensive and old. Mahogany? That sounded like an expensive wood.

Dick put the car in park before turning around in his seat to look at Danny. “Alright, buddy. Are you ready to meet our family?”

“Your family,” Danny corrected mulishly, unbuckling his seat belt.

“Our family,” Dick said again, smiling. “They’re good people, and they’re going to be here for you.”

“Sure.” Sliding out of his seat and out of the car, Danny stayed slightly behind Dick as they walked up the steps and to the front door. Before Dick could knock or find the doorbell, the doors opened to reveal an old stereotypical butler. He even had a British accent! “Master Grayson,” he addressed Dick coolly, but when he looked at Danny, his expression softened. “And Young Master Daniel. It is good to finally meet you, and welcome to Wayne Manor. I am the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth.”

Danny ducked away. “Danny’s fine,” came his muttered response.

Alfred smiled. “Young Master Danny, then. Come along; Master Bruce is waiting for you both in the foyer.”

Dick grimaced. Did that mean something bad? What was a foyer, a fancy word for office? Was Dick going to get scolded?

They followed Alfred into the house (although, calling it a house felt like an understatement). It was even fancier inside, with marble floors and a glistening chandelier overhead. Danny felt significantly out of place in his jeans and ratty coat he’d pulled out of the trash.

There was a man pacing in the room (was this the foyer?). He was dressed in a fancy suit and built like a brick house, but looked similar enough to Dick in a weird funhouse-mirror way. The moment he saw them, his face smoothed into a banal smile and Danny immediately didn’t like him. “Dick! You’re home.” Striding up to them, the man immediately hugged Dick, who stiffly returned it. “Welcome back, chum. And who’s this?”

Dick’s smile was strained. “This is my foster son, Danny. Danny, this is Bruce; I was his ward until I turned 18.” Ouch. Not even a foster son, but a ward? That sounded like a significant step down from fostering. Danny glared at Bruce, who seemed taken aback by his hostility. Dick laughed nervously. “Sorry about him, he’s shy.” Now Danny glared at Dick.

Bruce’s smiled evened out as he crouched down, like that would hide his fucking massive body. “It’s nice to meet you, Danny,” he said. “I’m very happy you're here. Hopefully it’ll be a lot more peaceful now that you’re staying with us.”

Danny scowled. “Suck a cock, douchebag.”

Bruce’s smile dropped as Dick smothered a laugh. “Watch your mouth,” Dick scolded without any heat behind it. Danny smirked.

“It’s okay, Dick,” Bruce said, straightening up. “I’m sure Danny’s just shaken up from the sudden change. I’m feel the same, since you didn’t tell any of your friends or family that you were taking in a child.”

“Oh, so you can adopt a child without telling anyone, but when I do it—”

Alfred stepped in. “If you both could contain yourselves a minute longer, I can get the Young Masters settled in. I’ve already arranged a room for you in the family ward, Young Master Danny, if you’d like to rest? It is still rather early in the morning.”

“It might be better to give him a tour of the manor before anything else,” Dick said, eyeing Danny warrily.

“I’m not going to get lost.”

“Mhmm.” Dick didn’t believe him.

“I’m not!”

“Just like how you didn’t get lost at the precinct? Or at the morgue? Or at—”

“I never got lost on the streets!” Danny thought that was rather impressive. Besides, it’s not his fault the morgue was just empty hallways that all looked the same!

“The streets are labeled. Besides, you’ll never know where the in-house theater is without a tour.” Dick winked, like that was a big selling point.

Bruce interrupted them. “Why don't you give him a tour after we talk, Dick? It’s been a long time since we last spoke and I was hoping to ask you about your… recent life change.”

Dick pinched the bridge of nose. “Of course you want to start the interrogation right away,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowed. “Alright, but I don’t want Danny to hear this. Alfie, could you– Tim!” Following Dick’s glance, Danny found a teenager in his fancy pajamas standing on the stairs leading to the second floor. The teen, who looked enough like Dick to be his brother and Bruce’s son, rubbed his eyes like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Tim can take you on the tour! Come on, Danny.”

Dick ushered Danny up the stairs to Tim. “Will you be okay without me?” Danny asked, not wanting to leave Dick alone with Bruce.

He got a bright smile in return. Danny didn’t trust it. “Of course I will, kiddo. Don’t worry about me, just focus on having fun with Timmy.”

Tim looked blearily between them. “What is going on?”

“You’re taking Danny on a tour so he doesn’t hear me and Bruce fight,” Dick told him plainly. “Danny, this is my brother and Bruce’s foster son, Tim. Tim, this is my foster son, Danny. You two have fun!”

Ignoring Tim’s protests that he hadn’t had breakfast yet, Dick pushed them up the stairs and into the immediate hallway, closing the door behind him. They stared at each other for a moment before Danny pressed his ear against the crack in the door. “When did Dick get a kid?” Tim asked.

“Like, three weeks ago, keep up.” Tim tried to say something again, but Danny shushed him. After a moment, Tim joined him in eavesdropping by the door.

Dick spoke. “I’ll start. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you both I was fostering a kid. I was planning to inform you after the two month mark and Danny had settled in a bit more, but obviously that plan is out the window.”

“I accept your apology, Master Dick,” Alfred said, and there was a sigh of relief. “However, I would still like to know how this happened in the first place.”

“I’m more interested in knowing how you managed to foster him without us being interviewed as character references.”

“...I may have used my boss’ influence to make sure that only my co-workers were interviewed?” Dick admitted.

“Master Richard.”

“I’m sorry, Alfie, but he’s a flight risk! Do you know how many times I managed to get him to come home with me only for him to disappear in the middle of the night!? Fourteen times! Danny’s admitted that he ran away from his previous home, he still hasn’t told me his real last name, and he’s paranoid enough to give Bruce a run for his money! I’ve just barely managed to gain his trust. I didn’t need Bruce being Bruce to ruin it for us—”

“If you had asked me to stay away, I would have—”

“No you wouldn’t, Bruce! You’d pick and prod and try to uncover his every little secret because you don’t trust me to figure it out myself! If Danny had suspected that someone was looking into his past, he would have bolted, B. And I would have lost him forever.”

Danny nodded. He would have. Not that Bruce would have found anything about his past–the perks of getting stuck in an alternate dimension–but some rich asshole poking his nose in his business? Danny would have snuck onto the next bus out of the city.

“You can barely take care of yourself, Dick!” Bruce insisted. “If it was such a dire situation, then you could have contacted me and I would have–”

“–Lost him immediately because he has a strange hatred for billionaires?” Dick scoffed. “He wouldn’t let you get within six feet of him if you tried to take custody.”

“I–”

“He bites too.”

“Dick–”

“Hard.”

“Richard–”

“And it’s pretty bold of you to say I can’t take care of myself. Have you looked in the mirror recently? Because the word hypocrite is written across your forehead in crayon.”

“But I’m not the one who struggles to make rent each month.” Danny flinched. He’d known that Dick didn’t get paid that much, but was it really that bad? Didn’t Dick get a pay increase when he was made detective? Or was Danny taking so much money that it negated the pay increase— “Nevertheless, I’m not trying to take custody away from you, Dick. I’m just… trying to figure out how we got to this point.”

“We got to this point by not trusting each other,” Dick said tiredly. “And I still don’t trust you, not after what you did.”

Dick, I–”

“No, Bruce. This is my life. Besides you were only a few years older than me when my parents died and you decided to raise me on your own. It’s hypocritical for you to complain that I’m doing the same. Look, I’ve known Danny for over a year–”

“You mean you’ve hid this from me for over a year?”

“Bruce–”

“I knew I should have been suspicious when you got that foster license. You’ve been planning this for months–”

“Bruce!” Dick snapped, and Danny had never heard Dick that mad before, not even the first time they met. “Obviously I’ve been planning this for months! I’ve been planning this since the first week I met Danny! The only reason I got that damn license was for him!” He felt… warm. Danny knew that foster licenses were hard to get, but Dick had really wanted him since the week they met. Danny had been so… feral back then, he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting him, not even Jazz. Dick continued, voice barely audible through the door. “He’s a good kid. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

A sigh. “I just… don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret, that’s all.”

“Are you saying you regret adopting me?” The angry voice was back. “Adopting Jason?”

“That’s not what I meant—!”

Tim pulled him away from the door. “We shouldn’t be listening to this. Come on, let’s start that tour you need.”

Danny tried to pull away, but Tim was deceptively strong for his thin frame. Despite his struggles, he was halfway down the hall before he knew it. “Let me go, cocksleeve!”

“You don’t need to hear that,” Tim said. “Trust me, things always get… heated between them, when Jason is brought up. That’s not something you need to witness.”

Jason, huh? That must be the linchpin in this entire investigation. Dick had never mentioned a Jason before, but he was clearly important if the entire family got bent out of shape for him. Did Dick cut contact with Bruce because of this Jason? Did Jason force Dick to do it? Dick would never abandon his family like that, Danny knew this had to be true because of his determination in trying to take Danny home, but if he was forced to stay away… Maybe Jason is an associate of Bruce that Dick hates?

Danny finally managed to jerk his arm away. His entire hand ached. “You don’t have to drag me!”

Shock crossed Tim’s face, like he’d finally realized what he was doing, before it fell. “I’m sorry, Danny. I shouldn’t have pulled you. It’s just… Jason isn’t something you should hear about, at your age. I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring him up, especially around Bruce. Okay?”

Studying the boy, Danny agreed. Sounds like Jason’s some sort of criminal contact, so it was best to behave carefully. Danny kicked at the ground, scraping dirt off onto the carpet that ran in the center of the hall. “So, what do you guys do for fun around here?” He asked. “I don’t need a tour, I’m not a baby.”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I just spent the night in the library, working on a case? If you want to lend a hand with that?”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “I thought you just woke up?”

“...Just because I was in the library doesn’t mean I was awake the entire time.”

Ah, a fellow insomniac. His eyes narrowed further. “I only like interesting cases. What kind are we talking about? Fraud? Robbery? Some dinky school kid project?”

“Multiple homicides. If that’s interesting enough for you?”

“...Carry on.”

A/N: Anyway, I’m using @/jedipirateking’s age chart for the ages of Batman characters. Since we’re right before Under the Red Hood, that makes Dick 24. Danny is roughly a year younger than Damian, but was originally 17 before he was deaged.

Dick: Yes, this is my feral street child. Danny: *foaming at the mouth, swearing*

Tim, internally: Oh! Dick must have already informed Danny about our identities! They work on cases together too, maybe we can work on one to bond? Danny, internally: Wow, rich people have weird ass hobbies

Danny: *so close, yet so far from figuring out the Jason thing* Red Hood: Did someone just walk over my fucking grave again?

Yes, some things are being kept vague on purpose. That’s for a better reveal in the future.

@starlightcat04 @maeashryver @widderwise @darkstarsapocalypse @sisma @luminanightfall @storm-fire98 @amyheart19 @collectingthegoods @redhoneysugarorange @lordfirecat2004 @screechingnoises @meira-3919 @dannyphannypack @satisfactionbroughtmeback @rowanaway-fromthisbs @i-always-say-yea @avelnfear @some-rotten-nest @ark12 @heirxofxtime @akikkobara @blep-23 @skulld3mort-1fan @markus209 @stargirl1331 @onlyhereforthechaos @inth3world @awkwardmaiden @fantasticbluebirdfan @currant-owo @alice-hazelwood @screamingtofillthevoid @crystalqueertea @gaelicholiday @gmkelz11 @mattybook1987-blog @bytheoldwillowtree @apointlessbox @chemical-pepis @ghostface3100 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @bathildaburp @boo-ghosties @bubblemixer @halfalix @lyra689 @dragon-dancer16 @lunadoll36 @mimilikey @hellomygay @frogs-are-pretty-awesom @overtherose @cyrwrites @your-emo-nightmare @lexdamo @roman4517 @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @raginblastocyst @thegatorsgoose @fisticuffsatapplebees @olivethetreebitch @vixen-uchiha @ae-vixrose @joseph557 @kisatamao @gin2212 @thewondersoflebanon @d4ydr34min9 @malice-of-the-sunrise @tiblii @that-awkward-fae-nerd @aph-mable @dolfay @ghostreblogging @wackyattack @writer-extraordinaire @boo-ghosties @coruscateselene @emergentpanda-blog

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dpxdc #constantine jr au #c: danny fenton #c: nightwing #c: tim drake #c: alfred pennyworth #c: bruce wayne #c: jason todd #fictag dgvg

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crow-raven-crow · 8 months

Note

i would LOVE something like enemies to loversss

between you’re preferred gwendoline character x reader

maybe hate sex

𝐈'𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟..

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 - [𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝟏𝟖+]

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫 𝐟!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: ~3.1k 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: NSFW, shifted cock, degradation kink, praise kink, desk sex, mommy kink, choking, fingering, dom!Larissa, sub!Reader, slight breeding kink

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: see above

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

AO3 link in title

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

You sat towards the side of the room closest to the window, the hot sun rays shining through the glass and casting a comfortable warmth over you. Your pen moved between your fingers, sometimes stopping to take notes or to rest on your lips while you thought about what was said, sometimes never leaving the paper as you covered the blank pages with ink as your art filled each one.

The latter seemed to be the only thing helping you get through this meeting..

Her voice, strong, powerful, demanding, rang through the room as the all familiar pointer darted from board to board when she connected them with each of her main points. Everyone else was paying attention, or at least seemed to be, but you had long gone ditched the effort after she threw you another question.

When you took a moment to look around at your coworkers, you saw them all taking down the notes that were written down time and time again or looking up to the front as the tall blonde spoke about issues or upcoming events. They were all so loyal, so easily manipulated, that it pained you to acknowledge the sight, so you turned the next page and replayed your actions from the start.

Larissa seemed to notice this, to see how you had gone through pages of no sustenance, of no quality as you filled them with art instead of everything important that she had been saying for the past hour - it made a growl threaten to come out as it got stuck in her throat.

"Professor L/N…" Her voice rang out with your name for the second time that day as the meeting was near its end, "Care to explain what I had just spoken of?"

At the sound of your name, your head turned up slowly, the disinterest in your eyes apparent as you met hers. You were waiting for when she would call upon you again, and a sly smirk graced your features at the opportunity to call her suspicions of your inattention wrong.

"Outreach Day," you said as you looked around for the attention of your coworkers, before turning back and meeting a growing fire behind sapphire eyes, "is a day for normies and outcasts to work together and show that there is not that big of a difference between the two. We are all people in one way or another, and the day is one to improve relations between the two parties."

She took her bottom lip between her teeth, and the sight made your breathing still. As one of her eyebrows quirked upwards, you reveled in the knowledge that she was satisfied with your answer, and she was wrong about your actions. Before she was about to speak again, you decided to push it a step forward, not knowing exactly how much she thought you had taken in.

"It's next week - Friday, to be exact. We're gathering after 2nd period, and lunch is to be spent in Jericho. We hand each student their designated location then head out to the front of the school to load the busses. If all goes well, we'll all be back before 7pm."

You could feel everyone's eyes darting between the two of you. These moments weren't rare, especially in meetings, but they never failed to build an unbreathable, restricting tension within whatever room you two currently occupied.

"Thank you, Miss L/N.." She spoke through a smile as she turned back to the board beside her. There was a hint of something else there, something you couldn't quite put your finger on, but it made your heart race; the lightness found within her voice something new and awfully contrasting what you normally received. "Nice to see someone being so attentive to my words.. That is everything for today. If you all have any questions, don't be afraid to speak to me or send me an email."

The room filled with small chatter and light shuffles as every professor began collecting their things. It always made you chuckle, since it was so similar to the way your students left for class: hurried, more relaxed, filled with a bit more excitement.

When you stood from your chair, you pulled your bag onto your shoulder as you took another look outside. Though, it was as if your peace was always interrupted by her, as you heard her call for your attention.

"L/n, I'd like to see you in my office." You were just about to leave, but your name with her voice attached to it made you stop all movement and turn around. You watched as she collected her own items, the lack of honorific making you frown.

"Okay.. I'm just going to drop my things in my classroom and-"

She walked past you as she spoke, only looking at your for a sliver of a second before she stopped by the door. A crease between her brows formed, and her back straightened when you met her side so she could tower over you.

"Immediately." There was no waver in her tone, no room for you to respond as the space next to you had quickly become empty. You never understood how it became like this.

But, alas, you listened anyway.

You caught the door just after she slipped in, making note of how little she currently thought of your presence, before making way into her office. The room never failed to interest you - the mirrors on the ceiling, the beautiful fireplace, the golden light from the chandeliers, the grand window all being built to utter perfection.

You found it a shame to never be in here with something good laying ahead.

You placed your bag by the door, before turning to face the blonde. She was half way into the room, ready to make home at her familiar desk and spend the next several hours clearing her inbox, as you stayed near the grand entryway. You watched as she placed her laptop onto the middle of her desk, before turning around to face you.

She noticed the distance you kept and considered finding joy in making you come closer, but the way you fiddled with your thumbs, the way your gaze shot around the room told her that you didn't quite know why you were in here this time. Though she found it adorable, she used the thought to make your situation worse.

She rested an arm against the back of one of the chairs in front of her desk, before her voice echoed into the space. "Do you have a clue as to why I've pulled you in here?"

Her gaze burned over your body, moving from your face down to your feet and back up again. The way she took in your form so intensely made you squirm ever so slightly, but it was something that didn't go unnoticed by the blonde. A smile slowly rose to her face as silence continued to fill the room, finding joy in the difference between you in the meeting and you now alone with her. She loved playing this little game with you, loved toying with you in ways she thought she would never bring to light.

"No, Ms.Weems.." Your eyes met hers as you spoke, and you were unprepared for the challenging look she thew your way. You allowed yourself to take her in with all her power, the way her dress draped over her curves perfectly, the way her hair didn't have an imperfect curl, how her hands moved when she spoke, how her tongue came out to wet her lips after each sentence-

She looked at you expectantly, one of her hands coming to rest on her hip as her head tilted to the side ever so slightly. In your moment of rare admiration, you had missed everything she had said.

"I apologize, but I've seemed to miss what you had said. Could you-"

“I’d hate to repeat myself, Professor L/N.” She glared at you, her professional mask near slipping as she stood her ground.

You hated feeling so small, hated the way she constantly made you feel, maybe even hated her.. She always expected from you, always challenged you in ways that made your blood boil, her tone and constant annoyance with you making a lightness settle in your arms, clouding you over with anger.

You finally snapped.

“You know what? I am so sick and tired of the way you always belittle me. It’s exhausting even attempting to please you, and it seems like whatever I do is never perfect enough, never good enough for you. I have absolutely no idea what I did to you to get this kind of treatment, but I'm so tired of getting punished for a simple human mistake, for having my actions read into, for having every little thing I do be picked at. I hate to say it, Larissa Weems, but you're going to have to repeat yourself this time.“

By the end of your spew of anger, you had successfully pushed and pinned her against her desk, one hand poking onto her collarbone while the other rested on the side of her on the desk as her backside dug into the dark wood.

You were so close, closer than you had ever been to the woman. You could smell her perfume as it overtook your lungs, feel the heat of her own breath against your skin, see her chest heave and brush against yours as your fit of anger seemed to finally get your thoughts across - the fact had made nerves settle back into you, stealing any confidence the anger had given you.

In your moment of faltering, words slipped from your mouth, barely above a whisper but still equal in their anger. “Why do you hate me so much?”

As you looked into her eyes, there was a darkness that filled them that was different than the one you had met several times before. Maybe it was the way you finally snapped, maybe it was the way you dominated her for even just a moment, but something within her had changed, slipped, forcing itself to the forefront before she could act otherwise.

She flipped your positions, one of her hands grabbing onto your hip as the other held your jaw in a firm grip. The sharp edge of the desk settled against your lower back as you slowly got pressed against it more and more. In the quick movements, you reached out your hands for stability only for one of them to grip the fabric of her dress and successfully pull her closer, while the other shot behind you to balance you against the desk.

She tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to hers as she took in your features. A deep blush settled on your cheeks at the close proximity, and you found yourself getting drunk on her perfume. There was a roughness found within her dominance as her eyes landed on your lips and stayed here as she spoke, making warmth spread throughout your body.

“It’s quite the opposite actually..” Her lips ghosted over yours as she spoke, causing a whimper to leave your throat. The sound only urged her actions forward, one of her legs pushing under your skirt and between your thighs as she completely cornered you. "Do you want this, Y/n?"

The way your name left her mouth shot warmth to your core - there was a softness to it that made your heart swell, but it was overshadowed by the undeniable lust that filled her entire being.

"Please.."

You watched as her smirk turned sinister, as her eyes darkened when she placed her hand around your throat and loved how perfectly it look there, as the last of her resolve crumbled away when she squeezed slightly causing your hand to latch around her wrist and your eyes to flutter shut as a broken moan left you.

Her lips crashed into yours, and it seemed like a crime to wish for air. The kiss was messy, it was desperate, but it was oh so perfect. Her tongue swiped along your bottom lip, and you didn't think twice about allowing her entrance. The way her tongue felt against yours had you fighting to hold back moans, but nothing could slip past Larissa.

She pulled away when she noticed, a trail of saliva between your lips, as she enjoyed the way you chased her. Her voice was dark, low as it rumbled in her chest, delicious as she tilted your head and spoke next to your ear. "Don't you dare hide those beautiful sounds from me. I want to hear them falling from your lips as I fuck you like the wonderful slut you are. Will you do that for mommy?"

The way her voice ghosted over your ear, delivering delicious promises to you made you shudder and swallow hard. The pure need coursing through your body made you roll your hips against her thigh. The contact made you arch into her and your words come out in a moan. "Yes, mommy.."

She made quick work of getting rid of your shirt, marking any skin her lips came into contact with immediately after. Her tongue pressed against the side of your neck as her fingers pushed under your bra and swiped over your nipples. You couldn't help but moan out in pleasure, the desire for her building by the second.

"See? That wasn't so hard.." As she spoke, her hands quickly moved to unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor as her mouth watered at the sight of more of you. You moaned as she took one of your nipples into her mouth, the sensation shooting goosebumps across your body, causing you to grab onto her shoulders for stability.

It seemed as though she couldn't get enough of you, her actions calculated but filled with desperation. With your focus on her tongue, you had failed to notice one of her hands slipping under your skirt, until it traced against your slit. The action made your hips buck into her hand, the growing need for her apparent in your gaze.

She slipped her hand underneath the fabric and moaned into your ear at the arousal that had slipped out of you. "Gods, you're so wet for me, so desperate for mommy to fill you up, hmm?"

Just as you were about to respond, two fingers were pushed into your core, the stretch delicious and making a moan get caught in your throat. You moved your hips, loving the way her fingers curled in just the right spot, as your moans and whimpers grew louder.

"That's it, baby.. Ride my fingers like a good little whore.." Her words only surged you forward, the sweet feeling of release consuming you when her thumb started circling your clit. With a curl of her fingers and another touch against your sensitive bud, you came on her fingers as your body shuddered.

She pulled her fingers from you, admiring the slick that fell down against your inner thighs before holding them up to you. You took them in your mouth without question, swirling your tongue against her digits as you moaned at the taste of yourself. The sight seemed to be intoxicating for the blonde as her eyes never left the sight.

She pulled her fingers from your mouth and immediately took the rest of your clothes off. Her dress followed suit, the pale expanse of her body making itself known to you, and you couldn't help but stare. Once she noticed this, she lowered herself down, kissing you gently as she hands traced over your skin. The softness in the kiss was a welcomed one, though heavily contrasting the actions that were about to come.

She flipped you over, the cool wood of the desk only adding fuel to the flame building within you. You felt a new bulge form against you, only to let out a whimper after looking back and seeing her shifted cock against your core.

"You look so good underneath me.. gonna look so good taking mommy's cock.." She ran her cock along your slit, coating it in your juices as it rubbed against your clit each time.

You gripped the edge of the desk, holding your breath until she finally pushed into you. She groaned as she pushed into you, your walls immediately clenching around her as her hips met your backside. She pressed a kiss to your back before she spoke. "You take me so well, sweet thing…"

"Please, please, please, mommy.. I need-" You were cut off by your own moans, the feeling of her thrusting into you making your brain short circuit. Her pace was slow for only a moment, the sounds that left your mouth spurring her forwards to pound into you.

"You feel so good around mommy's cock, taking me so well.." You pushed your hips back with every thrust, meeting her own and seeing stars. She was so deep inside you, hitting your sweet spot with every pound, filling you up so well that your peak was building back up again. "Look at you so desperate for me.. sounding so beautiful when you take me.."

"I-I'm- fuck.. Please, let me cum.. Fill me up, just please don't stop-" Her nails dug into your hips to leave crescent marks there, her moans growing louder as she felt her own release building, and you were so good for her..

"How could I deny you when you ask so nicely… Cum around mommy's cock like a good little slut.." The room filled with your moans and the sound of your skin slapping together. With a few more rough thrusts of her hips, you came with her name on your lips, and she followed right after as your walls clenched around her cock.

She kept thrusting as she rode out her high, filling you with her hot seed. Your bodies shuddered, her thrusts coming to a stop and pulling out of you a few moments later. She placed kisses around your shoulders at your whimpers, the emptiness that made itself known making you look forward to the next time this would happen, in your tired state.

She took you in her arms, carrying you through her office and to her attached private quarters, before placing you gently on her bed. She disappeared for a few moments, allowing you to catch your breath and ground yourself, before coming back with a wet rag and a glass of water.

She guided the cup to your lips, helping and watching you drink some before putting the empty glass on her bedside table. The gentleness in her actions made your heart flutter, taking note of the contrast of her movements compared to the ones just moments before. After she cleaned you up, she came beside you and wrapped you in her embrace, and you immediately nuzzled your head in the crook her of neck.

The energy in the room from when this had all started had been completely removed, a newfound calm replacing all of it. Her hands traced along your skin as she placed kisses against your hairline.

"So.. it's the opposite, huh?" Your tone was playful and paired with the growing exhaustion the started to take over you. She laughed loudly, her sound rumbling in her chest and moving you as each one escaped. It was beautiful, and it made you wonder what else was hidden along with the woman you now saw.

She pulled you closer, wrapping the covers around you both before speaking again. "We'll talk about it over dinner later, hmm? Get some rest. After all… I'd hate to repeat myself.."

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐚/𝐧: HEHE HAHAH thiiiiisssss was so nice to write after not being able to do anything.

I traveled a lot this weekend, only for more to follow within the next week, so I wasn't able to post anything but ! i'm slowly working on my requests - I'm getting there

i've literally been thinking about this since I got it because I didn't know what route I was going to take but I really like how it ended up

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my taglist :) I hope you liked this one, anon. Thank you for the request

~ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐯𝐲𝐧

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹════��═: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: (tagged anyone who asked/wanted to be on the "all works" taglist)

@autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @finnja555 @barbarasstar @s-c-rambledeggs @vendocrap8008 @gwendolinechristieiscute @lilfartbox1 @agathaandgwenslesbian @lvinhs @elvira-dear @kimiinou

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

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scribbledghost · 7 months

Text

Something New

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (gender neutral, no Y/N)

Rating: M

Word count: 3,180

Warnings: non-explicit smut, d/s undertones, sub!Simon kind of, mention of previous torture (if you've read the comics, you know already), collaring, Simon gets overwhelmed by praise :(

Note: Had this idea bouncing around in my head for weeks now, and finally decided to sit down and write it. Please note that there is no explicit smut in this one, but it is mentioned and there is some spice. Depending on the reception for this one and the demand for it, I may write a part 2 that's more explicit. Tagging by request: @sillylittlereader

For as much as Simon Riley prides himself on being able to read others, you've noticed that he has a tendency to forget that you can read him just as well.

"Simon, could you come here for a second?" you call to him from the kitchen one late afternoon.

Almost immediately, you hear the soft padding of his footsteps, a stark contrast to how one would assume he walks, given his size.

"Yeah, love?" he asks as he comes to a stop behind you, both hands resting themselves on your hips.

"If I ask you something," you say, turning in his light hold to face him and lean back against the kitchen counter, "do you promise to give me an honest answer?"

"If I can."

You nod with a small smile. You know - have always known - that there are certain things Simon can never reveal to you. This is not one of those things.

At least, you hope it's not.

"Why have you been so nervous lately?" you ask softly into the space between the two of you.

He pauses.

"What d'you mean?"

"You've been... fidgety lately," you explain, loosely placing your arms around his neck, "quiet. Quieter than usual, I mean. Like you've got something heavy on your mind. If it's something with work, I understand, you don't have to tell me. I just want to know if it's something I can help with."

Another pause, this time much longer. Simon's eyes flicker across your face, as if he's searching for something.

You're not sure if he finds what he's looking for, but he offers a partial answer nonetheless.

"It's not about work."

"What's it about, then?"

This time, he takes a deep breath.

"I want to ask you for something," he says, "but I... I don't want to scare you off."

Your brow furrows. It's not like Simon to be tentative like this when it comes to asking for something he wants. Especially if it's you he's asking.

"Why would you scare me off?"

"It can be... a big ask. For some people."

He's still hesitant. Reluctant.

"Okay," you begin, trying to think of some way you can ease him into admitting what he's after. "How about this, then: I'll try to guess what you want to ask me. How about that?"

"Don't think you'll be able to, love, but sure. Give it a go," he says, a quick huff of a laugh leaving him.

"Do you want to hurt me?"

His demeanor shifts on a dime.

"What?" he asks, a quiet panic lacing his features as he rears back from you. "Christ, no, of - of course not, I -"

You place a soft hand at his lips to quiet him. You had known this would be his reaction, but you still needed to get it out of the way. You already know Simon's worst fear is hurting you - either intentionally or not.

"Do you want to hurt someone I care about?" you ask, your hand still at his mouth.

He keeps his lips shut, but quickly shakes his head in a "no" pattern.

"Then I can't think of much else you can ask for that would scare me away," you say, removing your hand. Simon seems to relax somewhat, but you can still feel the tension radiating from him.

"Simon, the worst I can say is 'no'," you offer, reaching up to tilt his head forward so you can rest your forehead on his, "I'm not going to judge you. And I won't run away from you."

The silence stretches once more. Simon's hands tighten and loosen on your hips, as if he's squeezing them for comfort. Then, after several moments, he sighs.

"Okay," he breathes, then leans back.

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone and opening it before staring at the screen in front of him. He takes another deep breath, then turns it for you to see.

"I want to ask you for this."

Whatever you could have predicted would be on the screen would have been wrong.

Because on Simon Riley's phone, staring you in the face, is an online listing for a collar.

And it's not one for an animal.

It's a simple thing: plain black leather, thickly cut with a silver buckle and silver ring at the front. Nothing fancy, nothing extravagant. Had the listing not specified what it was for, you would have been forgiven for assuming it was for a very large dog.

In your shock, you forget to immediately respond until you notice regret begin to roll off of Simon in waves.

"And... do you want to put this on me?" you ask before he can pull away and tamp down the shame you know is growing in his gut.

He swallows thickly.

"...No."

Ah. There it is. The crux of the entire issue, the reason why he was so hesitant. Simon has long since had the tendency to tell you that he is yours, that you own him - especially during more emotionally-charged and intimate moments. But you weren't quite aware of the extent to which he had apparently meant it.

There are some details Simon has revealed to you over your time together about his sexual experience. How there was a split in him - before he was tortured in Mexico, and after. Before, he'd had a few encounters, mostly quick flings or one night stands in which it was rough, fast, and little else. He'd always been the more dominant one, the one who took the lead. It came naturally, and he was still that way now, to a degree. But he had always done his best to ensure his partner for the night left his bed satisfied.

And then there was after Mexico. When his desire completely evaporated, nearly to the point of repulsion. One night stands were exceedingly rare, and any sort of meaningful connection was a thing of the past. On the wildly rare chance that he became so pent up he couldn't handle it on his own, the encounter would border dangerously on violence; solely focused on him and his need to get off. He didn't bring them home, didn't care for them afterwards, didn't even bother to learn their names. And every time, he'd feel the guilt crawling up his spine the next morning.

It had taken him time to work through his trauma. To give up his need to completely control and dominate his lovers because that control had been so thoroughly and viciously ripped from him in Mexico.

He is gentle with you. So afraid to hurt you that you remember the first time he had accidentally left bruises on your hips from gripping you too hard. He had refused to touch you for a solid week afterward until you had managed to convince him that it had been an accident and that it had done no lasting damage.

But there is still the fact that he is more comfortable taking the lead. More comfortable being in control, even if that control only goes as far as soft touches and gentle commands.

Now, here, Simon stands. Requesting that you take his control from him.

It will take careful, meticulous navigation. A step too far and you know he will yank back and close off from you.

You can't quite think of what to say to assure him you're willing to take on the responsibility he's offering you, so you settle for pulling him in for a soft kiss.

And another.

"Go ahead and order it," you murmur against his lips. "We can talk about the specifics once it gets here."

He takes you to bed, then, settling you on top of him and giving you a taste of what is to come. When he reaches his peak later, he breathes your name against your mouth and tells you again that he is yours.

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

The collar arrives in the mail a week later.

Simon has been watching the tracking updates like a hawk, even going so far as to meet the delivery driver outside when they stop. He brings the box to you, sitting next to you on the couch as you open it. He puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close as you cut the tape and pull the contents free.

The collar is much the same as the one he showed you last week - thick black leather, with a silver loop. It has a nice weight to it, but doesn't appear to be too heavy. Completely average and standard.

Except for one detail.

Off to the side, next to the plate that attaches the ring, is another silver plate. It's small, not overly loud and noticeable, but the shine stands stark against the leather. On it is an engraving of a series of letters.

It's your initials.

Your head swivels to Simon once you notice it, and a serious gaze greets you in return. The two of you stare at each other for a bit before Simon leans in and nudges his nose against your temple. He presses a kiss there, then rests his forehead in its place.

"I can return it if it's too much," he offers. "Get a plain one."

"No," you blurt out, "no. You don't have to send it back. I… I like it. Just wasn't expecting it."

Once again, you are brought to terms with just how much Simon means it when he tells you that you own him.

He hums lowly in response, and gently takes the collar from you. He pulls back, running his fingers along the material as he inspects it.

"Got a nice weight," he says. "Bit stiff, but that should be an easy fix."

He tugs at the ring on the front, seemingly pleased that it appears sturdy enough for his liking.

"Now you can really get me where you want me."

He speaks softly, as if he doesn't realize he's talking out loud. Maybe he doesn't. But his words still send heat crawling up your face.

He hands the collar back to you, hands brushing against yours as you take it from him.

"So," he says. "Specifics."

Ah. Right.

Specifics. Expectations. The ground rules that need to be thoroughly discussed before this goes any further.

"How often do you want to wear this?" you ask.

"Not all the time," Simon answers. "Just… just when I ask for it, yeah?"

You nod in agreement.

"And uh… I want you to always be the one that puts it on for me. Seems right that way."

Some type of emotion that you can't quite place begins to constrict your chest as you nod again.

The conversation continues, both of you setting guidelines and limits and requests. He does not want you to be too forceful, does not want to be completely helpless. He does not want you sickly-sweet and condescending, but does not want you cruel and angry, either. He wants a softer type of domination, a light pushing of his comfort zone without it being further than he wants to bend.

You are willing to give him all of these things, and more should he request it or discover he enjoys it in the moment, provided one stipulation:

He tells you immediately if anything feels wrong.

No second-guessing himself, no guilt at stopping the activity. As soon as the thought enters his mind that something doesn't feel right, he is to tell you. A safe word is established - the standard traffic light analogy - but you make it clear you will also accept any variation of "no", "stop", "don't", or anything similar.

This is new, uncharted territory for the both of you, and you want to ensure Simon does not come away from this with a sour feeling on the matter.

"Do you want to try it on now?" you ask softly when it seems the proper details have been discussed. "Or would you like to keep it for later?"

He goes quiet, eyes flickering down to the collar you still hold in your hands before returning to meet your gaze.

"Now."

You nod and stand from the couch.

"Come on then," you say, "grab a chair from the kitchen table and meet me in the bedroom."

He obeys without a second thought, placing the chair in the middle of the room for you to sit in. It has no armrests, allowing you to spread your legs wide enough for him to kneel between them as he looks up at you.

"Do you want to touch me?" you ask. When he only nods, you lean closer to him, placing the hand that is not holding the collar on his jaw as you run your thumb across the scar extending up his cheek.

"Words, Simon," you say softly. "Gonna need you to answer my questions with your words if we're gonna do this."

"Yes", he breathes as he leans his head into your touch, "wanna touch you, love."

"Go ahead, then."

He reaches up and rests his hands on your legs, just above where your knees are bent. He runs them up your thighs slowly, blinking slowly at you.

"Tilt your head up for me, my love," you murmur as your fingertips rest beneath his chin. "Present yourself for me, and I'll put your collar on for you."

He raises his head, eyes still on you as he bares his throat to you.

Even now, his gaze holds an undercurrent of trepidation. He is still analytical, still holding onto the thread of unease that is wound through him at the idea of showing such vulnerability. He trusts you, you know he does or he would not be in this position at all, but you also know he is still wrestling with his instincts and with the shadows of his past.

"It's okay, Simon," you soothe, "if it's too much, we stop. We can always try again later if you want. This is about you, darling."

He swallows, taking a deep breath and nods.

"Okay," you warn softly, "I'm gonna put this on now."

Simon inhales, filling his lungs slowly as you take the collar in both hands and place it around his neck. You watch as his eyes slip closed while you thread the leather through the buckle and up to the second tightest notch in the material.

He winces, a small and almost imperceptible movement.

But you see it.

"Too tight?"

"Just a bit."

You loosen it, this time going a few notches wider before you thread the pin.

"How about now?"

He hums quietly, eyes still closed.

"...Too loose."

Once again, you adjust, threading the collar so it sits snug against his neck, but you can still fit your fingers between the leather and his skin with little effort.

"Better?"

You watch as Simon's shoulders fall, releasing their tension in time with exhaling the deep breath from his lungs. Slowly, he opens his eyes, staring at you as he gives you a rare, soft smile.

"Perfect."

You return his grin and bring him closer for a kiss, feeling as his hands slide up to your sides. Your hands find purchase in his hair, pulling him in to deepen the kiss. He accepts the air from your lungs, the quiet sighs you give him as he slips his hands beneath your shirt to grip your skin.

One of your hands snakes away from his hair and towards his neck, running along the collar and tracing the metal plate on it that bears your initials.

"You really are mine, aren't you Simon?" you ask softly.

"Yours," he breathes in between kisses. "All yours."

You shift your hand to the silver loop dangling from the collar and thread a couple of fingers through it. You pull away slightly, then tug on the ring to force Simon to follow.

The groan that erupts from his lungs is pure lust dipped in sin. The hands on your sides tighten their grip in surprise, then slowly release their tension as Simon gazes up at you.

"So good for me, Simon," you murmur, tracing the scar by his lip, "always so, so good to me."

You watch as his eyes tilt upward, and for the first time since you've known the man, he preens.

You realize, then, that this is what he wants. What he needs.

To be good for you.

To be worthy of you.

He already is, of course, but under any other circumstance he would never believe you if you said as much. But here, with him looking up at you as you have him collared and bound to you, you finally have the power to make him believe it.

"So good," you repeat, almost absentmindedly as you pull him in by the collar to kiss him again. "So perfect. So much better than you ever give yourself credit for."

He grunts, sharply inhaling through his nose as his grip on you tightens again. When he breathes your name in quiet warning, you only offer a gentle shush in return.

"I know you want to tell me I'm wrong," you say against his lips, whisper-quiet. "Don't. Don't fight it, Simon."

You look into his eyes as he heaves a shaking breath, the warm brown irises beginning to well over with tears Simon refuses to allow himself to shed. He clenches his jaw, eyelids slamming shut as exhales through his mouth.

It's too much.

"Do you want to stop for now?" you ask gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "It's okay if you do. This is new, and I know it's probably a lot."

He pauses, contemplating his actions before giving you a miniscule nod. You kiss him once more, moving your hands around to where the collar is buckled against his throat, but before you can do so you feel a pair of hands lightly grab your wrists.

"Not yet," Simon mumbles into the space between you. "Just… just a bit longer."

You give him a soft "of course" as you pull back, leaving the collar where it lays as you stand from the chair. You help him from the floor and over to the bed to sit, letting his hands guide you to where he needs you in this moment. It is now your turn to stand between his legs, thick arms wrapped around you as Simon tucks his head against you and takes several deep breaths.

In due time, you will extract yourself from him and suggest something for dinner. You will make sure he is fed, hydrated, and comfortable, and when he is ready, you will remove the collar for him and tuck it away close by until he next asks for it. You will discuss what just transpired, picking apart what he wants more of and what he can do without in the future.

But for now, you stay with him. Allow him to hold you close as you cradle his head to your body.

And you take solace in the fact that you are his just as much as he is yours.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost scribbles

372 notes · View notes

yandere-kokeshi · 11 months

Note

PLEASE WRITE MORE YANDERE MIGUEL OHARA IM BEGGING UUUU

Warnings: yandere behavior, talks about kidnapping, venom, and yelling.

A/N: Sure :). After you guys voted and been sending asks, you deserve it. Enjoy this anon ;)

This spider of a yandere would be a mess. He’s overprotective. Easily jealous and aggressive. Controlling, and, a helicopter of a guy who hovers behind you like a guard dog.

It doesn’t matter if you are a Spiderperson, a normal individual walking into the street, or a trustworthy friend he met through Jessica, hell you could be a reincarnation of his wife. But, the minute he catches his obsession with you, and he finally realizes it, he’s not letting you go.

His obsession for you starts to unwrap the second he realizes he’s in love again. He slowly starts to get more unhinged, more of an aggressive wreck that causes everyone to walk on their tippy toes.

Everything is wrong. The missions go wrong. He can’t focus. You’re irritating in his presence. But he hates seeing you hurt. Everything is angering him, making him grumble and yell out in anger. But the second you come into the room? He’s suddenly calmer, almost like a switch had been turned off. Miguel always screams for people to leave, but he demands you to be near him, telling everyone, including yourself: you are more useful than the others.

By the time you realize he has feelings for you, you’re too late for escaping his webs. You can’t be saved, not by anyone. Nobody can stop Spider-Man 2099; the man himself of strength and dedication. Slowly, but surely, you’ll understand his ways. Someday, you’ll understand why he did this; realize his intentions of only protecting you.

He’s incredibly good at hiding, especially when looking out for you. Miguel likely will kidnap you when you least expect him. I mean, it’s so easy for him. Not only is it planned to be a perfect T, but he makes sure everything runs smoothly, making sure you fall into his perfect spider web as you’ve always meant to.

Weeks before you even realize his feelings, he’s stalking you. Following and memorizing all your schedules, habits, and routes. Miguel knows how your brain works, all the functions and wiring, he can read you like an open book. He can see and sense the way you think, the way you talk, your body language that shows how happy or nervous you are. He knows it all.

Likewise, he’ll make you come out to meet up with him, either on a ‘planned mission’ with just the two of you or making you meet up with him at HQ; stating something serious needs to be discussed. Either way, you are meeting up with him and clearly nervous. Every possibility is running through your head as you approach him.

But, when approaching him with a wide smile, it’s soon wiped off your face, seeing his stoned-cold face that seems too familiar. His eyes are cold and calculating, his mouth wrenched into a slight frown. Something was off. Maybe too off. Did you do something?

Of course, you ask what’s wrong. But he stays quiet. Too quiet for your liking. But, he walks up to you, his heart beating faster – hands shaking and body sweating. But, his eyes softened, almost like something or someone made his life complete. His hands reached up to your shoulders, keeping a rough but comfortable enough grip; his claws seemingly coming out, making your shoulder throb in irritation, but you ignored it.

He sighed, but soon went on about ‘keeping you safe’. For your safety, the dimension that you were in possibly already falling, you two belong together. You’re meant to be with him, swearing he’ll keep you safe – make you feel at home with him. Before you could even react, his fangs showed themselves, a slight hiss enveloping as they dug themselves into your neck; your body immediately turning into jello, feeling blood tinkle down your neck. It hurt. But not as bad as being betrayed.

You couldn’t speak. Not without stuttering, you couldn’t see well either, everything was multiplying in your vision. Your body felt like a million pounds. You couldn’t stand well, you were swaying back and forth, trying to hold your weight but to no avail, you fell back.

Of course, Miguel caught you. His giant hands catching you, and hosting you up in his arms; a gentle peck on your cheek as you sluggishly pestered him with questions; falling in and out of consciousness. But they were soon drowned out by his answer: “I’m taking you to our home. Rest, Cariño. I’ll take care of you.”

From then on, Miguel promises that. He will and can take care of you. Better than anyone else. He’s taking you to your new room; somewhere only he knows, a place he can be certain that’s heavily protected and away from any danger. An area where he and you can be spouses to one of each other.

When waking up, you quickly realize you are put into a ridiculously comfortable bed. A room full of things that anyone would dream of. Most of the items that you had back at home are already collected and put on the shelves; a backpack beside your bed. Everything in the bedroom is fancy, a huge TV on the wall which was in front of you, a corner full of blankets and pillows, and a bookshelf full of all types of books. It was clear he loves you. But, let’s not forget about the camera in the corner of the ceiling.

He doesn’t trust you. At least not yet. The entire house is baby-proofed, everything you can think of about hurting yourself is covered up. Of course, you’re allowed to roam the shared house when he’s gone, but don’t think he’s not watching – not only are there cameras in every corner of the house, but there’s a built-in speaker somewhere in every single room.

Miguel puts a tracker into you whilst you’re asleep. It’s in the back of your neck, especially where you can’t see or feel it. But, he knows your location 24/7; something he gladly likes to know.

Following his strict rules is something he expects. He awaits for you to be the perfect beloved he’s always imagined. He has the perfect image of a family he wants to create. And if it’s shattered or ruined? He gets very, very angry. Which isn’t pretty.

Breaking the rules isn’t something you’d want to do. Miguel will be angry, incredibly angry. If and when he gets an alert of you being gone, rewinding the video of how you escaped, he’s fuming with rage. The minute you think you’ve gotten away, he’s right behind you – his dark eyes narrowing at you as he snarls, harshly grabbing you and scolding at how stupid and childish you are.

Punishments are harsh. While he does mean business, and he does love you, but that doesn’t mean he’s not afraid to put you in your needed place. The punishments will and can vary with his mood, it especially adds up with what you did.

If he’s in a better mood, at best, you’ll get a loud scolding or a few hours locked into the bedroom with nothing fun to do; awaiting his arrival again to ask if your tantrum is over.

Though, if he’s not in a very good mood, Miguel… is more prone to accidentally hurting you. Regardless if you are throwing insults or directly trying to attack him, he’s impulsively grabbing your wrist which leads to a sprain, or yells at you to an extent where you flinch and sob. He apologizes, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he softly whispers, ‘I wish you’d just listen to me’. Of course, when you cry, he comforts you. But it’s your fault, right? So, why don’t you listen?

Miguel is a man of many things, but patience is not one. If none of these end up working, he’s going to aggressively twist your feelings and thoughts around; constantly reminding you that he can always treat you worse. Or, threaten your family, possibly take away all the things you had joy in, and practically leave all types of bruises on your body from sfw and nsfw activities.

It is your decision after all, correct? Just spare yourself some nasty scars and play nice.

The ‘worst’ punishment he will do is accidentally causing a broken bone or drugging you with his venom, making you rely on him even more. With your slurring words and slightly limp-like body, he’s able to do what he can to help you: bathing you, feeding you, tucking you into bed with him as he whispers all types of things. Before turning off the lights, he always makes sure to kiss your cheek, a small ‘love you’ before cuddling you closer to his chest to sleep.

He’s not afraid of getting rid of people, especially if they’re in his way. No matter how messy it gets, Miguel is always ready to protect you; even if it means seeing tears come down. He will kill your family members, any partners, and the next-door neighbor that constantly tried to get into your pants.

Once you feel comfortable receiving affection, his way of showing it is quite off and almost uncomfortable. While he yearns for your touch, your kisses, and your hugs. Everything that he wants. It’s just for him, showing affection is fairly hard. After his past, he couldn’t imagine a world where he’d be happy again; feeling the same happiness and anxious butterflies in his stomach.

Slowly, but surely, he learns what he likes and what you like – which results in him being a cuddle bug. He loves smothering you in his arms, making you sit on his lap as he tells you about his day. Anything and everything results from his arms being around, on, or around you.

Of course, he spoils you like no other. Whatever you request, he will bring you; with you following his rules and being nice, he’s happier than ever. Though, he does expect a kiss from the gratitude he decided to do for you.

You will not be allowed outside. On rare occasions, such as your birthday or having a good attitude, he’ll allow you to eat with him at a pleasant restaurant or go to the park with him. But that’s all you are getting. And no, he will not let you come to the HQ.

—

My masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

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queenshelby · 6 months

Text

An Illicit Affair

Part One: My Boyfriend's Father

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

It was 15 months ago when you first met the man who, unbeknownst to you, would eventually become the center of your disastrous life and that man was not your current boyfriend Maximilian Murphy, a twenty-two-year-old Irishman from Dublin.

You had been going out with Max for about a year when you met the man who changed everything for you and, whilst Max was almost an entire year younger than you, you had both met at London's top medical school after he had transferred from Trinity College.

Max was energetic, confident and intelligent. He was popular with the girls and, although you were drawn to him because of his sense of humor and easygoing nature, it was quite obvious to you that he was much less serious about life in general than you were.

After a year of non-serious dating, Max eventually told you that he was taking you to Dublin for his father's 46th birthday and it was then when you first laid eyes on him. Cillian Murphy, your boyfriend's father.

The name "Cillian Murphy" didn't ring any bells for you at the time as you had never seen any of his films, but now, 15 months later, you knew everything that there was to know about him due to the publicity his movie Oppenheimer had received in recent weeks.

You went to see the movie too with some friends and whilst you had broken up with Max about a year earlier, you happened to recall the weekend you shared with him and his family in Dublin.

Both Cillian and his wife Danielle made you feel welcome when you arrived with their son Max late on a Friday afternoon at their large Victorian townhouse near the coast, just outside Dublin.

The house was decorated with tasteful modern furniture and a collection of modern art hung on the walls. The living room featured large windows overlooking the sea with heavy curtains blocking the view when needed.

You spent most of Saturday relaxing by the pool with Max, swimming and sunbathing before enjoying a dinner prepared by Danielle for her husband's birthday.

As you sat down at the table, Cillian seemed distracted, and it wasn't until the second glass of wine that he asked you more about yourself and your aspirations.

"So, what do you want to specialize in?" he asked and you looked down at your plate and replied softly, "I haven't decided yet. I think I might enjoy working in pediatrics."

"Working with children can be emotionally demanding," Cillian said, "but I am sure it's incredibly rewarding," he then went on to say before acknowledging that Max had told him that you were at the top of your class.

"It sounds like you have a bright future ahead of you," he told you and your heart fluttered a bit as you heard his voice, deep and resonant, filled with warmth and confidence. It was a contrast to Max's playful teasing, something about which made you feel comfortable and safe.

Danielle, Cillian's wife, chimed in with a question for you, "What got you interested in medicine in the first place?" she asked. You paused for a moment, considering how best to explain such a complex answer.

"Well, my dad was a doctor, so healthcare was a part of our household growing up," you began thoughtfully. "But the real turning point came during high school when I visited a friend who was hospitalized with leukemia. Her doctors and nurses took such great care of her, and it really opened my eyes to the impact that medicine could have on people's lives."

Cillian nodded along, seemingly genuinely interested in your response.

"That's amazing," he murmured. "You are genuinely empathetic and that's a good trait to have, especially as a doctor," he went on to say with a smile and you couldn't help but blush slightly under his intense gaze. His piercing blue eyes seemed to look right through you, making you feel vulnerable in a way you hadn't felt before. But instead of feeling uncomfortable, you found yourself strangely drawn to him. There was something magnetic about him, something that made you want to spend more time with him despite the fact that he was twice your age.

The day after his birthday party, while you were lounging around the poolside, you couldn't help but notice Cillian looking at you intently from across the lawn. His eyes held a mysterious glint, a curiosity that seemed to grow stronger every minute.

As if sensing your presence, he approached you and started a friendly conversation. The topics ranged from movies to books, and even personal interests. It was a pleasant surprise finding out that both of you shared a love for Jazz before Max pointed out to you that Jazz music was for "old people", causing Cillian to laugh.

The sound of Cillian's laughter was soothing and comforting.

You felt butterflies in your stomach as adrenaline surged through your veins. You tried to compose yourself, focusing on the casual exchange of small talk, hoping to distract yourself from the strong attraction you felt towards your own boyfriend's father.

But no matter how hard you tried, those enchanting blue eyes kept drawing you back in. The subtle smell of his cologne lingered in the air, filling your senses with a mix of excitement and shame.

Luckily for you however, on Sunday morning, Max and you travelled back to London, leaving behind the memory of the lingering gaze that Cillian gave you as you boarded the plane while, in hindsight, you realized that Cillian's gaze did leave something behind - a seed planted between the lines of your otherwise innocent encounter.

In the months that followed, you found yourself thinking about Cillian more often than you expected and, unfortunately for Max, at the same time as fantasizing about his father, you became more and more annoyed by his immaturities.

And then, one evening, after another argument between you and Max over whether you should go clubbing or stay in and study, you finally snapped.

"This isn't working out anymore, Max," you told it him straight. "We need different things in life and we would be better off breaking up now rather than prolonging something that won't work long term," you told Max, sitting on the bed of his dorm room, causing his chin to drop.

"You don't mean it," he said, sounding shocked.

"Yes, I do," you said firmly as you looked away from him, knowing that he wouldn't understand why you couldn't go on like this.

"No, please, give me another chance. We can make this work," Max pleaded, moving closer to you, reaching out to touch your arm.

"No, Max, I've made up my mind," you said firmly, avoiding his pleading eyes.

You knew that it was only a matter of time before Max would come to terms with the truth, but you also knew that the process would be painful for both of you.

Max moved closer, grasping your hand gently. "Maybe we just need to communicate better," he suggested, his eyes full of hope. "I love you, you know. I am happy to try anything," he continued but you shook your head.

You pulled your hand away, fighting back tears. "I just... I can't anymore, Max," you whispered quietly. "We tried to make it work several times, but our expectations are quite different. I am taking university serious, but you are not. You have different interests and I think that you would be better of with someone else," you confessed, averting your gaze.

"But... but, what about the future? What about us?" Max stammered, desperation seeping into his tone. You remained silent, allowing the silence to hang heavily between you two. Finally, you took a deep breath.

"I don't want to lose you, Y/N," Max pleaded, his voice quivering. "We have been together for a year, surely we can find a way to make it work. I promise."

You shook your head sadly, unable to meet his desperate gaze.

"We are both still young and year is nothing if you are in your early twenties. I'm sorry, Max," you managed to whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I think it's best if we end things here."

He let out a choked sob, his face crumpling. "Please," he implored, clutching onto your wrist. "Don't leave me like this."

But you couldn't stand it any longer, pulling your arm free. "I need space, Max," you said sharply, rising to your feet.

"I need to focus on myself and my studies right now," you told him while, deep down inside, you knew that something was missing, something was holding you back from fully committing to your relationship.

And it wasn't long before fate intervened as, just over year after your breakup with Max, you ran into Cillian again at a jazz concert in London...

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction

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bookshelfdreams · 5 months

Text

ofmd wasn't "profitable" enough but I didn't even get the feeling hbo wanted to make money off of it. They didn't promote it when s1 dropped, and the promo for s2 was erratic at best. They don't sell merch. Or physical copies. There's no bts documentaries other than what actors (shoutout to Samba ilu) make themselves in their spare time.

It took more than a full year for me to be able to watch s1 legally! I still can't access s2 legally anywhere! It's not that ofmd is unprofitable, it's that hbo refuses to profit off of it, because - well, because profiting off of it would mean investing work and money into it.

And like. Of course, when you compare it to the juggernauts hbo holds rights to, like GoT, ofmd is small fishes. But.

How on earth do these clowns think cult classics happen?

A Game of Thrones was first published in 1996 and didn't make it on the NYT beststeller list until 2011. The first edition of the first Harry Potter book was 500 pieces. And yeah, TV shows are different, but if you look at today's media landscape, would things like Star Trek, or Buffy, or Doctor Who stand the slightest chance? These things take time, is my point. A piece of media doesn't become a massively profitable, beloved classic over night. It takes time and effort to build that kind of franchise.

And the thing is! Nobody who makes these decisions even likes stories. I'm convinced that whoever is in charge at hbo, at amazon prime, even at disney, thinks storytelling is dumb and for idiots. They think it's enough to just slap the name of something people love on whatever garbage they spit out, for it to be profitable. They think it's the brand that sells: Look this has "Lord of the Rings" on it! Look, this one has "Game of Thrones", you like Game of Thrones don't you? Watch my show, boy.

But this isn't how this works. It's not the name that sells (unless, I suppose, you're the MCU, and even there one gets the impression the trick is finally stopping to work), especially not when the product is bad. People aren't idiots.

But it's not about making something good. It's not about making a meaningful piece of art, or telling an engaging story. ofmd served its purpose; it drew in all the subscribers it ever would, so there's no point in letting it go on. Even in the s2 that we did get, this is evident: the penny pinching is palpable, it's clear that the studio didn't want to spend any more money than absolutely necessary on it, and then cut the budget by 40%.

It's not about art. It never has been.

And it's not even about profit, because to be profitable eventually, stories have to be allowed to thrive first. You tell a good story first, and success happens later, often much, much later.

And ofmd was incredibly, astonishingly successful. It was the most in-demand series for weeks after the s1 finale. But even that wasn't enough, it's never enough, ofmd could have made record-setting profits and it still would have been cancelled, because -

Well, I don't know. Because we live in a bad time for art. Because Orwell was right, and stories have become commodities, like shoelaces. Because. Well. It's not about telling a story, is it?

What's the point of a story? What's the point of making something for the joy of making it? What's the point of a piece of art, existing, if it cannot be transferred into numbers for the stockholders?

idk how to end this. I hope David Jenkins finishes the story he wanted to tell, even if just for himself. I hope, against all odds, that weird, fun, heartfelt, beautiful little stories like ofmd continue to happen.

But goddammit.

#i knew this would happen but im still devastated #& i think the reason for that is. if not even something as inconsequential and silly as a fun little pirate romcom is allowed to exist #fuck #anyway ik its not that important but sometimes one just has to rant #our flag means death #thoughts

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serotonins-stuff · 4 months

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I have a Bakugou x fem! reader request if you’re willing!

so reader is really smart but disguises it at school because she’s afraid people (especially boys) will think she’s stuck-up and unattractive. But Bakugou sees through her act and likes how smart she is and asks her out in his own Bakugou way.

Preferably fluff but suggestive bc Bakugou is turned on by smart women ;)

thanks!

Smartass | K•Bakugo

Includes : Fluff

Warnings : none

A/n: Apologies for only getting to the requests months later :), I've got quite slot on my schedule.

Exhaustion wouldn't even be able to explain how you felt after an all nighter, studying your ass off for a biology test after all you've done the past week is hang out with your friends who could care less about good grades.

Being in this highschool meant that you would be classified as a nerd if anyone knew about the lengths you go through for a perfect score, so naturally you did everything you could to avoid that.

You never bragged or showed anyone your scores, you never raised your hand in class even if your mind was tearing you apart for knowing the answer, and because of this no one had gotten suspicious of your actions because you were sure to attract as little attention towards yourself as possible.

Though, at least that's what you thought.

You were convinced that you fooled everyone but, unbeknownst to you, there was always someone watching you from the corner of your eye.

Bakugo Katsuki, the only person in your class who found your behavior suspicious.

Occasionally he would pass by while you're talking to your friends in the hall and overhear you claim that you didnt study for the test. Though it would be a different story when he got a glance of your perfect score from where he sat behind you.

Today was no different, because as soon as you got your paper you flipped it upside down before a look of dissapproval crossed your features. It made his blood boil. Why would someone as smart as you not want to show off their skills to the world?

"We're going to have a class project" The teacher spoke out, "As you all know we're going to the aquarium next week-."

Various complains could be heard by some of the students and you tried to refrain from showing your excitement.

The idea of biology made you feel giddy inside. You were just imagining how calming it would be like to be in the presence of so much aquatic life, in the dimmly lit hues of the water cascading all around the building.

"As I was saying.." She cleared her throat and everyone went silent. "I'm going to be putting you in pairs"

Your heart dropped.

She had to be joking right?. The people in your class had to be the laziest people you had ever met in your life, and there was no way you were going to be stuck with them for a whole day.

Every group project you've been in, there would always be only one person who did the the work, while the others would slack off, and that person was you.

Nobody ever handed their assignments in on time or even took it the slightest bit of interest. You played along with their act, fearing that they'd judge you for being a goody two shoes if you spoke up. In your own time you'd sit by yourself to finish the project and of course they'd take all the credit. They always take the credit.

A pair of hands slammed down on your desk and you flinched.

"You dreaming in class?" He scoffed, staring you down with his crimson eyes, His face held a neutral expression, and could feel from his aura that he was trying to read you.

"Katsuki Bakugo" you said in acknowledgement, averting your eyes from his to break the somewhat intense staredown.

"Y/n L/n" he tilted his head, not once looking away from your face. "Pair up with me"

You looked at him with shock, was this the same Bakugo who always wanted to work by himself because 'everyone else is weak', now standing at your table demanding you to work with him?

You never really spoke to him in class, but often you'd find yourself staring at him whenever you had hero training. He was always so focused and well calculated. On the battle field he's better than you in every aspect.

He was smart, possibly even smarter you, so why did he need you on his team when he'd just fine by himself?

"Um, why me?" You you're voice wavered.

"You're one of the only idiots in this class who actually put in the effort"

Your eyes widened and you stared at him to search for any sign that he was joking, but he wasn't. Could this mean that he was one of the people that actually acknowleded your hard efforts?

"What you're what you're talking abo-"

He cut you off before rolling his eyes. "You can't pull that clueless act shit on me and you know that."

You avertes your gaze and he continued. "You get a perfect score on almost every test, yet you don't tell anyone that cause you don't wan em to know you're a smartass."

He would rather much have to work with you than the other people in the class, considering you always take the number two spot regarding academics. He's always right ahead of you, scowling in first place, but hell- even he had to admit that there was nothing hotter than a smart woman. If anything he wanted to see this smartness up close, test the limits, and see just how much of your intelligence you were hiding from everyone else.

Don't get him wrong, he loved getting first place, though it wasn't really worth it if his opponents weren't going to give him a challenge. He wanted to fight for his place, give blood his blood sweat and tears for it.

And what better way to do that then get his academic rival pumped up?

You sighed in defeat and he reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. "We'll have to do research, you free after school?"

He looked away slightly bashful as your fingers brushed against his to type in your number.

"Yeah I am, did you have any place in mind?"

"The cafe two blocks down, afterschool" he said abruptly and turned to leave but stopped when you spoke.

"I don't know where that is" you said softly.

"I'll walk you there after school" he replied, a tiny hint of nervousness coming from his voice.

He needed to end this conversation or else he was gonna end up looking like a tomato from all of this blushing. He practiced this conversation a million times in his head and even that wasn't enough to prepare him. Hearing your voice address him did things to him that nobody would ever understand. The look of your sweet gaze directed to him was more than he could ever ask for.

This class project was a great excuse for him to get to know you better, but you didn't need to know that.

It would've been embarrassing if you noticed him acting all weird, but luckily you were too trappped in your own little world to notice.

•••

A/n. (again) : Focused on getting requests out :)

See you all on Friday.

#bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #mha bakugou #mha fluff #mha x reader #my hero acedamia #bakugo katsuki #serotonins stuff

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onlygarden · 6 months

Text

[ in my arms, you're an angel ] - megumi fushiguro

genre: angst/ comfort

description: after yet another rough day, megumi comforts you

megumi knew of the unnecessarily harsh words, tense environment, and uncontrollable feeling of incompetence you had to endure each day. not a day goes by that you don’t feel like a hindrance. he finds it increasingly difficult to watch you come home each day with the same droopy and spiritless expression on your face. he just couldn’t seem to understand why anyone would want to torment such a good-natured person. in all honesty, it’s not like you provoke these people or even give them a single valid reason to heap pain and suffering onto your life. despite your undeserving disposition, they treat you poorly without hesitation anyway. as a result, megumi has witnessed your bright and amusing demeanor gradually dissolve with every strenuous day you’ve endured. it’s almost as if a tiny bit of yourself is brutally snatched from you every time you set foot in that dreadful place. it destroys him.

as you arrive home after another taxing day, you slide your shoes off and shut the door behind you silently. every evening, you always try your hardest not to disturb your boyfriend with your arrival; after all, you know he has a demanding job, too. after half-heartedly slipping off your jacket and hanging your belongings, you trudge your way towards the couch, plopping yourself down quietly.

‘why am i even sitting down,’ you think quietly, ‘there’s still so much i need to do.’

allowing these thoughts to interrupt your momentary relaxation, you quickly gather the motivation to head towards the laundry room. your expression lightens as you notice megumi already moving some clothing into the dryer. “hey, baby,” he says softly after noticing your presence, “i knew you planned to do laundry after you came home today, but i wanted you to be able to relax.” your mouth falls open slightly, then you smile, touched by his sudden affectionate favor. you could honestly cry. megumi often tells you that he cannot stand the way you’re treated at your job. you can tell by the way he looks at you every evening you walk in the door; he can never conceal the way his jaw clenches with anger as he imagines the pain you’ve felt.

“megumi,” you start, “this is too much. thank you.”

you can't summon a way to describe the overwhelming feeling of gratitude you have towards your boyfriend in the moment.

he chuckles at your polite display of appreciation. “what are you thanking me for? i should thank you for always coming home and continuing to work hard after a rough day.”

you beam at his words. he is truly the only person who makes your endless, tiring efforts feel recognized and appreciated. whenever you fall into a seemingly infinite spiral of agony, megumi helps you to regain your vigor effortlessly.

“you know, megumi,” as you speak, he gazes at you with his full attention, and his eyes hold a gentle enthusiasm, “this week was especially rough… so i just want you to know how much i appreciate this.”

once the last syllable leaves your mouth, tears begin to trail towards the brim of your eyes. the ever-so-observant boyfriend he is, megumi immediately takes notice of this, and steps closer to you in a gentle manner. “(y/n), you don’t have to hold it in when you’re with me,” his gaze is so intense that you hardly even register the trail of tears sliding down your face. “it’s so hard to watch all your happiness fade away everyday, and it’s even harder knowing that there’s nothing i can do about it while it’s happening.” his large hands slide up and down your arms, then he places them underneath either side of your jaw. “but the very least i can do to help is be present in each moment, so it doesn’t become unbearable. let me help you take some of the weight off your shoulders, i can’t stand to see this side of you.”

you briefly avert your gaze from his, the burning sympathy in his eyes making it difficult to maintain eye contact with him.

“talk to me baby,” he says as he moves his hands to your shoulders, sliding his thumbs back and forth to offer you more reassurance.

when you return your eyes to his, any bit of emotion you were holding back comes pouring down. he pulls you towards his chest with a soft thud, one hand resting on the back of your head, and the other resting on your hip. “i just don’t understand,” you begin, as you lift your arms to wrap around his body. “i don't understand what i ever did to any of those people to deserve to be treated this way,”

megumi squeezes his eyes shut, slightly furrowing his brows at the pain seeping through each of your words. he’s utterly heartbroken by your display of such raw emotion. “i try my best to be friendly and kind with every single one of them, and i always go out of my way to be helpful even though my job is already so difficult, but they still treat me like i’m worth nothing.” you continue to cry into his chest, being muted by the close proximity.

“they’re all a bunch of pathetic losers.”

you can’t help but giggle at the bluntness of your boyfriend’s statement.

he’s seething with anger upon hearing these things, but your slight laugh quells it a bit. “as much as i want to force all of them to treat you like the angel you are, i know i can’t actually do it.”

he pulls you back to admire every detail of your face and watch the sadness fade from your eyes. “but, i know i can help you forget about the stress you experience everyday, and i can help you remember that you’re the most amazing thing to ever exist in this world.”

you smile, genuinely flustered by your boyfriend’s loving description of you. he grabs your hand, and slowly runs his thumb over your knuckles.

“it’s okay, baby. you don’t have to worry about it when you’re with me.”

#megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #megumi angst #fushiguro angst #megumi comfort #fushiguro comfort #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk comfort #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jujutsu kaisen

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

Same as it ever was 11

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: I'm just tryna get through the week.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The waiting room is excruciating. You find yourself standing more than you sit. Both are torture. Your concern mounts with your discomfort and the more you think of Hansen’s response. He’s a demanding asshole, he told you several times he takes what he wants, but today, he let you go. Even he could see something was seriously wrong.

Funny how you never dread the doctor so much when you’re there for Simone or Malik, but for yourself, it makes your insides knot. You can’t even think of the last time you made an appointment for yourself. That’s probably not good either.

As the doctor examines you and goes over your symptoms, you wince and struggle not to keel over. He’s patient and gentle, treatment you’re unused to. That stray realisation is even grimmer as it sticks in your head.

“Hmm, I’m going to be optimistic and say it’s a bruised tailbone,” he explains, “we can send you for imaging to check for a fracture but it wouldn’t likely be possible today. I’ll call the lab with a request, just to make sure.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” you lean on the examination table, “so what does that mean? Painkillers? Stretches?”

“Rest,” he points at you with his gold pen, “avoid sitting. You want to keep pressure off the tailbone. Lay on your stomach when you sleep.” He tucks his pen in his coat pocket and goes to the cabinet in the corner by the sink, “you’ll want to keep this handy.” He opens the door and slips out a box, “it’ll help.”

As he gives you the box, you consider the image of the donut cushion on the front. The inflatable seat is stuffed into the tight package. You’re not unfamiliar with it.

“Apply ice. Every twenty minutes for the next two days, then two to three times a day should work,” he takes his pen out and his little pad, writing as he talks. “Make your husband do some of the chores.”

You cringe. You nod as you accept his advice. You were just about to argue; you have two kids and a job.

“I’m writing you a note. You’re not working for a week at least. I’ll fax a letter that should be acceptable for the time-off,” he rips off the top page and hands it over.

“Thank you,” you utter again as you look at his chicken scratch. “What is this?”

“Something for the pain and something for your blood pressure.”

“My blood pressure?”

“Your readings are elevated. It could be stress, it could be anything. Right now, I want you to keep track. Measure it and write it down. Come back in a month so we can go over the numbers.”

“Is it that bad?”

“At your age, it’s not entirely unusual,” he assures you, “better we catch it before it’s too serious. You get headaches? Feel tired?”

“Well, I have kids, I’m always tired and yes, they give me headaches sometimes,” you shrug.

“How often do the headaches come?”

“I don’t know, sometimes two or three times a week.”

“Do you have a history of migraines?”

“Not since college,” you answer.

“Ah,” he nods. “Take the pills, icy your tailbone, and stay in bed.”

“Doctor,” you go to argue.

“If it isn’t already a break, you’ll make it one,” he girds, “the lab will call you about your imaging appointment.”

You swallow down his orders. They’re much easier to follow than Hansen’s. And surely better for you. You thank him once more and leave the room, stopping by the counter to give your work address and get your imaging paperwork.

As you get to the car, you unpack the cushion and use the little pump to inflate it. You drop it on the seat and get in. It still hurts like a bitch but not intolerable. You sit behind the wheel and stare.

You could cry as you go over the appointment. Is it that obvious that you don’t take care of yourself? That you don’t have time? The doctor saw right through you and that brings it all flooding in. You’re barely holding it all together, you’re not sure how much longer you can.

You make yourself start the car and pull out of the lot. You go down to the pharmacy and turn in the script, wandering the aisles as you wait for it to be filled. You take out your phone to check the time. A missed call from Pete and another from Hansen. You don’t have the energy for either of them. Once you have your meds, you have to get the kids.

You claim your prescriptions and start your race against time. Waiting to see the doctor alone took up the bulk of your day. Now you have to get through the rest.

You nearly speed up to the curb of the school, at the tail end of the pick-up as the clock ticks on. You roll around as you see Simone and Malik waiting with Mrs. Guinness. You roll down the window and wave, thanking her loudly as the kids rush to the car.

You get out to strap Malik into his seat as Simone grips her book in her lap but doesn’t open it. You’re breathing loudly as the pain coils around your spine. You muffle it and give her a smile as she watches you. Her eyes dart to the front seat.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Good,” you say as you snap the buckles together.

“What’s that for?” She points to the cushion.

“The seat’s uncomfortable,” you grunt and push yourself out of the back door.

You shut the door and get in the front. You settle in, clicking in your own belt and fix your mirror. Simone is smart, too smart. She’s quiet as you shift into drive.

“Mommy, mommy! We played a game today–”

“Shh,” Simone interjects, silencing her brother, “mom,” she utter tenuously, “are you pregnant?”

You nearly scoff as you grip the wheel tight. You laugh and shake your head. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well…” she lets her thoughts hang in the air before she speaks to them, “you and dad have been… arguing and you have that cushion.”

“Trust me, I’m too old,” you shake your head, “don’t worry, you won’t be having another little brother.”

“Oh,” she hums, disappointed, “I was hoping for a sister.”

You take a breath. It’s all so complicated but some of it isn’t. They’re going to know sooner than later.

“Look, the cushion is because I hurt myself. I was waiting until we got home to tell you but I fell and hit my bum pretty bad. Got some bruising is all,” you explain lightly, “doctor says I’m good, just need to rest.”

“Mommy’s hurt?” Malik babbles.

“Oh,” Simone accepts again, “I… does dad know?”

“He’s been working but I’m gonna give him a call,” you fight to keep your tone steady, “he’s gonna have to come home and help me out a bit.”

“Mommy, you can have Donny, he’ll make you feel better.”

“Mal, she doesn’t want your stupid dragon.”

“Sim,” you rebuff, “don’t be mean. Malik, you can bring Donny in to snuggle with me, okay? That’s really nice of you.”

“Ugh,” Simone huffs and you see her roll her eyes in the rear view.

“Sim, do you have enough time between chapters to help with dinner?” You tease. She doesn’t answer. “Oh, don’t worry, I can manage some mac and cheese on my own.”

You flip on the radio and let the music waft through the car, trying to push away the other worries. You are going to have to call Pete but you really don’t know how much help he’s going to be.

🗄️

You pull into the driveway and repress a groan. You’re really starting to feel it. Your legs are numb yet painful. You push yourself out of the car and grab your purse and the cushion, your keys jingling loudly in your hand.

You open the back door but Simone’s too quick. She’s right beside you, waving you off.

“I’ll get him out,” she insists, “the doctor said.”

“I know what the doctor said,” you chuckle, “thanks, Sim.”

Another car door snaps shut from somewhere unseen. You don’t think much of it as other neighbours often get home at the same time. You wait patiently for your daughter to unbuckle Malik as he squirms impatiently.

“About damn time,” the timbre roils in the air hotly.

You almost let a ‘shit’ slip through your lips as Hansen’s voice makes you tense. You squeeze the cushion and look over Simone’s head at him. She lifts Malik down onto the ground and she turns to face your uninvited guest.

“Ew, it’s him,” she sneers.

“Nice to see you too, toots,” he struts up the walk with his hands in his pockets, “isn’t this sweet? Got the whole clan together.”

“What are you doing here?” Simone challenges.

He tilts his head, brows arching, “you know, maybe I should give your mom some time off so she can teach you some manners.”

“Hansen,” you put your hand on Simone’s shoulder and sidle past her and echo the same question, “what are you doing here?”

“I’m actually being a good guy,” he leans around, speaking to Simone pointedly, “not evil at all. Checking in since I sent you off to the hospital.”

You hesitate. That’s not exactly believable. You know why he’s here; to taunt you. At least he has the discretion to try to hide that from your children.

“Bruised tailbone, doctor is sending a letter, I’ll have to take a few days off to recover,” you say cautiously, knowing he won’t like the news.

“A few days…” he mulls with a sour expression, “bullsh–” he stops himself as Malik comes for to cling to your leg, peeking out from behind you.

“Mommy,” your son whines, “I wanna go inside.”

“Tell him to go away,” Simone hisses.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hansen, I gotta get the kids inside and make dinner–”

“You can do all that but you can’t drag your –behind– to work,” he challenges.

“I have a doctor’s note–”

“I don’t f–” he struggles to censor himself, stopping as he waves off his agitation. He exhales and wipes the frustration from his face, “you’re right. You’re in bad shape, it’s plain to see. So where’s the husband? Shouldn't he be here doing the heavy lifting?”

“My dad’s on his way home,” Simone insists.

“Yeah, he’ll be here soon,” you repeat her lie, “to help.”

“Well, he ain’t,” Hansen bounces on his feet, “but I am, so why don’t I help you out, huh? We need you back to work,” he reaches for your purse, latching onto the strap. “So you should rest.”

“Dude, go,” Simone snarls and pushes his arm.

“Hey,” he growls back at her. “I’m helping.”

“We don’t want your help. She’s not at work, you don’t boss her around here.”

“Simone, Mr. Hansen,” you snip, “please.”

“I’m being a nice guy,” Lloyd retracts his hand and throws it up, “she’s the one making this hard.”

You look at your daughter as she sticks her tongue out.

“She’s twelve,” you state.

“Yeah, and what are you? Sixty?” Simone accuses him.

He recoils, his lashes batting violently, “excuse me?”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, “Simone, take your brother inside,” you hold your keys out, “let me talk to him. It’s just work.”

“And the doctor said–”

“Please, Simone, thank you,” you shake the keys.

She sniffs and takes them. She blows a raspberry at Hansen as she grabs Malik and tears him away from your legs. You rub your neck, the donut cushion around your elbow, as you wait, staring at Hansen as he watches over your shoulder.

“Why?” You ask pointedly.

“What? I’m being good. I let you see a doctor for your fucked up booty and now I’m just tryna fill the hole left by that deadbeat–”

“Not in front of my kids,” you say.

“I was polite.”

“You are arguing with a twelve year old,” you shake your head, “please, I will do my best to get back to work. I know you don’t give a shit but I’m in so much pain, I can’t handle this right now. So please, go.”

“Huh, alright, let’s understand something here, you might be a little broken at the moment but you don’t tell me what to do,” he snarls, “that’s the first thing. Second, you put a muzzle on that daughter–”

“Don’t,” you warn.

“That mouth,” he points in your face, “it’s the ass that’s bruised, not that.”

You clamp your lips tight as your nostrils flare. You stand in a deadlock, silently glaring back at your boss. You feel the tension ready to snap. This is the moment where you could fuck everything up.

Neither of you speak, each measuring your next word but almost afraid to say it. A screech of tires veers in behind your car and fills the end of the driveway. You flinch and look past Hansen as Pete’s garish sports car beams back at you.

“Just in time,” Hansen mutters as he turns slowly.

Pete hops out and swings the door shut, almost frantic as his hair flops forward.

“Hey, I’ve been calling,” he puffs and stops short as he notices Hansen, “uh, everything okay? Where… are the kids?”

“Inside,” you eke out, clearing the frog from your throat, “everything is good, alright?” You try to convince yourself as much as your husband, “Mr. Hansen was just checking in. I missed work today. I went to see the doctor about… my fall.”

Pete blanches and nods, giving a guilty glance to his leather shoes.

“Yeah?” He dares to look at you, “you okay?”

“Bruised,” you answer bluntly, “so I was just telling Mr. Hansen that I am fine. I just need a few days to rest. And I was going to call to tell you the same but I had to get the kids.”

“Your wife’s a busy woman,” Hansen interjects, “hard worker. And she speaks so highly of you, bud.” He claps Pete’s shoulder, “you’re a businessman?”

Pete twitches, as if surprised. He looks at Hansen’s grasp on his shoulder but doesn’t shove it off. There’s a moment of recognition in his eye. Men and their ‘business’.

“Yeah, I run a fitness agency. We do equipment and training, aiming to get into the big leagues, you know, furnish facilities on the National scale,” Pete goes into his pitch.

“Ah, fitness, thriving right now,” Hansen slips easily into his role, “you know, I’m not wearing Louis Vuittons because I work in a dipshit office. I invest and I do it well.” He pulls his hand back and puts it on his hip, “why don’t you tell me more about this agency? I’m intrigued.”

You just stare. This has been an awful, painful day and it just won’t end.

“Uh, yeah, sure, come on in,” Pete sputters excitedly, waving him up the drive. “I got all my stuff in my bag.”

“Great, dinner’s on me,” Hansen offers, “for your time.”

“Oh, awesome,” Pete grins, “I’ll just get my bag out of the car. Honey,” he turns to you.

“Uh, yeah,” you swallow as Hansen faces you with a smirk, “right this way.”

You turn and hug the cushion against your stomach, each step tender and tingling. You sense him behind you, too close for comfort. He snickers quietly as you get to the door. You stop with your hand on the handle.

“Please,” you whisper.

“Be good and I will be, too,” he shoots back.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #pete brenner #dark pete brenner #dark!pete brenner #pete brenner x reader #series #same as it ever was #au #the gray man #pain hustler

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