#i like my room but it has gaps of boring wall space that need something so im trying to slowly fill it up with thing i make | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cockatrice-writers-guild · 1 year

Text

Jaxon Galaxy

intro to the space au. a.k.a the only au where jax is a different size in that he is much bigger

warnings: swearing, fear

I’m out here.

Come find me.

Please.

It’s night now and the hum of overhead LED lights guide my steps as I move around the venue, following the same patterns I do every night. I’d play some music to dull the silence but I know now that the way the halls tend to echo at this hour is worse so, mop in hand, I continue on, the path I need to take long since muscle memory.

With a sigh, I push the bucket into the next room, eyes sweeping over the plaques and the chairs and the gaps between the chairs that I’ll need to force the mop into to reach. I frown, already knowing how long this part takes but surveying the scene regardless. It’ll be tedious, unbearably tedious as always. There will be pain, back aches, God knows what else. It’s the largest room in the observation centre I work at so I always save it for last. I look down at my mop, at the bucket already filled with cloudy water, back up at the room again, eyes tracing the walls, the chairs and this time, though I try to fight it, finally landing on the stage.

And the lone microphone that sits there.

…to be honest, there’s another reason I’m stalling.

This place gives me the willies.

Sure the way the light plays off the chairs and casts shadows on the walls is unsettling, but what isn’t at night? It’s the microphone that always gets me. And I know why too. I come in early sometimes so I can go home faster, around 6pm when all the scientists are prone to lounging around and talking. And sometimes they forget I’m there. So I hear things. And recently, I’ve been hearing a lot of things. So from what I’ve gathered from their hushed words and inside jokes,

The sun has finally collapsed.

Our entire star system is dead.

And the only reason we haven’t experienced another ice age is because of some kind of massive entity that lives in the cosmos. It, or I guess I should say he, doesn’t seem to have a name but from what I can gather, it’s his proximity that prevents us from freezing, specifically his body heat. He has to be touching the planet at all times and he can’t let go lest we all perish.

All of which sounds fucking insane by the way. I don’t really believe it myself but hey, an artist has to eat. I will give what they’re saying a little merit though. I remember reading a while ago that the sun was on its last legs but I haven’t heard anything about it since. There had been a period of time where people couldn’t send anything out into space. Anything sent up was stopped by some kind of invisible force and promptly sent right back down. Somehow, not one of the pieces of equipment crashed but that just made things more confusing. And then one day the force was just gone and space programs went on as normal. The scientists say it’s because the entity got bored or maybe even lonely and altered the barrier he created to touch the planet safely so we could find him. Which doesn’t make any sense but

I’m out here.

Come find me.

Please.

The results these programs got back were…strange. Not something they could release to the public apparently. Dozens of research centres around the world were sending shit up. Satellites, beacons, even a rover. And apparently, there was a point where all of them, every single last machine sent up there experienced a catastrophic earthquake at the exact same time, something on a magnitude they’d never even dreamed possible. But once it was over and they started studying the vibrations, they’d finally picked up on a frequency and started going from there. And finally they discovered that it was a voice. A voice that sounded disturbingly human. A voice that sounded like a man. A voice that longed to be heard.

And now they’ve apparently found a way to talk to him.

That microphone up on the stage.

Conferences have been held here every day for a while since the microphone was made. I’ve never heard what was discussed since the conferences are held in the day and I doubt they’d let a janitor in anyway but I’ve seen a few of the types that show up. First just the scientists but over time it’s been mandated to only host a new crowd. People in power, to put it lightly. I’ve heard they ask the entity questions and that they’re not that happy with having their entire lives metaphorically and literally entrusted into the hands of some massive cosmic being they barely know. But what other choice do they have? …there’s irony in that.

But now the mic just sits there as it always does at this hour. Waiting for the next meeting. And when’s that gonna be? One month? Two? The meetings have been getting less frequent lately. Most likely they’re just using this story as a cover to discuss something else, God knows what, but still. In the off chance that some entity really does exist and really did save us and really did try to contact us, even after all that effort he really was still getting the short end of the stick. Barely anyone to talk to and then only about official stuff. Meetings every day and then every week and then every month and then every other month as people realized he wasn’t going to kill them or demand any kind of compensation or

I’m out here.

He’d be out there in space right now, waiting hopefully for the next time there was a boring ass conference because at least then he’d have someone to talk to. At least then he’d have something.

Come find me.

A whole planet full of people in his hands and he’s a government secret. A freak of nature. A scientific discovery. Something to be kept behind closed doors and high status and hushed gossip.

Please.

A whole planet in his hands and he says please.

…

Goddammit now I’m making myself sad over a cover story. I look away from the mic with a small shake of my head and turn to the nearest corner I’ll have to scrub clean. I brandish my mop, getting ready to start when…

…I turn to the mic again and

Please.

lean my mop against the wall, pursing my lips.

…

And then I start walking towards it.

This is stupid. I know it is but I can’t stop myself. I make my way past the rows of dusty seats and step onto the stage, looking out at the dozens of seats now shrouded in shadow. They made it all so unnecessarily flashy too. Why a stage? Why the plaques? Why any of this? Why treat him this way?

An enigma. A terror. A spectacle. But never a person.

Still, I can feel my heart rate spike just slightly once I finally bring myself to reach for the mic. …what do I do if he’s real? If all this was real? If there was some kind of response, would I even know what to say? My hand clamps hesitantly around the mic stand and I lean forward to move my mouth to the receiver.

What would I do if the sun collapsed? If our star system was dead? If the sky was fake? If a giant cosmic being responded to my words? How would I continue on with that knowledge? I pull back a bit, hesitating again. It’s all too elaborate to be a hoax, right? What are these people trying to pull? It makes sense and it doesn’t and it has to be real and it can’t be.

Please.

I feel my brows crease and I swallow, bringing the mic to me and before I can get cold feet again, I open my mouth and

“…hello?”

And my only answer is the distant hum of the lights outside.

And I just stand there in silence for a moment. I’m sweating. Trembling slightly. All worked up and for what?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

I should’ve known. The sun is fine. The planet is fine. Weird things just happen sometimes. Of course. Whoever started that cover up story was damn thorough with it, I’ll give them that. But now I need to get back to cleaning the floor so that I can get home before the sun comes up.

I sigh, making sure to wipe my fingerprints off the mic before I move to step off the stage. If I’m fast enough I might be done in the next hour or so. I’ll just need to-

“…h…hello? Is someone there?”

And I stop dead in my tracks.

A man’s voice. Whispered. I spin around but only see the bland white wall the stage is pressed against. Spin back and only catch the light spilling in though the empty doorway, the unoccupied seats and my mop leaning against the far wall. I listen for any sign of other people and get back silence.

“…hello?” The voice calls out to me again, somehow even quieter than before.

I can’t find the source of it and it’s strange. There doesn’t seem to be any kind of direction to it. It sounds close, it sounds everywhere. Hell, if I didn’t know better, I’d almost say that it feels like the voice is coming from inside my…

…inside my…head…

No.

Nononononono this can’t be real. This can’t be

I turn back to the lone microphone on the stage, my heart rate slowly starting to pick up again. What do I do? Whatever it is, the entity?, doesn’t seem to know I’m here. Not really. I could leave. I could stay quiet. I could hide. I could…I could…I could…

“…please, I just…”

The voice is barely a murmur.

…

Fuck.

I take a slow breath in and a slow breath out.

And then I step back onto the stage.

The voice doesn’t call out again but it doesn’t matter. A shaking hand grips the mic stand once more and leaning forward, I try to fight the tremble out of my voice before I speak again. “…hello?”

A pause. And then

“Hi!” I bite back a yelp. There’s excitement in his voice when he speaks now, relief, his words forming in my head like they’ve always been there. “Sorry, I must have lost you there for a second. I…actually don’t think we’ve met before. Who are you?”

It takes me a second to find my words again. “I…uh…”

“Yeah?” the man prompts.

“I’m…Emelia, I guess. Emelia Markov. …though you can call me Mia if you’d like.”

There is a long pause before the man speaks again. “…that’s everything?”

“Huh?”

“Oh, it’s just that people usually give me…I guess a title or something too. Like their job I think? I just thought that was the standard for humans.”

For humans.

It takes a second for me to collect myself.

“…uh…well, I’m an artist. …part time artist, anyway. I carve and sell wooden sculptures online and in between jobs I…well, I’m a janitor.”

“That’s two titles then! Very impressive, Mia.” My heart jumps when I hear him say my name but I simply clench my teeth and let him continue. “What’s an artist? And what’s a janitor?”

My head spins. “I…it’s…wait could I ask you a few questions first?”

“Sure.”

“Are you…is everything…”

The man waits and it takes a few seconds to realize I have too many questions to ask. What happened to the sun? How did you find us? Why did you help us? Are you actually a cosmic entity? What are you planning to do with us. On and on the list goes but for just a second, one sticks out to me. How many times has he heard those questions before? How many times has he had to answer the exact same things over and over to calm down the next overlord of the week? I frown, thinking over it a bit longer before I finally ask

“…what’s your name?”

And the man pauses. “My…name?”

“Yeah like, what can I call you?”

“I don’t…I don’t have a name,” he says quietly. “…how do you get a name?”

I purse my lips. “Well, usually…someone gives one to you, I guess. Though you can always change it if you don’t like it.”

The man is silent for a really long time and I’m about to ask him if he’s okay when, “…Mia?”

“Yeah?”

“…could you give me a name?”

I blank at that. “But…you don’t even know me!”

“I know you about as well as I know anyone around here,” the man responds and I sigh.

“Fair point. How about…why don’t you let me finish my job here and then I’ll read out some names to you. You can pick one that you like.”

“You’re coming back?” He sounds hopeful and my heart pangs.

“Sure. Just give me like…maybe an hour?”

“I…don’t know what that is.”

Ah.

“Just…hang tight then. I’ll be back, I promise.”

“Alright.”

I takes me a few seconds to pry my white knuckled grip from the stand but soon I’m mopping in silence again, the familiar motions helping to calm me some. I finish the back row of seats and take a moment to rest before something occurs to me. I turn back to the microphone on the stage now a distance away. “Hey, big guy, can you still hear me?”

“Yeah! …also big guy? Is that my name?”

“Nah, it’s just a placeholder. Think of it as a nickname until we find you a real one.”

“…nickname?”

“It’s like when…uh…I guess it’s like a name that people can call you that isn’t your real name? Like…my real name is Emelia but my nickname is Mia. Your nickname can be big guy and we’ll find you a real name later.”

“…can you have more than one nickname?”

“Sure.”

“Hmm.”

I decide not to comment on the hum eyeing the distance from the mic as I try to gauge the distance. “Could we try something though?”

“Sure.”

“You can still hear me, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I wanna see how far I can get from the mic where you’re still able to hear me.”

“Mic?”

“Microphone. …the thing the scientists made to communicate with you?”

“…oh that. It’s alright, I don’t need that to talk to you anymore.”

“…huh?”

“The…mic basically just helps to get my attention. It helps me…I don’t know, focus on you? After that I can listen to you pretty easily.”

“That…doesn’t make much sense actually.”

“I still don’t really get what a nickname is.”

“I guess we’re even.”

A light laugh fills my head for a short moment and I can’t help but smile. “I guess we are.”

There’s a brief period of silence before the man speaks again. “…Mia?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you think maybe we could…keep talking?”

“Sure, big guy. It’s not like I have much company this time of night anyway.”

“Oh no I- thank you but I mean like…whenever.”

“Whenever.”

“Yeah. …if that’s alright?”

The hum of the lights overhead. I can hear one of the faulty one blinking erratically in another room. There’s the distant roar of rain now. I’ll go home. I’ll sleep, maybe. Wake up. Start carving or maybe carve through the night. Go to work. Watch everyone leave for the night. Get my mop again. Go through the same patterns again. The hum of the lights overhead, the faulty one blinking erratically in another room. Maybe it’ll rain tomorrow too.

…when’s the last time I talked to anyone?

“…Mia?”

“Sure.”

“What?”

“Talk to me whenever. I’ll let you know if I’m busy but maybe…check if I’m sleeping first I guess? Maybe like…I don’t know, whisper or something first and if there’s no response I’m probably sleeping.”

“I…you’re serious?”

I nod but the man doesn’t seem to respond to the gesture so instead I speak. “I am.”

“Thank you! Thank you so so much, Mia! I…let me know if there’s ever anything I can do to repay you.”

“You’re preventing the whole planet from freezing over so trust me, big guy, you’re doing plenty. …though don’t think of this as a favour so much as it is something mutually beneficial.”

“What do you mean?”

“You get someone to talk to. I get someone to talk to. I’d hardly call that a favour.”

The man is quiet for a few seconds. Then, “…oh, you’re…,”and then he trails off.

I raise a brow but the man doesn’t say anything for a long time. I want to say something but…don’t know what. Is he…did he leave? I continue cleaning in silence until the job is done, turn off the lights, lock all the doors, swear under my breath when I realize I forgot my umbrella and I parked relatively far from the centre today. I fucked up I guess. Even the insanely lonely space entity that holds the world wants nothing to do with me. The absurdity of it all catches me off guard and a bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. It’s loud but then there’s no one around to hear it either.

I sigh.

Whatever. I lock the front doors of the building and feel my muscles clench in anticipation of the freezing cold shower I’m about to get pummelled in. I take a breath and then step out into the downpour and…

…nothing.

I’m not getting drenched, even as the storm roars all around me and I’m not under cover. More than a little confused, I look up and…

What the hell is happening now?

It’s raining above me too. I can see the drops falling overhead but then they just…stop. It’s like there’s a glass roof just over me and not knowing what else to do, I lift a hand and find my fingers brushing against something solid. …did the company build some kind of shelter while I wasn’t at work? How haven’t I noticed it before? Why-

“Mia!”

I jump instinctively. “Big guy? I thought you-”

“No I…sorry, no, I was just…I got lost in thought I guess. You’re like me, is what I wanted to say. I couldn’t sense any other humans around you at all. Like the whole time we were talking you were completely alone.”

I click my tongue. “…thanks.”

“No I mean.. it’s just the others usually come in groups, you know? They come in groups, give me titles and ask me questions about my intentions and the state of things and don’t let me ask questions but…you didn’t do any of that. You’re not an...uh…a leader?”

“Nope. Just a janitor. That means I just clean shit up when everyone else goes home.”

“…and the artist?”

“Means I have to be a janitor to make fucking ends meet.” I pause. “…also I…create, I guess. Wooden sculptures in my case.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah.”

“…but Mia if you’re not a leader then why did you even bother talking to me in the first place?”

“…what do you mean?”

“The leaders are scared of me. But they talk to me anyway because they want answers. They want to know if I’m up to anything. But you just…you’re just talking to me. You don’t seem that scared either.”

“Oh trust me, I am.”

“…oh.”

“It’s nothing on you though, big guy. You seem like a pretty decent guy but…well you’re…uh…”. I trail off, looking at the sky and then just spreading my arms apart.

“What, big?”

There’s a surprising amount of mirth in his voice when he says this.

“Yeah, actually.”

“…ah. Sorry.”

“Nonono, don’t apologize. It’ll just take some time getting used to, you know?”

“I…yeah, I get that. …but Mia?”

“Mmm?”

“Thanks for giving me that chance.”

The words are warm and I feel a smile start to graze my lips. “…hey.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I just…you saw me doing the arm thing?”

“I did, yeah. It’s nice to finally be able to see you.”

“You couldn’t before?”

“You’re out in the open now. You were in a…building earlier. I can’t see through walls, Mia.”

“That’s…okay, sure. So you can see me now?”

“Yeah! You’re hair is a really nice colour, by the way. Green, I think? It suites you.”

My hair…he can see my hair.

…there’s something almost chilling about that. And I don’t know, the more I think about it, the more unsettled I feel. I don’t know why but him stating the colour of my hair seems to cement something. It’s real. All this is actually real. An actual space entity is watching me right now. A man big enough to hold the Earth is watching me and I can’t even see him. His fucking eyes might be bigger than the Earth. And now, right now, they’re both…trained directly on…me.

I look up at the blackened sky, clouds obscuring the usual dark blue. The sky is fake. And just past the clouds, just past a small invisible barrier and a projected illusion of light is a giant’s eye.

Watching me.

I can’t see him but now I can feel the hairs on my neck start to rise as I stare back at the sky, at the man, at the concealed eyes of something too massive to comprehend. And I don’t know if it’s because I’m thinking about it or if this some long slumbering survival instinct starting to raise its hackles at the inconceivable threat it somehow knows we’re up against. A giant watches me, a giant who holds the world, a giant who could demand anything because he has all the cards, the lives of every single living being on this planet between his fingers.

A giant who can somehow make out the colour of my hair.

I…I don’t…I can’t…I…I…

flinch hard when I hear his voice again

“…Mia, are you alright? You’re breathing really hard. I…I’m sorry, is this my fault? We…we don’t have to keep talking if it’s causing you this much stress. I…I’m sorry just…please breathe, Mia. I’ll leave you alone, I promise. Just breathe. Please.”

A giant who holds the whole fucking world in his hands and still says please.

I’m shaking, I’m shaking so hard I think I dropped my car keys. I’m crying too, can feel hot tears spilling down my cheeks even as the rain continues to fail at hitting me.

I breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

My breaths slow. I focus on the sound of the rain until finally I have the strength to stand again. I must have curled up at some point. I keep breathing. Wipe my tears and dry my hands on my jacket. Breathe. Just breathe. Just breathe.

I let out a long, slow, slow breathe.

Then I turn my gaze to the sky again. Feel my hairs start to rise at the unknowable. Breathe.

“…hey,” I try.

There’s no response so I squeeze my wrist and try again.

“HEY, BIG GUY! I KNOW YOU’RE STILL LOOKING AT ME!”

Nothing.

Then, finally

“…Mia?” The voice is barely a whisper, each syllable laced with raw tears.

“I want to keep talking to you. Mutual benefits, remember?”

“…yeah. You talk to me and I…,” he sniffs, “…I’m sorry, Mia. I’m so so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s…it’s not you’re fault, okay? You seem like such a sweet guy but-“

“Big, yeah. I know.”

There’s no mirth in his tone now and I purse my lips.

“…just give it some time first, okay? I know I can get used to this in time. You won’t be able to get rid of me that easily”

There’s a small pause before a pained chuckle rings out. “You act like I’m doing this on purpose.”

And I can’t help it but now I’m laughing. And soon my head fills with laughter too. It’s the stress of course but…this is kinda nice.

It takes a while for either of us to calm down but once we finally do, I just stand there in the rain for a while, looking up at the sky while the man watches me too. And despite it all, it’s almost…comfortable.

Eventually, I break the silence. “Wait, big guy?”

“Mmm?”

I reach up and rap my knuckles on the invisible barrier above me. “Is that you?”

“Yeah. Barrier. I didn’t want you to get soaked.”

I smile at that. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he whispers back. “I’d show you some more barrier stuff but….”

“Maybe some other time.”

“Yeah.”

I pick up my keys and start walking to my car, the small barrier following me as I do. I’m halfway across the lot when I turn to look at the sky again.

“Hey, big guy.”

“Yeah?”

“Names?”

“Oh yeah! Go ahead.”

“Uh…Alexander?”

“Mmm…no.”

“Alfred?”

“Nah.”

“…Alex?”

“Isn’t that just a shortened version of Alexander?”

“…I guess. It’s its own name though. I’ve seen people called either.”

“…eh, maybe not.”

“Fucking, I don’t know, Arnold?”

I’m scrolling through my phone, sitting on my bed in the dark, the dim light coming off my phone making my empty apartment look even darker. I…couldn’t sleep again.

“…what about Jasper?”

“Mmm.”

“Mmm?”

“Could you keep going?”

“Jackson.”

The man pauses.

“And look, there’s a version of it that that has an x instead of the cks. Kinda unnecessary if you ask me. Like why would anyone ever-“

“I like it!”

“…come again?”

“Jaxon! Or…oh, maybe Jax for short, just like you!”

“Jax.” I test the name out and…it actually doesn’t sound too bad. “…you’re sure?”

“Mmm,” the man hums. And he sounds so happy I immediately relent, setting my phone down and staring up at the now dimly lit ceiling.

“And so the massive fuck huge cosmic entity who holds the entire world in his hands has a name. And for the love of God that name is Jax.”

The man laughs. “Thanks, M.”

“No pro-…wait what did you just call me?”

“I…it’s a…nickname…I think.

“M.”

“Yeah. …I mean…I can think of a different one if yo-.”

“No. M. It’s…hmm. …could you try saying it again?”

“Mmm…your..your hair looked really fluffy earlier, M. …when I could see it.”

And now I smile. It’s…almost endearing coming from him.

“Jax?”

“Yeah?” He sounds happy.

“…thank you.”

#writeblr #original writing #original story #Jax and Mia #space au #ocs #the rooster crows

39 notes · View notes

thegodthief · 1 year

Text

I'm slow to recognize when something is just background noise and when something is important enough to require my full attention. When you grow up in an environment where everything is a stressor, you learn not to stress about anything warranted or not.

So when I dreamt of the malicious spirit coming for my ass on the third night, I didn't connect it with previous nightmares because they've all rated 2/10, as in I've been in social scenarios more scary than the fear the nightmares brought. After a long day struggling to meet certain regulatory deadlines lest a five-digit fine be slapped on my ass, what the hell does a dream of an Aliens/The Thing dog crossbreed have to shock me with?

And that is, indeed, how the third dream on the third night opens with. I dreamt I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom, surrounded by stacks of paperwork that I brought home from work. I'm trying to sort them into piles of necessity. What has to be handled the moment I walk into the office "tomorrow", what can be delegated, and what is a non-emergency on my part but the evidence of certain officemates trying to push their work off on me.

And why the hell is this Black Dog in here, snarling and snapping at me like I just ate the last piece of bacon and it's personally offended.

Ugh, it's drooling on the papers. Lemme scoot everything over. As if it's perfectly normal to have a leashed Great Dane/German Shepard/Doberman/Eldritch Horror mix lunging at me from the shadows.

I move over, the dog closes the gap. Again, its snout is just inches away from my bare arm. But for all that growling, snarling, and howling that it's doing, it's nothing compared to the discomfort waiting me in the office if I don't get my shit sorted out before the work week starts.

It snaps at a paper and rips it. Unfortunately, it's one that I need. I snatch it away from the dog's reach and sternly reprimand it. "No! Not yours! Fuck off!"

The dog lunges at me again but the restraint keeps it an inch from my face. I can smell foul odors, some organic, some not. I don't think anything of it, because I've seen the scavenging cats in the complex and the coyotes outside the fence.

Still not realizing that I'm in a dream and that there nothing normal about this situation, I move my papers over again and scoot over as well. There's not much room left between me and the far wall, but at least the dog can't rip anymore papers.

Except its restraint gives way just enough for it to move closer as well. Now it's less than an inch away from my bare arm, but I've moved the papers so that it can't get them anymore.

Finally, I've had enough. I turn to look at it and it lunges for my face. Slavering jaws snap so close to my nose that the air moving in its wake pulls its stench away from me. But instead of being afraid, I'm pissed.

"ENOUGH DAMMIT!" I take my hand and plant it firmly on the dog's snout. I might as well have been a child trying to pet a direwolf from the size of the thing, but I don't pay attention to that as I force the dog's head to bow.

My hand and arm are now within reach. All it has to is duck and roll over me and take off my arm at the bicep. But it can't. It can't raise its head. Even though my push is open-palm, without any grip at all from my hand, the dog is unable to push back against it or do any damage to me whatsoever.

"Huh. That's odd." I keep holding the dog's head down and look around my room. I see other persons there, spirits that I know do not have the physical form that I'm seeing. Some are staring at me in concern, some are amused, and a few are bored. I realize I'm not in physical space and there is the slight idea that I might be dreaming.

I looked up at the assembled spirits in the room. "Y'all just let anything come in here like this?"

"Well..." One of the more able spirits moved to squat next to me. "Shit like this is always trying to come in here. It can't hurt you unless you allow it to. See the leash? It wasn't leashed when it got here."

The dog is making a bigger ruckus under my hand. In response, I force its head to the floor and hold it there with minimal effort. For all it tries to surge against my hand, it cannot move nor attack me.

"Wait. I recognize this smell. Yesterday's nightmare?"

The spirit nodded.

"And the nightmare from the other day, the one with the dog's fur morphing into barbed tentacles?"

The spirit nodded again.

"Some bitch sicced a Black Dog against me?" I wasn't afraid. I was furious.

The spirit sighed. "Please tell me you're not panicking. Sometimes I can't tell if you're excited or terrified."

I sat still for a moment while the dog squirmed under my hand. "Uh..." After checking my feelings, I had an answer. "Definitely not terrified. I can't tell if I'm excited, angry, or both, though. Does that matter?"

"Well, have you forgotten the lesson of the seal?"

"That [Patient Caller] didn't have to touch me to hurt me. All they had to do was make me panic, and I would hurt myself in the process?"

"Oh good, you did retain that."

I looked back at the dog. "As long as I'm not afraid of the dog, it can't hurt me. But if I yield ground, it will take what I yield. Then what happens when I take what I yielded back?"

I considered changing my hand's positioning from open palm to a grip and immediately reconsidered when I realized that would be a gesture of accepting whatever the dog had brought with it. So instead, I kept my hand open and carefully stood up. As I did, my hand raised from the floor, and the Black Dog was able to rise as well.

But as long as I kept my hand pushing on its muzzle, it could only advance as far as I let it.

I started pushing it back towards a strange shadowy stain on the far wall where the leash was coming from. It snarled! It barked! It growled so deep that my bones jiggled! But for all the noise and visual clutter it was making, it still couldn't push my hand to the side or advance any closer than I was allowing.

Step by measured step, I pushed it back to the wall, and then through the wall. The leash remained taut the entire time. Once every hair and snot of it was gone, the wall repaired itself and resumed the color it has in the Waking.

A few of the spirits in the room clapped. Some looked even more bored than before. I washed my hands and pulled my papers back across the floor to resume sorting them before waking. But before I sat down, a stray thought came to me.

"Wait, if this is the third time, then it's going to come at me again. After all, someone has summoned the thing to come for me, personally. It's going to keep coming for me until I either put it down, or deal with the summoner."

Most of the spirits nodded.

"Aight. I'll deal with that later. Right now, I do need to take advantage of my lucidity to determine who I'm going to set on fire at work and who to leave in the pyre of their making."

And so I did.

#dream

7 notes · View notes

shokobuns · 3 years

Text

“𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐛𝐫𝐨?”

your irritating step brother likes to come in your room during your zoom classes.

PAIRING: stepbro!gojo satoru x f!reader

GENRE(S): smut, quarantine!au (au? LMAO), college!au, taboo

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNING(S): darkish, smut, drug use (weed), high sex, stepcest, taboo, slight dubcon, slight manipulation, exhibitionism (if you squint), sensory deprivation (blindfold), degradation, size kink, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (f receiving), squirting, dacryphilia (if you squint)

(A/N): this rly do be my first time using proper capitalization huh, anyways all characters, SORRY I FORGOT TO ADD THE READ MORE I FIXED IT

More.

One thing you easily learned about Satoru was the fact he wasn’t easy to satisfy. He’s demanding, cocky, all the while being nonchalant. He rarely exerts effort, but gets the desired results. He’s arrogant, but it’s nearly impossible to point out a flaw to counter it at all.

It makes your head hurt. It makes your teeth clench.

When you make eye contact, you make sure to stare back daggers. When you’re forced to talk to him, your voice stays monotone and expressionless. When you’re in a room with him for more than five minutes, your earbuds are already out, drowning out the sound of his voice. But it’s all difficult when you’re under the same roof.

Knock. Knock.

You roll your eyes at the sound of your step brother knocking your door, wondering what the hell he wants now. At this point, he’s probably just trying to annoy you, poke at your sides until he gets attention, any kind of attention, all just to satisfy his boredom.

Your calm demeanor and sharp tongue has always contrasted with Satoru’s teasing attitude. He’s always seemingly trying to provoke you, trying to pry apart the walls you’ve barricaded yourself in. His personality never rubbed you in the right way from the day your dad surprised you with a dinner with your new brother and your new mom. It didn’t matter anyways, you thought. You’d be going off to university soon enough.

The pandemic ran over all of your plans like a truck.

Better yet, your parents still had work without the option of staying home, leaving you and Satoru home alone for a little over eight hours a day. When he wasn’t in class or tutoring his juniors, he was knocking at your door, most likely red-eyed, though you can’t see it, and relaxed. Despite his persistence, you rarely let him in no matter how insistent he is in “getting to know his new lil sister.”

“Go away, Satoru.”

Behind the door, he pouts while you scribble down notes from the screenshared presentation. He comes in anyways, reeking of marijuana and cologne, half of his shirt buttons undone. You steal a small glance before once again glueing your eyes to your computer screen. The voice of your professor bores you, but you’re hyper aware of Satoru’s presence as he makes himself comfortable on your bed. “Get the fuck off! You stink!” You yell, turning off your camera before throwing a pencil right at him.

He catches it mid air with ease, relaxing his head on your pillows while fiddling with one of your many Sanrio plushies. “Can I have this?” he asks, holding one up as you contemplate its value in your head.

“If it gets you out of my room, then sure.” you reply in a monotone voice, turning back to your notes.

“You’re no fun,” he mumbles, rolling over to lay on his side with the plushie in his arms, “Is that organic chem?”

“Yeah, can you go now?”

“I’ll be quiet, princess. Don’t worry about me, just wanna know what my lil sis is up to.” He waits for a response, but is only rewarded with a huff.

It stays like that for the next ten minutes, him watching your professor’s lecture, you scrambling to write all of the information on the slides as he continues the fast paced lesson. You’re hyper focused on your class, putting in your effort to absorb the entirety of the content. In your mind, the only people in your room are your and your computer. “You know, you don’t have to understand everything all at once,” a voice speaks up from behind you, causing you to purse your lips in annoyance, “It’s easier to learn when you’re actually paying attention to the lecture instead of focusing on trying to get everything down.

“We get it, Satoru. You have straight A’s and you’re naturally good at everything.”

“Hey, you’re getting advice from an aspiring teacher. Don’t need to use that tone with me, Princess.” He mumbles, rolling to his back on the bed, “Just tryna help you out in my free time.”

“I don’t need your help.”

He stays silent while you go back to drawing some of your basic compounds. Ethanol, methanol, propane, all of it. Your scribbles are messy and they progressively fill out the page in your notebook. You hear a tsk behind you, rolling your eyes as you prepare for another criticism from Satoru. Sure, he was probably right, but you refuse to feed into his ego. “Does he not link the slides to you guys or something?” he asks, this time with a friendlier tone.

“He does.” you reply, swiveling your chair until you’re facing him. He’s laying on his side again, his shirt spilling off his shoulder as your breath hitches at the sight. The blindfold is snug against his face, his hair pushed up. You’re sure that the stink of marijuana has rubbed onto your sheets and you make a mental note to wash them after class. “Then get high with me.”

“I’m in the middle of class, dumbass.”

“But you can always look at the slides later.” he suggests, “Plus, you’ve looked super stressed lately. Wonder why.”

Because of you, you want to say, but you stop yourself, opting to stay silent while pondering the offer. “Sure.”

He excitedly walks back to his room, returning to your bed seconds later with a joint between his fingertips. “This your first time?”

“Nah.”

“Ooooo,” he hums like a child, “That’s what you’re up to when we’re not around, huh?” he teases and you shake your head with a smile forming on your face.

“I guess.”

He shrugs, holding the joint up to your lips and lighting up the tip. You suck in the smoke into your lungs, holding it in, before exhaling out the screen door of your window. He takes a hit, opening his mouth and inhaling through his nose then passing it back to you. Your professor’s lecture fades into background noise as you fixate on Satoru, finally giving him the attention he’s been craving for weeks. He makes a mental note to offer you weed the next time he’s overcome by boredom.

The high hits you almost immediately. You’ve never had anything this strong and it’s liberating. You feel weightless, but your eyelids feel heavy. Your face is awfully warm and lifted and your vision gets more and more blurry by the second. The intoxication is pleasant, the present worries in your head being cut off as you focus on what’s right in front of you.

Satoru.

Satoru, your dear, irritating step brother who was kind enough to share the weed he stashes in his drawer. It’s getting harder and harder to hate him and you can’t reason why you felt so many negative emotions that you projected onto him at all. Sure, your room reeks and it’s all because of him, but the sight of him laying on your bed in a shirt that barely covers up his upper body makes your underwear feel uncomfortable. You don't know where it’s coming from, but shutting it out was easy when you’re sober. Key word: sober.

You stand from your desk, making your way to your bed and laying next to him. Both of you face each other, easily getting comfortable, warmth radiating off his body. It feels oddly intimate and your thighs press together in order to suppress the lustful feeling that takes over your body. Your arm comes around to the back of his head, tugging on the fabric that covers his eyes. “Can I take it off?”

“Sure.”

He lifts his head, allowing you to pull on the knot until it becomes undone. You don’t know what you were expecting, maybe a scar or something, but you’re in awe of the blue orbs that make you feel like you were staring into infinity. They’re bloodshot and half lidded and it’s when one fact you really didn’t want to accept hits you.

Satoru Gojo is one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen.

And he’s your step brother.

Uneasiness stirs in your lower tummy and you curse at whatever higher power that decided to give you this type of luck, but a hand on your hip trails to your back, pulling your closer and closer until your faces are at a dangerous distance. You can feel your cheeks becoming alarmingly hot and you hate that you can’t blame it on the weed. His hand comes up to your cheeks, his thumb stroking the soft skin. “Thought you wanted me to go away?”

“Changed my mind.” you whisper, eyes slowly closing, lips parting open as you wait for him to lean in and close the gap.

“Hmm? What’s this?” he sneers, causing your eyes to shoot open and your body to jolt up from your bed. The hazy feeling on your head still remains, making it hard to stand completely straight. “Get out.” you sternly demand, leaning back on your desk chair and pointing towards your door.

“Why should I? I don’t think you really want me to leave, babe.” He props his head on his hand, leaning his elbow onto your mattress.

“It’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong? We’re just two people hanging out on a bed. Unless you were trying to do something else, dirty girl.”

“I- I wasn’t! You’re my step brother!”

“Step brother.” He repeats, justifying your actions.

You’re shaking, guilt occupying your mind keeping you distracted. It’s the perfect time for Satoru to get comfortable in the space between your legs, pulling down your loose shorts and taking you by surprise. Before you have a chance to protest, his nose brushes against your sensitive core, making you let out a squeak. “W-We can’t do this!”

“Didn’t you want this?” he questions, looking up at you with wide eyes, “Wanted me to take care of this pretty little pussy, right?”

You know you should be refusing. You know you should be pushing him out your door. But it’s so hard when his pupils are dilated and the grip on the sides of your thighs feels so right. At this point, you’re not thinking, only nodding along to whatever he’s saying, anticipating his next actions.

“So wet.” He mumbles, pulling down the flimsy fabric and throwing it off somewhere in the room. He licks a thick stripe from your entrance to your clit, sucking softly on the pearl while holding you down as the pleasure causes you to jolt upwards. He sucks and slurps like it’s his last meal, making your empty walls pulsate and little whines along with to leave your lips. Looking down, your eyes meet his, the lower half of his face immersed in your cunt.

The wet muscle fucks into you, curling and pressing against your walls, while his thumb rubs against your little clit. He hits all the right spots that make you squirm, pushing your legs wide open to see more of your ruined pussy. The wetness collects on his mouth, his chin, and his cheeks, filling him with a sick sense of satisfaction. “Such a whore, aren’t ya?” he pulls away to comment, but your fingers thread through his hair, pushing his head back where you need him most.

The action is assertive, something he usually hates dealing with. Though this time, he’s filled with a sick sense of pride at the fact that he was able to turn you, someone who seemed to hate him with a burning passion, into a moaning mess with just his mouth. He hums satisfactorily, sending vibrations into your sensitive core that make your thighs shaky.

You’re already cumming in an embarrassingly short time, gushing all over his face while he laps up all the juices you have to offer.

Before you can process anything else, his lips capture yours, lifting your body and dropping you onto your bed. You look at him with half lidded eyes, still sensitive from your last orgasm, while he pulls off his own clothes. His length rests on the inside of your thigh and he’s huge, so huge that it feels heavy against your skin and it scares you. “Satoru, I don’t think I can take you-”

“Shhh, princess,” he reassures you, “You started this. You have to take it.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to speak, taking the fabric of his blindfold and covering your eyes, tying a tight knot on the back of your head. This isn’t right, a voice in your head tells you, but you ignore it because Satoru treats you so well. He keeps you company, gives you some of his weed, eats your pussy without you having to ask him.

The only thing you can see is black and you whine. You so badly want to see Satoru’s pretty face, his chiseled body, his thick cock, but your thoughts are interrupted by the fat tip prodding at your tiny hole. “Too big..” your voice trails off as your mind is lifted, only the feeling of him splitting you in half remaining. You’ve never felt so full and it feels so dirty, yet your slick says otherwise, betraying any rational part that still resides in your body.

“I got you, Princess, don’t worry.” He slurs, drunk on the sensation of your snug walls. The stretch strings, whimpers spilling from your lips, but his cock hits every spot like no other. By the time he’s fully inside of you, it feels like he’s actually in your guts and it’s all intensified by the isolated feeling, not being able to see him at all. Every bite on your shoulder, every kiss on your open mouth, every delicious drag on your gummy walls is amplified.

You’re already cumming around him, a ring of cream forming on his cock as he gazes down at your bare body, wrapping his lips around a sensitive nipple. You squeal, your breath hitching at the same time you clamp down around his throbbing length. “Already? Such a sensitive little princess, aren’t you?” He mutters in your ear, your nails digging into his shoulders, piercing the pale skin. Tears spill from your eyes, flowing down the sides of your face.

His teeth sink into your shoulder and you want to tell him to stop, but the words don’t quite leave your lips. Only babbling noises accompanied by the wet sounds of your cunt and skin slapping against skin. He’s still pounding into your cervix at a relentless pace, in awe of how your slick drips down his balls and onto the white sheets.

Every time he hits that sweet spot, there’s an odd feeling that forms, like you’re about to make a mess. And when your next orgasm washes over you in intense waves of euphoria, a clear liquid spurts from your cunny, coating his lower stomach and your inner thighs. “Who knew my little princess was such a messy girl?” he taunts, making your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“S-shut up-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he leans in close, his lips dangerously close to your ear, “I’ll clean it all up.”

His smooth voice causes you to squeeze around him, almost like you don’t want him to ever leave your cunt, and it gets harder and harder for him to move. “Fuck, baby you’re so tight, need you to loosen up,” he mumbles, his own orgasm finally approaching, your little cunny milking him for all he’s worth.

He’s rambling little praises, hot pleasure elevated by the high, his hips stuttering and his cock stuffing you to the brim with his warm seed. You both lay there, still intertwined and his body resting on top of yours.

“Ms. (L/N)! Did you have any questions about my lesson today?”

Your face drops in horror, your hand immediately pulling off the blindfold, as you push Satoru away from you and press the leave button on Zoom. A mix of your juices drop onto the floor and he chuckles, pulling you back to bed. “This isn’t over.”

He pins you back onto the mattress, his cock twitching at the sight of your leaking cunt, pulling your thighs until you’re close and pinning them to your chest. In one swift movement, his entire cock is shoved into your cunt, his balls slapping against the flesh of your ass with every thrust, fucking his cum back into your womb.

Gojo Satoru would never be satisfied.

2K notes · View notes

recklessmark · 3 years

Text

mine

—when the bodyguard your dad hired is your long lost rival.

Pairings: bodyguard Mark x mob-boss Reader

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: unprotected sex (be safe!), dirty talk, rough sex, oral sex, spanking, slut shamming, orgasm denial, mark is possessive but cute at the end.

The sounds of your heels clicking against the ground filled up the silent patio. You stormed into your house after receiving a text from your dad, basically demonstrated that he had sent you a new bodyguard since your job had been getting more intense lately. This should be the umpteenth guard that your dad hired, how are they supposed to protect you when every time you get into trouble, they can’t even take care of themselves.

You locked the door, kicking your shoes off before walking inside. Noticing a figure of a man sitting on the couch, you frowned. One hand holding the gun holster, the other finding the light switch. But they immediately fell onto your mouth when the man in question himself turned around due to the sudden light in the room. Your eyes went widen, still not believed in what you saw. He stood up, a coy smirk displayed on his face as he slowly approached you.

“You miss me?”

You looked him up and down, confirming that you were not dreaming, “M-Mark Lee? You’re alive?”

Your back is against the wall as Mark pressed his body on you, your faces were an inch away from each other. You’re babbling, dying to know how it’s possible for your long lost rival, Mark Lee, revitalized from his death and now standing in your house. Mark had been on the back of your head since the day you heard the news of his death from a combat. Apparently you’re supposed to hate him but that period of time was the darkest of your life, you practically couldn’t live without him.

He leaned in, his nose was brushing yours, “If I knew my appearance can earn that reaction from you, I would accept the job offer sooner.”

You tensed under his muscular body, his face plastered with arrogance. You squinted your eyes at him, “So you’re the body guard that my dad hired?”

Mark nodded, “Didn’t know that my death make your career path a lot easier. You’re the boss now huh?”

You pushed him away, you needed to go since you’re melting into his touch and that’s definitely not a good sign. You fixed your clothes before walking away.

“You can sleep on the couch or in the room next to the balcony. We’re going to the estate tomorrow.”, you called behind your back, “And don’t even think about breaking into my room at midnight.”.

You remembered that time you saw Mark sitting in front of your house with blood everywhere. You did let him stay at your place since he was terribly injured with two bullets in his shoulder and a gash on his ribs. He was super lucky to magically survive after that much damage, and you thought you could be a surgeon that you were phenomenally able to save him with some basic medical skills. Mark stayed with you for two weeks and literally broke into your room every night despite of your death threats and the locks on your door that you only bought because of him. You pathetically had no sleep at that time, how were you supposed to sleep peacefully when your hot enemy was pressing his chest against your back. You sighed, Mark Lee is the first bodyguard you didn’t kick out on the first day and the only bodyguard you let staying at your place.

—

You’re questioning yourself about the faith you put in Mark, your used-to-be enemy, that you actually allowed him to be your bodyguard and now you’re guiding him to your estate. What if he’s preparing for a terrorization?

“So why did you fake your death?”, you asked, only loud enough for him to hear clearly.

Mark glanced at you as he’s trying to find the perfect vocabulary for the situation, “The boss thought I’m a threat to the gang so they attempted to kill me many times, unsuccessfully though.”

“That you’ll murderer that coward and replace him? What in the mysterious novel is this?”, you laughed almost choked on your spit.

Everyone eyes landed on you and Mark when you stepped inside the building, the faint smile on your lips had soon faded away. They respectfully greeted you as you made your way to the office.

“What are you involved with?”

You heard him question when you’re in the elevator. Your fingers tapped on your lips,

“Pharmaceuticals”

“Drugs”

You darted your eyes at him as the word fell out of his mouth. “God, I’m trying to make it sound legal, no need to say it out loud like that.”, you gave him a warning look before continued talking.

“Automotive recovery and repair”

“Grand theft auto”

You’re not bothered to yell at Mark or whatsoever, as if he hadn’t done all that things.

“Defense trading”

“Selling illegal weapons”

You stopped a bit, looking at the number on the monitor screen of the elevator.

“And contract execution.”

The elevator was finally on the highest floor, which only has your office and the meeting room. You stopped at your track when you see a gap on your office door, you always remember to lock it up before going home, except it’s...

“Y/N!”

You almost passed out, you should’ve mentioned that you totally hate surprises. How do people find it’s funny when they scare the fuck out of somebody?

“Lee Haechan? When did you get here?”

You lost your balance when Haechan jumped on you for a hug, “Last night.”

You fumbled on your feet as the weight on you hardened your breathing. “God, do you always have to cling on me like that?”

His arms wrapped around your waist, he rested his head on the crook of your neck as he noticed the man that had been standing at the door frame.

“Who’s this? You better not cheat on me!”

You frowned, pushing Haechan away, “Cheat your ass! He’s my bodyguard.”, you turned around to look at Mark.

“Hey, you should go check the new people. If they mess up, I’ll kick your ass.”

You asked Haechan to leave before he continued making something up. You don’t know why he has a thing for pretending to be your boyfriend, sometimes cousin or even worse is step brother. He always knows how to get you into trouble and never take responsibility for that. You don’t know how come he’s your best friend and your assistant.

You locked the door after he already left, not care about Mark still froze at his space. You sat down, reorganized the stacks of papers on your desk.

“He’s your boyfriend?”

Your eyes flew up only for you to see that Mark was hovering over you, his hands pressed on the desk.

You looked back down, “Why would you care?”

He remained silent, you shrugged, unbothered by his question. Neither the two of you broke the silence first until you completed all the work, it’s already night time outside. You glanced at Mark, who’s sitting on the couch next to the window with his gaze focused on you. You flustered, wondering if he had been like that for 4 hours straight since you came to work after lunch.

“Let’s go.”

—

You’re walking to your car in the parking lot when someone familiar drew your attention.

“Jaehyun!”

You hollered while running towards the man. He caught you in his arms as you peck on his cheeks, which was not become unnoticed by Mark. He recognized the man, Mark had a few combats with him before.

You noticed the expression on Jaehyun’s face changed lightly when his gaze shifted. You knew what’s it about.

“He’s the bodyguard my dad hired, I’ll explain but I have to leave now okay?”

You gave him a small kiss on his lips before turning around, pulling Mark with you.

—

“Get out!”

Mark snarled when he finally pulled up in the garage. He walked out, leaving you confused in the car. Did he just yell at you? You gasped as the door beside you flung opened, he recklessly took off your seat belt before pulling you into the house.

“What the hell Mark?”

You asked when he pressed you against the door, still could not comprehend what’s happening.

“Shut up!”

He groaned into your ear, his head was on the crook of your neck, you squirmed as his hair tickled you.

“Have you done flirting with every man you meet? You want to be a slut so bad don’t you? You want Jung Jaehyun to fuck you right? And either whoever the man in your office was!”

Your body tensed under his, his breath hit your skin giving you some feelings. Both of your hands attempted to push Mark away by his shoulder but he didn’t move an inch. He left your neck to face you, his eyes gave you death stare.

“Mark take a fucking breath, okay?”, you muttered out. His eyes were still boring holes into you as you continued, “Haechan is my assistant and Jaehyun”, you stop, “I like him.”

“That jackass? That? Him?”

You frowned, “He’s not a jackass.”, you debated.

Mark grabbed you around the waist, “He doesn’t ever touch you again. Understand?” His tone was venomous. “You’re mine.”

You stood in silence as your brain functioning his words. His proximity to you was turning the heat in your veins from anger into something else.

“Oh yeah, Mark? I’m yours?”

“Mine.” His face was mere inches from yours.

You narrowed your eyes. “Fucking prove it, then, asshole.”

He tightened his grip around your waist and practically threw you onto the couch. You turned and tried to crawl away but he pulled you back down, forcefully, and slammed his hips into your ass. You could feel his erection straining against his trousers as he ground into you. You braced your hands on the couch as he kicked your legs apart and shoved your dress up around your waist.

“You want me to fucking prove it?”

He cupped your ass in his hands and squeezed hard before ripping off your lace panties and throwing them on the floor. One hand snaked around your waist to keep you from escaping while the other ran along your slit. Mark placed his finger in his mouth tasting you groaning lowly and then pulled it out with a pop. He kneeled down and ran his tongue along your slit before digging in. His tongue circling your clit before darting into your hole then going back. You moaned, your hands gripping the edge of the couch as you felt your orgasm fast approaching.

"M-Mark..." you whimpered as your legs started to shake. He groaned against you as he kept going, the vibrations making your mind go blank. "I-I-I'm... I'm go-gonna..."

He pulled away in a moment, leaving you undone. You whined, desperate to come. Instantly his hand came out and wrapped around the back of your neck pulling you close to him and smashing his lips into yours in a sloppy kiss, his tongue dominated yours as you can taste yourself on it. His other hand ran up your thigh until it reached your ass and he gripped a cheek roughly causing you to moan out.

“Do you think you deserve to cum? You acted like a slut so I treat you like one.”

He started to kiss and bite along your neck stopping every so often to leave some marks. You heard the metallic click as it was unfastened and then his zipper as he freed his cock. Then, in one motion, he slammed into your cunt.

“How about this, huh? Do you like my cock inside you?”

You gritted your teeth and nodded, Mark smacked your ass, hard. “Answer me, goddamnit. Do you like my cock inside you?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Say it.” He began a slow but punishing rhythm, pistoning into you as hard as he could. “Fucking say it, Y/N.”

“Yes–Mark....” He punctuated each of your words with a deep thrust. “I – like – your – cock – inside – me – ”

“You like it when I fuck you hard?” he growled as he began to speed up.

“Yes… yes… oh God, yes,” you moaned, giving yourself over to the pleasure.

“You filthy fucking slut… you like it when I fuck your pussy from behind like this?”

“Yes! Mark, yes!” you could feel your climax already approaching as Mark reached down to rub your swollen clit with his hips slamming into you nonstop.

“Are you mine, Y/N?” he roared.

“Yes, Mark, I’m yours!”

With that, your orgasm tore through you, your back arching as your body pulsed around him. You had barely come down from your high when leaned over, “You should be grateful that I let you cum. Turn around, dirty girl. I want your mouth.”

Mark pulled out of you and you turned around kneeling in front of him, still feeling boneless. He grasped your hair and you let your jaw drop open; he bucked his hips forward and you could taste yourself on his cock. You sucked him greedily as he thrust forward.

He groaned as he emptied himself into your mouth; you swallowed everything Mark gave you before slowly licking him clean. He fell flopped himself onto the couch, shaking from the force of his release, before wrapping his arm around your naked body.

For a few long minutes, the only sound was your labored breathing as you tried to recover.

“Do you actually like Jaehyun?”

Mark mumbled but loud enough for you to hear, his breath was still heavy.

You leaned in to rest your head on his shoulder, your legs curled up, pressing against your bare chest. “Yes, but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

His hand brushed your hair comfortably, “Why?”

“Didn’t you just claim me like two minutes ago? You can’t change your mind.”, Mark couldn’t help but giggled, he pressed his chin on your head. “Since when you have feelings for me?”, you looked up only to see his sharp jawline, his signature scent filled up your nostrils.

“I don’t know dude, may be that time when you held a dull dagger on my throat or when you attempted to shoot me with no bullet loaded in the gun.”

You slapped his arm playfully, “That was an accident!”

The room went into silence again, your eyes stared into the city outside of the wall of windows.

“Do you know when I figured out my feelings?”

Mark traced your fingers with his thumb, waiting for your answer. “I kissed Jaehyun because it’s the last kiss, I thought you don’t care.”, you intertwined your hand with his, “But I know you’re my everything the moment you I saw you sitting here, that my long lost hot rival is alive.”

#nct mark #mark lee #mark blurbs #mark boyfriend #mark imagines #mark lee imagines #mark lee scenarios #mark lee smut #mark scenarios #mark smut #nct smut #nct u smut #nct x reader #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct mark lee

384 notes · View notes

kiridarling · 3 years

Text

𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎.

thank you so much to @daisy-bakugo for letting me participate in her vice city collab! i had a blast writing this piece, and i’m terribly sorry this is so long that was a mistake (and congrats on 2k!!) also, the phattest of thank you’s to @eijishimas for brainstorming/beta-ing :) you saved me ☺🤲🏼

katsuki bakugou and eijirou kirishima | f!reader, time travel sex, guns, prostitute/stripper idrk!reader, tw!blood (non-descriptive), dacryphilia, squirting, spit roasting, d-penn, shower sex, multiple rounds. minors dni!

— 5k words (yikes)

"Say, Sweetheart. You wanna get outta here?"

Las Vegas, Nevada. April 15th, Year 3036.

"You ready?"

Mina shoots you a look through the golden-lit mirror, wiggling her eyebrows. You roll your eyes and finish dusting the powder off your cheeks before rising to your feet and tugging at the belt of your silk robe. "My answer's the same every night."

Vice City. A strip club and casino in Las Vegas, Nevada, where opposites collide—the poor and the rich, the beautiful and the ugly, the smart and the stupid. There's no judgment because here, they're all degenerates looking for a good time, and you're just a pretty face with a good body.

As your silk robe hits the floor, it's kicked to the side with a heel, and you saunter through the beaded entrance to your private room and into the vibrating club. Giving your bodyguard a solid pat on the shoulder as you watch the sea of bodies shake, you complete the ritual.

"No creeps?" You demand more than request. He nods curtly.

"No creeps."

You give him a cute little smile and let your hand linger for a little longer than necessary before stepping into the neon red chaos of the strip club. Because what do the rich and the poor have in common?

They're all addicts.

Surprisingly, humanity doesn’t kill the planet.

Mother Nature's still standing strong—though the sun is a bit swollen—and space exploration solved that overpopulation issue. Bill Gates taught us all how to avoid a climate disaster and Tesla put Ford out of business. Humanity is much bigger than earth now; we're no longer people of the planet, but an intergalactic species that still eat Costco pizza rolls for dinner but killed Cable along with cars with wheels. Costco still exists—Starbucks doesn't.

Still no aliens, though.

"See something you like, Cutie?"

In your defense, he's been standing over here with his friends for ages—almost like they're casing the damn place—but those ruby red eyes kept floating your way regardless, and you'd rather bag it with someone your age before you're requested by another seventy-year-old. The redhead blinks like he's shocked you came over here in the first place—like he didn't watch you sashay yourself to the other side of the club just for him. You suppose the name fits. Cutie.

He looks at you with a strangely giddy look on his face before he's licking his lips and swallowing, eyes flickering to the blondie to his right.

"I'll be back in like, twenty minutes, man."

The blond gives him an exasperated look and groans—his other two friends don't notice. "Eiji—"

"Twenty minutes!" The redhead yells over the music as you not-so-subtly pull him away. Your regular GILF looks your way, and you suppress the queasy feeling in knowing that at least you'll be able to fuck someone from your decade.

"You got a wallet, Cutie?" You purr as you two approach the back room. The redhead winks, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the fattest black leather wallet you've seen in a long time.

"Don't go anywhere without it," he says, but falters when your bodyguard holds his hand out with a request for fifty bucks. "I—whoa dude, why am I paying you?"

"Because that's how it goes. The young lady gets her share," your bodyguard clarifies. The redhead looks at you for what seems to be for confirmation. You nod.

"Alright," he resigns with a shrug, stuffing a fifty into your bodyguard's sweaty hand. The man grunts but clears some of the beads guarding the entrance to your private room anyways, giving you two enough space to go inside.

"No door? That seems a little...exposing," the redhead snorts to himself before he's holding his hand out, despite the fact that you’re already nestling comfortably in his lap. "Eijirou, by the way."

You take his hand apprehensively, and he snorts at your confused frown. Eijirou's big—painfully so, and you feel small sat upon his thick thighs because you are in comparison—and he has to curve his back a bit so you're at eye-level. "What? No one's introduced themselves to you before?"

You shake your head, "Usually they just throw me onto the bed and get right to it."

Eijirou rolls his eyes at that, and you don't realize he's guiding your hips into a smooth roll until the harsh fabric of his jeans brushes against you in the best way. He moves you in time with the music vibrating the walls, "I guess that makes me more of a gentleman, then."

His lips hover over yours and yet he never advances, doesn't move to kiss you on the lips, nothing—it nearly has you buzzing. So does the hand he pins you to his lap with. "Are you going to kiss me or what?"

"What's your name, Sweetheart," he asks lowly. You give it to him, and he grins.

"Y/N,” Eijirou tries on his lips before he confirms it with a nod. "A pretty name for a pretty girl."

"Aren't you the flatterer," you purr, coiling your arms around your neck. His hand finds your ass and you're almost positive he's going to close the gap between you two until he says:

"Who were you runnin' from, Y/N?”

Years in the business help build a mask and you wear yours well, with that cute little smile as you cock your head to the side and ask, "I'm afraid I'm not following."

"Oh, I think you are," he says, looking you dead in the eyes. The gravity in his face doesn't falter. "Who was it."

As he stares into your soul, your own eyes avert to the sheets. "What's it to you?"

"It's nothing to me, really," he shrugs off his jacket and places it on the bed next to him before returning to his initial position—or perhaps, closer. "But I happen to find you real cute, and cute things deserve to feel safe, no?"

"In case you haven't checked, this isn't a very safe place," you scoff, removing your arms from his neck to cross them over your chest. "And I don't appreciate idiots like you trying to save someone like me just 'cause you wanna get your dick wet more than once."

Eijirou raises an eyebrow but he never stalls, "Oh? This happens often then?"

"I—" you falter, "...No."

"C'mon, Sweetheart," Eijirou tugs you by the waist and you have to press your hands to his chest to keep him from falling forwards. "You don't wanna stay in this place, do you?"

"It's my job," you defend with a huff. The redhead shrugs.

"Sure, but don't you want a little adventure? A little excitement in your life?"

"Like there isn't enough excitement right here?" You snort. Eijirou teeters his head back and forth, though the daring look never fades.

"But something tells me you're bored," he says with a near sarcastic face, clicking his tongue. "Something tells me you find the idea of something new exciting."

You open your mouth to respond but he keeps you from doing so, finally pressing his lips to yours. You nearly squeal in surprise but somehow, you find yourself kissing back with a passion you've never kissed another client with before—and maybe, just maybe, the idea of something new doesn't sound too bad.

Eijirou pulls away with a cocky grin like he knew you'd like it. Like he knew that'd be the catalyst for your response to what he says next, and maybe, he's not as much of an idiot as you thought.

And maybe you’re more of an idiot than you thought.

"Say, Sweetheart. You wanna get outta here?"

"Yes," you breathe, like an idiot, because you were wholly and utterly unprepared for what happens next.

Eijirou gives you the cutest smile, before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a gun.

He sees your expression change and lifts both hands, pointing the black pistol towards the ceiling, "I—hey wait, you're gonna be fine, okay? I won't shoot you."

You cower and he pouts. Apparently, this wasn't the reaction he was expecting at all.

"I swear! I'm mentally stable, see?" He flips it sideways with a grin, "the safety's on."

You hate it that his comment makes you trust him. Slightly.

"C'mon," Eijirou smiles, reaching his gunless hand out for you to take. You do, albeit reluctantly. "I won't do anything too stupid. Just...shake things up a bit."

Shake things up a bit, Eijirou says, and yet the first thing he does is when you two exit the room is press the pistol to your bodyguard’s head.

"Eijirou," you hiss. Luckily no one in the club has noticed, yet, but you doubt their ignorance will last for long.

"I'm gonna need my fifty back, buddy," Eijirou pats the man on the back, and it's strange—you've always thought your bodyguard to be a big guy, but he looks rather petite next to the redhead. Your bodyguard reaches for his walkie-talkie, but Eijirou tuts, tapping his hand away with the tip of his gun.

"Hey dude, I'm not gonna shoot you. See? The safety's on," He repeats, flashing the barrel. Your bodyguard's eyes widen, and so do yours.

The safety isn't on.

"So, that fifty," Eijirou purrs, and your bodyguard stuffs the bill into his chest with a grumble. Eijirou hums, satisfied, and gives the crumpled bill to you without a second glance, too busy nodding to his friend on the other side of the strip club. A noirette from across the way nods back.

Pop-pop!

It's fucking chaos, as anyone would expect when blindly firing into a crowded club. Eijirou keeps a tight hold on your hand as he and his other three boys storm towards the pit bosses working the casinos with guns a-blazing, demanding they fill their pillowcases like a bunch of C-class thugs.

What the fuck did you get yourself into.

"This is not what I meant by excitement," you hiss through grit teeth as a terrified pit boss fills Eijirou's bag like he's a greedy kid with an attitude on Halloween, while your co-workers cower under the bar and pool tables. Eijirou sticks his tongue your way.

"This isn't the exciting part, Little Miss Excitement."

It's the steady sound of sirens that has your eyes widening, and the fact that you're positive they're getting louder. You catch sight of your bodyguard on his walkie-talkie, big body cowering behind the smallest trashcan, and turn back just in time to see Eijirou squint as he aims and shoots bullseye.

"That is."

The police have lost sight of two vehicles carrying the four armed men who robbed Vice City Casino and Club tonight at roughly 2:53 am. Witnesses say they came in a group of four but left with an exotic dancer named—

The moment the blondie from the club sees you walk through the door, he’s tossing the stack of bills in his hand with a sigh.

"Katsuki, Y/N. Y/N, Katsuki."

Katsuki looks nothing but happy, and refuses to acknowledge your presence as he crosses his arms.

"Ei. What the hell did we say about witnesses."

"Um," the redhead rubs his lips together before wearily looking at you, and you hike his jacket further up your shoulder. At least he was decent enough to give you that. She's an exception?"

"Not a fuckin' thing," the blond grunts, turning to you to flash a tight smile. "Goodbye."

"I—wait," Eijirou skates until he's stood over the ash-blond, with a hand on his shoulder and the other braced against the table. Speaking in a quieter voice, he says, "C'mon man. The poor thing was practically begging to get outta there."

The ash-blond does nothing but sigh before shoving a palm into a pile of money to push himself into the kitchen—and subsequently further away from you.

"She's gonna call the cops," Katsuki grunts wearily from the island, eyes narrowed. Eijirou follows.

"She's not gonna call the cops, dude," the redhead scoffs at the outlandish idea. "You heard the radio! At this point, she's as deep in it as we are."

As they continue to go back and forth over the island, you let your eyes wander. It’s a penthouse, and rather homely, with near egg yolk lighting, high walls, and big windows. You can't help but think about how you're in a strangely expensive part of the city before remembering this evening's events. No wonder they can afford such a nice place.

You find yourself smiling at a particular corner with a frustrating amount of photos stuffed on a little glass table, one that contains a selfie of the two housemates in high school uniforms. There's a ring sat in front of it, one that glints gold when you hold it up to your face, and if you squint you can see little flecks of green in the red of the ruby. It looks scarily close to an engagement ring.

"Hey, what's this?"

Both of their eyes rocket from the conversation to see you slip the delicate thing onto your ring finger.

"Don't touch it!" Eijirou tenses before realizing it's much too late for that. "Er—at least don't twist the top."

"The...top?" You ask, lifting your hand until it's at eye level.

"Yeah like, the jewel thingy," the redhead gestures to the ruby—and you can't stop thinking about how it's almost the same color as his hair. Waddling into the kitchen with your eye still trained on the thing, you ask:

"What is it?"

"A time-travel device," the ash-blond grunts. Eyes still full of suspicion, he watches you and the redhead interact over the island with arms crossed over his chest and reclining against the sink. You frown.

"Aren't those usually...bigger?" Because even though it's 3036, time-travel is still fairly new (space exploration took a long time, okay) and all the machines you've seen are at least the size of a shower. And yet, this one can sit on your pinky.

"Kats has been working on some stuff," Eijirou beams and it edges on proud; you notice the ash-blond near blushes with a huff as you hop to sit on the marble counter.

"'S nothin'."

You stare at the thing in faint amazement, and Katsuki kicks off the sink to near the island. Lifting an eyebrow, you say, "You know you could get rich off something like this? Instead of robbing strip clubs for a living.”

The ash-blond scoffs, and you wonder if someone else has told him that before. "If I gave that to the public, I have no fuckin' clue what they'd do with that shit."

And you shrug, supposing he's right—time-travel devices are hard to get your hands on, and that's for a reason. If everyone starts jumping around in the time-space continuum, fucking with shit, the world will promptly and utterly collapse. Sounds fun, doesn't it?

"It doesn't work with a big time range," Katsuki defends with a shrug, sliding his forearms on the counter. "The most it can do is a few hours"

"Not that it makes this any less cool," Eijirou says with a slight bounce. "I personally think it's really fun to play with."

Katsuki rolls his eyes. "That's 'cause you use it to fuck."

You nearly choke.

"I—what?"

"W-Well, okay," Eijirou chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "But also other stuff! Like when I'm really hungry, I might go to the future and take some of my fries. Future me's fries, that is."

"Or you'll try to take future-me’s goddamn burger," Katsuki growls. You flip the ring over like there's anything left to see.

"How often do you use it?"

"Nightly," Katsuki answers for him. Your eyebrows lift. Oh wow.

"It—it's not nightly," Eijirou defends weakly, huffing and puffing. "Weekly maybe, but—"

"Almost every night," Katsuki sums for him, giving you a little grin. You snort back before your eyes drop to the ring again.

"Uh oh," the redhead almost gasps, fingers thrumming on the island on either side of your being, "She's thinkin' about it."

"I'm not thinking about it," you huff, though your eyes never leave the ring. It's an...interesting prospect.

"Oh, you're totally thinking about it," Katsuki grunts, and you struggle to find where his enthusiasm came from. What happened to goodbye?

"C'mon," Eijirou tempts with a casual toss of the head. He touches your shoulder—Katsuki touches the other. "See what happens."

"What if—" you stare at the ring with pursed lips, fingers grabbing the ruby. "What if it's random? Or if we're not where we expect to be in a few hours or something."

Eijirou shrugs. "It's always a gamble, but that's where the fun is, no?"

You look down at the thing with a sigh. You suppose.

In one quick move, you twist the gem and screw your eyes shut. At first, you feel nothing, but then there's a sudden head rush, and you can easily see how someone can get addicted to this.

You hear a faint sound, one that could be excused as a rush of wind past your ears, before you feel your knees against a hard surface and your body in a different position.

"Oh, I like this much better."

You open to your eyes to a much different sight than you closed them to.

Katsuki and Eijirou look gargantuan when you’re on your knees, your back flush against the refrigerator and eyes watering due to the cock nestled halfway down your throat. You choke in surprise from the sensation, hands rushing to keep Katsuki from cutting your oxygen supply off for good as Eijirou stands impatient, cock hard in his hand and drooling for attention.

"F-Fuck," the ash-blond wheezes, seemingly just as taken aback from the position as you are. "Your mouth is fuckin' heaven."

"C'mon Sweetheart, don't ignore me now," EIjirou purrs, chuckling as the head of his cock hits your cheek with a wet slap. "At least give me a little something."

You grab his cock harder than you would've out of slight indignance, grinning around the other when it makes him hiss; Eijirou joins Katsuki in resting a hand on the fridge door for purchase.

You weren't the best at Vice City for nothing, after all.

"Shit, loosen that grip a little, will ya?" Eijirou wheezes—you don't listen, and his chest shudders when you seem to only move faster.

"'M too fuckin' close, where's that ring," Katsuki blabbers more than he grunts, and you lift your hand just in time for him to twist the jewel again, sending you three rocketing into the past.

You cough and splutter atop the kitchen island, chest heaving as you finally get the air Katsuki's cock allows. The head rush definitely doesn't help, and you find yourself getting dizzy enough to grab for someone's hand.

"Breathe, Princess," Katsuki says, and Eijirou lifts your hand to his chest so yours can rise and fall with his.

"So that's," you wheeze once you're able to get some semblance of a breath back. "That's time travel sex, huh?"

"Yeah," Eijirou says, a little breathless himself. "Addictive, right?"

"A little," you giggle, and find yourself looking for the ring again. Katsuki snorts.

"What, you wanna go back or somethin'?"

You flush red, eyes darting to the walls guilty, "A little bi—wah!"

There's a rush and the room morphs again. You would’ve fallen headfirst into a set of white sheets if it weren’t for the fact that you’re sat on Eijirou’s face.

"Hello beautiful~" the redhead singsongs from below, and you can't help but notice your bra is MIA as Katsuki takes a seat behind

you to run his hands up your sides to put the underside of your breasts.

"Pervert," you snort, though you figure you’re just as bad as he is with two of Eijirou's fingers deep in your pussy and Katsuki's hand on your clit. The redhead's leaving hickey after hickey on your inner thighs and you just try your damnest to not fall.

"Only for you," Eijirou winks cheekily, scissoring his fingers, and your hips stutter against his face when he slides his tongue in between.

"Fuckin' love the sounds you make," Katsuki grunts, before his other hand finds your neck and tightens. "And fuck you're so goddamn wet—you love this, don't you?"

You keen with a nod (and suppress the urge to say no shit, Sherlock), and Katsuki's pinching your clit between his two fingers, licking a fat stripe up your neck and chuckling when you shiver.

"What, your clients don't make you feel this good, Sweetheart?" Eijirou practically moans into your cunt, eyebrows folding when you thread your fingers through his hair and yank. "Bet that fifty was worth it, wasn't it?"

"Y-Yeah I—" you whimper, unable to get a sentence past your shuddering chest. "Guys, I'm gonna—"

The bedroom melts back into the kitchen, you're back in Eijirou’s jacket and not sat on his face. Your thighs and neck are hickey-less and yet, you're still so fucking horny.

"I hate you," you seethe, almost immediately, and Eijirou's grin is so wide it bends his eyes.

"Awe, you love me," he giggles and your frown only deepens as you reach for the ring—Katsuki snatches it out of arms way with a tut.

"Ah ah Princess, don't be greedy now," he purrs, but you couldn't give a shit about being greedy, and it shows in the way you quickly grab for it again. Katsuki passes the ring to Eijirou and it easily becomes a game of monkey in the middle.

"Give it—"

"I don't think so, Sweetheart," Eijirou says, pressing a big hand to your face to keep you from going any further. With a smirk, the redhead twists the ring, and suddenly you're full of him on the kitchen counter.

"Fuck baby, you're so tight," he curses behind grit teeth, sweat practically dripping off his shoulders in rivulets as he pushes your face into the kitchen island so hard it's numb. So are your knees. "You're so pretty like this—shit—"

You barely have the room to whimper, let alone answer, and you find Katsuki perched on the opposite counter, weeping cock in hand. The redhead chuckles as you struggle to take all of him, hips squirming as he aims for places you've never been able to hit on your own. "I'd stick your tongue back in your mouth if I were you, Sweetheart. The money’s a little dirty, don't you think?"

And that's when you realize your knees are elevated upon two stacks of green, possibly some of what Katsuki had been counting earlier, and a twenty swims in a pool of drool under your cheek.

"Oh, but I don't think you care," Eijirou grunts, shoving your face deeper into the marble countertop as his hips speed up. "Dirty fuckin' girl. Bet you'd do anything for a fifty."

"I wanna fuck her," Katsuki rushes as if his mouth moves before he can speak. Eijirou wheezes a laugh.

"What, I can't enjoy this?"

"No,” the ash-blond grunts.

"Hmm..." Eijirou debates, though his hips never stop as he gives Katsuki a look and goes, "How about no?"

Katsuki growls at that, and you find your fingers clumsily twisting the ruby on the ring that sits on Eijirou's finger, sending the three of you flinging further into the future.

"Fuck!"

"This isn't the future I was referring to, but I'm not complainin'," Katsuki grunts with a feral grin. You nearly slip due to all the water in the shower and you're positive that you see the sunrise through the window paint Eijirou's skin gold.

"I gotcha, Sweetheart," Eijirou soothes, rubbing a hand up and down your arms while your nails dig into his shoulders, the red lines jagged from how roughly Katsuki fucks you from behind. "Fuck—you're doing so good for us, taking him so well."

You whimper and Katsuki lands a heavy slap on your ass—heavy to the point where you nearly knocks both you and the redhead into the tile behind him. Eijirou's calloused hands find your clit fairly easily, and that's enough to almost send you over the edge, pussy fluttering around Katsuki's cock.

"She's gonna cum," Katsuki grunts. "Can fuckin' feel it."

"Uh oh," the redhead singsongs, turning to you with a grin. "Were you trying to be slick, Sweetheart?”

Though it's difficult, you lift your head, eyes swimming in unshed tears as you choke, "I—n-no, it's jus—"

You're in the bedroom again—this time your back comes in contact with a dresser, metal rattling from the weight Eijirou slams you into it with. The redhead supports you both with two feet planted into the floor and a hand around your waist, grunting into your ear with an exhaustion that implies you've got to be at this for hours.

"Ei-Eiji—"

"I know, Sweetheart," the redhead coos breathlessly, licking up the sweat that runs down your neck. "Just a few more times, okay? Hold on for just a little longer."

You sob, head thunking against the wall as you realize you have no idea where Katsuki is. Though it's only a fleeting thought because before you know it, Eijirou's dropping you to your feet, bending you in half, and railing you into the wall.

"Goddamn," he grunts, sharp teeth digging into his bottom lip, "this is—this is the best lay I've had in a fat second."

You pant a laugh, hands pressing into the wall to steady yourself, "Good—good to know the fifty bucks was worth it."

"Oh baby, it was more than worth it," Eijirou hikes your leg up as high as it'll go for a deeper angle and he gets it, his growl melting into a semi-chuckle as you squeal, thighs jumping.

"Fuck Ei!" You scream, and he's tugging your hair to straighten your back out.

"You like it rough, Sweetheart?" He pants into your ear, grabbing your neck for a better grip. You nod as much as you can.

"Y-Yeah—I—" Eijirou drops you until you're stood at a perfect 90-degree angle, "I need—need'ta cum, p-please—"

"Twist the ring, Sweetheart," He pants, resting his hand on the wall next to yours. It still glints gold on his fourth finger in the moonlight, "Get us there together, yeah?"

You don't have to be told twice.

"Mph!"

"Fuck!”

Your knees dig into a mattress again as Katsuki fills your mouth. With his cock down your throat and Eijirou's buried deep in your cunt, there isn't much you can do but take both of them at the same time—though you're positive that's what they intended.

"Shit, me too." Eijirou wheezes a chuckle as his hips piston into you, his sweaty chest sticking to your back while he reaches between your thighs to rub your clit. That’s enough to send you flailing over the edge, moan muffled by Katsuki’s slowly softening cock. Then, with a devilish grin (and before the redhead can cum) Katsuki reaches for the ring on Eijirou’s finger and twists it.

“You asshole,” Eijirou groans, and suddenly you three are back in the shower, with Katsuki’s hips battering into yours as the redhead supports your weight from below. Katsuki chuckles before his grip tightens and he’s filling you with another load.

“C’mon Princess,” Katsuki grunts, reaching for your clit. “Come for us again.”

You choke again before you’re digging your head into Eijirou’s muscled chest with a moan, shaking from the aftershocks Katsuki continues to fuck you through them.

Until the room morphs, and you’re face down on the kitchen counter.

“Fucking finally,” Eijirou wheezes with a bitter chuckle, casually flipping Katsuki the middle finger as he's sat on the opposing counter. “Fuck, you're shaking baby, you gonna cum with me? Yeah?“

Eijirou batters into your cervix and that's the catalyst for your third orgasm. You squeeze so tight you think you may have knocked the wind out of the redhead when his chest crashes into your back, and you open your eyes just in time to see the kitchen melt into the bedroom again—in a time you all have yet to visit.

Your legs are thrown over Katsuki’s shoulders as he pushes your back deeper into Eijirou’s chest, both of their cocks filling you so much and so well it brings tears to your eyes. As your thighs quiver with an impending orgasm, Katsuki’s the first to fall off the edge, eyebrows furrowing as his nails dig into the meat of your thighs.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, voice fucked hoarse and lips bit pink. Eijirou nibbles into your shoulder with a gasp as his sweaty hand finds your clit again, neither of their hips ever stopping.

“Cum for us one more time, Sweetheart,” he pants into your neck before adding another hickey to the collection. Your chest shudders.

“I—I can’t—“

“Oh yes you fuckin’ can,” Katsuki growls, and you squeal as he tweaks a nipple. “I know you got one more in there. Give it.”

Your legs kick against his chest with a curse as you orgasm for the final time—this one much wetter than the last.

“Holy shit,” Eijirou nearly laughs, looking at where the three of you are connected. “Did you just squirt?”

“I—“ your face blends red when you see the absolute and utter mess that sits in Katsuki’s lap, before looking away with a determination to never see it again. “...Maybe.”

“Clean up?” Eijirou asks, eyes flickering to the ash-blond. Katsuki shrugs.

“Nah.”

A rush of wind and you’re sat on the kitchen counter. Eijirou’s jacket protects you from getting goosebumps due to a drop in temperature and though you do shiver, you find your body much more unscathed than it was.

“Hi,” Eijirou chuckles a little breathlessly.

“Hi,” you giggle back, a little nervous but in the best way. “So um...we do all of that tonight?”

“I guess so,” the redhead says a bit cheekily, raising an eyebrow. And then, with a wink, “Probably more.”

You stare at the ring on his hand in awe. Whoa.

"I fuck—fine, we can keep her, Shitty Hair," Katsuki grumbles from his spot near the kitchen sink, and despite the sour look on his face, you can't find a hint of it in his voice. Figures.

"Told you he'd say yes," Eijirou beams with a thumbs up.

"Can we...go do that stuff now?" You ask, albeit a bit hesitantly because...well, usually people are asking to have sex with you. Is this how they feel?

"Of course we can, Sweetheart," the redhead beams, before taking the ring off to place it onto the counter. "It was all a part of the future, after all."

#— 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 #— 𝐄𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐔 #bnha smut #mha smut #bakugou smut #kirishima smut #tw.blood #tw.guns

669 notes · View notes

sweettodo · 3 years

Text

best friends dad.

levi ackerman x freader.

includes : dub con - [ age gap ] , smut, swearing, daddy kink, squirting. pretty much porn with no plot.

wc : 2,7k

a/n, thank you for 600 followers !!! <33 i love every single one of you.

••

She's your best friend, your closest ally, your soul sister.

She has been there with you through thick and thin, since youth, you two took showers together as children, ate off the same plate, went on countless vacations, share the same clothes. What would your life be without her?

Your behavior prevails to be horrendous.

It catches you when you're alone, or when there's nothing to distract you. Creeping up, lingering around your soul- guilt- quite the foe.

You lay on your bed, shame depleting you the more you remained in silence, left alone with your thoughts. Staring at the soft white ceiling, the sun scarcely pouring through the cracks of the shades, rendering it impossible to fall back asleep.

It was eating you alive, it was driving you nuts, you were so selfish. It was too late to go back on this.

And this isn't even the worst part of it all...

Your fathers are best friends, also close since childhood. Being neighbors, your mothers were close too, you all were practically family.

Hence, it boils down to one thing- one simple, and easy question.

That being, why was your 'second father' mere inches away from you, naked, barely covered by a sheet, and sleeping in your bed?

Yet, as disgusted as you are with yourself, you're turning to face the sleeping man, placing a small kiss below his ear, his arms instantaneously fastening around your frame, pulling you closer to his body, he loves when you wake him up like this, you're both accustomed to this routine.

After all, you did sleep in the same bed more often than you'd like the admit.

Living alone in your apartment made it easier for the both of you to be with each other, though your best friend resided here, she was at college, living in a dorm out of state for extended periods.

He told his wife and other children the ridiculous excuse, 'I'll be back in a week or so, on business' and he'd come straight to you. Always. With take-out dinner, a duffle over his shoulder, and a plethora of condoms in his pocket.

Call it disturbing, but it's almost perverse to give his wife kudos, 'no wonder you tied the knot.' because shit, you wish you could.

No one knows about the infidelity, so it was fun to sneak around; since becoming an adult, that's when family dinners with the neighbors took a turn, your body filled with a mix of excitement and angst almost every Friday.

He always sits next to you, to your right, hand secretly placed on your thigh under the tablecloth. He finds himself unable to resist your body.

The second you turned eighteen he was ready to pounce, he couldn't take his eyes off you.

He's so good at what he does, he knows how to sneak around, he always plays his cards right, he knew you couldn't resist the temptation; the temptation of your best friend's father.

•

How it started was almost too cliché.

•

"Hey, is y/f/n home? We're supposed to be getting ready to go out, she's not answering my texts."

"She's not home, likely caught up at work."

You nod, "how about you come in and wait?" he allows you in, "what's the occasion?" he laughs, plopping down on the couch, you sit on the other side, placing your dress, makeup bag, and shoes on the floor beside your feet.

"A friend's birthday dinner, she just turned eighteen." He smiles, looking back at the television, "she's always making us late." You chuckle, your phone going off at the same time, Levi watching your thumbs frantically respond to the disappointing message.

"She won't be off for another few hours." Levi sighs, "I'll just hang out in her room until then."

"You can stay down here, you're not in my way." He quickly replies, you accept his offer and slip off your shoes.

"How's your mom?" he changes the topic, standing and walking out of the room towards the direction of the kitchen, "and your dad."

"Both good, how about you and-"

"Good." he interrupts, returning with a glass in his hands, likely a glass of whiskey, that was his go-to.

Oddly enough, you felt unsettled being alone with him, something inside of you remained nervous, but not necessarily a bad sentiment.

You didn't spend much time with Levi alone, most of the time it was with your father and y/f/n, so you sat quietly, both watching the screen mounted on the wall in front of you.

Little did you know, he was feeling the same way, awkward and nervy.

"Do you need to get ready at any particular time?" he cuts the silence.

"Uhm, I didn't expect to wait, because I have to shower."

He hums in agreement, "you can shower here if you want." You didn't even bat an eye, standing and saying 'okay', trotting upstairs towards your best friend's room, dropping all your belongings on the floor.

Leaving the room, you're opening the linen closet to retrieve a towel and head straight for the bathroom.

This was your second home, why leave the bathroom door locked while you showered?

His leg tapped in anticipation, he knew now was such a perfect time, he had to do something about how he was feeling.

Levi told himself that this feeling would pass, he was disgusted in himself.

The first time he found himself with his hand wrapped around his cock, making himself cum to the thought of his daughter's best friend.

He had never thought about you sexually, it was almost like a switch was flipped when you came home, stumbling drunk with his daughter the night of your birthday to avoid your own parents, you were now an adult, and that's when things changed.

He thought about you in so many twisted ways, and the fetish only grew- it grew day by day, month by month.

Now, you were only a few months shy of nineteen, in college, in your own living space, independent, he loved it; and every day, he prayed to God he'd stop feeling so guilty about his vices.

But he was trapped, stewing on his thoughts before he went to bed at night, on the way to work, waking up in the morning- he only thought about you. He needed to do something.

He found his feet quickly moving up the stairs, entering his bedroom, and pacing, this was sure as hell a tough dilemma, but he knew he could get you to see it too.

"Levi, I- uh, need some help."

Like it was a blessing, a foot in the door, he's now knocking before you allow him in, you stand there only in a towel, hair wet and your body dripping with water, "the thing won't turn off, I'm sorry."

He could barely swallow, "I'll fix it."

The hot steam made him overwhelmed, the fresh smell of the strawberry-scented body wash that you had after your shower was sending him into a frenzy.

You stood there, watching him turn the hot water off, you acknowledged how close you were to him, naked except for the towel, he was so close to your legs, your wet body.

He stood straight after fixing the faucet, wiping his hands on his shirt, "thanks."

You step around him, down the hall, and towards your friend's room, "y/n," turning, Levi's there, in the hallway, a few feet behind you, "I need to talk to you."

He knew now was the only time he could fix this disgusting fixation he has on you.

You pursued him, you followed him straight to his bedroom, you allowed him to close the door behind you; you felt his hands grab your own, pinning them above your head against the wall.

You allowed him to kiss you, you kissed him back, and you savored the taste of him. It was almost like you didn't allow your mind to register what you were doing.

"I've been meaning to do this." He breathes, catching up on his lack of oxygen.

You didn't say anything, your towel was coming loose, his free hand encircling around the small of your back, pulling you against him, "Levi." You uttered, his head dips down, kissing your lips as he's whisking you off your feet and onto his shared bed with his wife.

Your legs wrap around his waist, his elbows propped up beside your head, his tongue swiping across your lip, you do the same, what the fuck were you doing?

You pull away from him, "Levi- this is bad." Hand pressing against his shoulder, pushing him off of you gently, "this is so bad."

He moves his hand through his hair, "no one has to know."

"I gotta' go get dressed," yet your legs don't move, "fuck- fuck this is bad, she's gonna hate me."

"No, no she won't," he objects, pushing you onto your back, "you want it, don't you?"

Your stomach was doing backflips, nauseated almost. You saw his tight body, you've always loved it- like a father.

You felt his cock between your legs instants earlier, you didn't comprehend just how willing you were; how wet you were between your legs.

"Let me show you," throwing off his shirt, "don't worry, no ones gonna know,"

He sees the look on your face, stunned.

"Don't you trust me?" your head was spinning.

"I do."

Your head is pushed onto his pillow, making sure he doesn't strip you of your towel just yet.

The feeling of performing something so bad, so disturbing, so sinful, it was driving you nuts, your stomach twisted, filled with butterflies as you saw the man strip in front of you. This was really happening.

"Open."

Your legs open, but you hold your towel down, feeling his eyes bore into you, "you can show me."

His hands open your legs, gasping, he's kissing you again, laying between your legs with just his boxers severing the direct touch.

"God, this fucking body."

The towel slipping down your chest, his hands instantly cupping your tits, the now, cold droplets of water from your shower making your nipples twice as hard, he smiles, "you've always been so beautiful- so innocent too, you know that?" his hands trail down your sides, feeling your flesh in his palms, up to your thighs.

You felt so dirty, you wanted more, you wanted him to touch every inch of your body, you wanted to feel secure and full, "you want me to touch you don't you. You want it?" he sees your pleading eyes, he sees how hungry you looked, he brings his hand to your beck, squeezing your jugular, "say it, use your words.”

“I do, but y/f/n, Levi.” Your words meant one thing, but your actions were proving another. You didn't know how much you needed this- how much you longed to be touched by a man who helped raise you.

It made you sick, but fuck, it felt so good, “you want it, just as I do,” he pulls back, taking his hand and forcing open your mouth, “here.”

He wet his fingers with your saliva, ripping the towel that barely covered your lower half. “Look at how pretty, so wet too.”

You hiss, his finger pressing down against your clit, your thigh spasming from the harsh pressure against your nerves, “I’m gonna make you cum, you want that, right?”

“Yes, please make me cum.” You plead, his thumb still pressing hard against your bud, “f-fuck!” your legs slamming around his arm.

“Open those legs, I didn't say you could close them.” He commands, getting a better look at your pussy, his hand moving down the threads of his boxers with his free hand, cock springing from his constraints.

“Spit.” He steals more alive from your tongue, using it to lubricate his cock; he was thick, girthy with few veins decorating up the bottom to right below the tip. His chest heaving, hands pinning up your thighs, your legs wide open for him to see.

You whined, his throbbing tip teasing you by soaking up your slick, he was so painfully hard- the way he knocked against the tight hole in front of him.

“You want my cock? You want your other daddy to fuck you, huh?” You nod, eyes begging with every ounce of your entity.

You nod desperately, “please- fuck me.”

He obeys, gripping your thighs, pressing them upwards as he’s leaning down towards you, slowly sliding past your entrance.

Splitting you open, immense pressure brings you to screams, your eyes screwed shut as you spit out the man's name.

“Can barely fit- fuck.” His shoulders lax, cock seeping deeper into your pussy.

He pushes back and forth into you, the sound of your pussy juicing around his cock filled the room as you two take in the feeling of each other's touch.

“S’big- so big, Levi.” Your tongue lols out, he takes it as a welcome to capture your lips, sucking on your tongue as you mewl against his mouth.

He pulls away from you, “say my name,” he groans, “say it, what's my name?” his cock filling you so well, you could say many things; tears brimming your eyes as he's stabbing your cervix with his tip.

You wail, gasping for air, “daddy- please harder!”

His hips piston into you, slamming against yours as he's speeding up, cock ramming into you senselessly, harder thrusts when he hears you call him by his name, fucking you stupid.

“Go on and cum all over my cock, you're so close- fuck- you keep squeezing me-” he can barely contain himself.

But he keeps pace, the sweet spot in the depths of your pussy being abused, pussy squelching with every rut of his wide hips.

You're so close, inching closer towards release, a mantra of his name rolling out of your mouth, you feel so full, packed to the fucking brim.

The weight of his body on top of yours, cock reaching impossible lengths inside of you, sweat dripping down his forehead, chest glistening with sweat, “so good, creaming all over my dick, yeah? You love it.” He boasts, you whined, mouth agape.

“So close- daddy- so close.”

“Do it, you're so tight- fuck, can't get over it.”

The coil in your stomach tightening, your body going numb as he rips an incredible orgasm out of your weak body, “that's right, squirt all over my cock, God this pussy s’ fuckin’ amazing.”

He slowed down, bearing his high, watching as your cum drips down your pussy, his thighs and stomach soaked with your essence as it drips down his thighs. Amazed at the sight, he continues to steadily fuck into your convulsing walls, you're body shaking from the debilitating orgasm.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your eyes surrounded by a starry white, wet noises driving Levi closer to climax, the sheets below the both of you soaked, “open those eyes.” He commands.

You open your eyes, legs squeezing tighter around his sides, “you’re gonna swallow my cum, right baby?” he sees you nod your head, needy to taste him down your throat.

He provides you with a few strong thrusts, before slowly pulling out of you, your hand quickly wrapping around the base of his cock, rolling out your tongue like a whore.

You take his tip on the pad of your tongue, swirling around, his eyebrows scrunching from the sensitive touch, “fuck, so fuckin’ perfect,” hand coming down to caress your head before dipping his fingers between the- still wet hair from your shower.

He twitches, releasing his load in your mouth, the salty taste tainting your tastebuds, he watches it coat your tongue, catching his breath as he's seeing you swallow every drop of cum, his thumb strokes across your bottom lip, smirking.

“Look at the mess you made, now I have to clean these sheets.” Gripping your hair between his digits, he's pushing your head down to look at the damp sheets, you gnaw on your bottom lip.

He pushes you back down on the bed, sloppily kissing your red and swollen lips once more.

“That cunt is just as good as I thought it was.”

#levi smut #levi ackerman #levi aot #smut #levi x reader #attack on titan smut #attack on titan levi #aot #attack on titan #lemon

723 notes · View notes

jakesdeviatedseptum · 3 years

Note

Hey love

Can you do a fluffy Sam imagine about being long distance or something

Thank youuu

SUGAR BABE

Honestly not sure if this is what you were hoping for, I kinda got a little carried away but I hope you like it none the less :))

Sam kiszka x Reader

- in which Sam is away on tour and your longing for him brings up past memories.

No warnings that I know of

Word count : 1.2K

Quiet. The house was quiet, so quiet that the silence made your ears ring and head pound. Pressure was building up in the front of your face, looking down at the mug in your hand the once steaming coffee ran cold. The pressure began to be released as droplets of salty tears plopped down into your mug, creating waves ricocheting to the ends of the ceramic. The house was never quiet, not since Sam had moved in with you. His voice would be bouncing from wall to wall, traveling down every corridor, slipping through the gaps beneath closed doors. His presence demanded to be known no matter where he was, you couldn’t ignore it, and you would never want to. With Sam came a sense of warmth, love, peace, happiness. You liked to describe it as honey, it would flow to every person in the room, stick to them, and give them the sweetest non-physical hug they’d ever receive.

Abandoning your Lukewarm coffee, you stand up from the kitchen bar, stool legs screeching across the wooden floor. Your naked feet pad against the ground as you make your way into the music room. This room used to be your office, as a college student you found it helpful to have a space to dedicate your studies to. Essays, powerpoints, Thesis statements, and the occasional interview, this was your space, that was until Sam begged you to let him make a music room out of it.

“Babe, please, you’ll love a music room even more than an office! An office is just boring, a music room will be fun! Come on.” Sam followed you through the hallway as you made your way to the laundry room with a hamper full of clothes in your arms. “Sam, I’m not an artist like you, I can’t play a single instrument let alone sing, tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do with a music room?” Your frustration grew, tossing the clothes in the washer along with a tide pod, you slammed the lid closed and turned to face Sam. His bottom lip was stuck out and he had his puppy dog eyes on full display. “If we had a music room instead of an office I wouldn’t have to go to the studio as much, the guys could just come over here and we can do all the writing and composing! We’d only have to go to the studio to record.” You huffed in a breath and blew it out once your lungs were full. Sam knew this was your soft spot, deep down you wished he had a ‘normal’ career, the constant studio sessions, interviews, photo shoots, meetings, and tours. There was always something or someone dragging Sam away from you. Don’t get it twisted, you loved that he was able to achieve such greatness, you were so incredibly proud of him. His love for music was endless and it made you so happy to know he loved doing it. But you missed him. “Fine, but you're paying for everything, I also want to pick out the paint colors, and you're buying me dinner tonight.” Giving into his pleas you turn to walk out of the laundry room, but instead a bear hug from Sam stops you in your tracks as he picks you up and twirls you around. “Fuck yeah, thank you my lady, i love you so much.” He sets you down and grabs your face to plant a kiss on your lips. “I guess I love you too.” You mumble smirking into the kiss.

The memory washes over you as you run your hand along the shelves of records. Most of them belonged to Sam, but you could proudly say you owned a handful. You pause at the Stephen Stills 2 records. One was Sam’s copy, the other was yours. You smile thinking back to the first time you and Sam met. It was all because of the song “Sugar Babe” by Stephen Stills.

You sat in the booth to the very back of the old fashioned 70’s retro diner. Your friends were supposed to be here an hour ago to go over the take home assignment due in two weeks. You spun the quarter on the table eyeing the Jukebox towards the front of the restaurant. Finally deciding to buy a song you stand up from the booth, momentarily leaving your burger and fries alone. Your hand brushes against another’s when you reach to insert the quarter. Looking over you notice a boy around your age. Shoulder length hair, arched eyebrows, defined nose, and soft eyes. He was gorgeous to say the least. “Sorry, but I’m pretty sure I got here first, you can just buy a song after mine finishes.” He says with a smile as he pushes your hand out of the way and drops his quarter in the slot. His smile stunts you for a second, but you quickly come back to your senses and stretch your arm across the Jukebox and press number 37. As the Jukebox starts to play “Sugar Babe” by Stephen Stills, you look back at the boy with a smile of your own. You toss your own quarter in his direction, which he catches with ease. “Sorry, my hand slipped, guess you just have to wait until this song is over.” You shrugged your shoulders innocently as you backpedaled back to your booth. He looked at you with a wide smile and shook his head. “Wait” he walked up to your booth and slid into the opposite side. “Take your quarter back, I was actually going to play that song anyways.” He rolled the quarter from across the table, it crashed into the side of your plate and wobbled around until it fell flat. He folded his hands into themselves and rested them on the table, looking at you with an amused expression he started, “what does a pretty lady like you know about Stephen Stills?”

Smiling as you place the vinyl on the record machine, you drop the needle and sit on the velvet chair in the corner of the room. Pulling out your phone you go straight to the contact “Lover boy” and press the green call button. “Hey babe, we’re just about to head into an interview. What's up?” His voice is like medicine, healing your aching heart. “I was just missing you, wanted to hear your voice.” You say, your grip on the phone tightening as if it’ll make you feel closer to him. On the other side of the line Sam hears the music playing from the record machine, he smiles to himself as he starts to sing along to the tune in the background “Folks ain’t made to live apart, people need love, people need trust, people need one another and that means us, sugar babe.” You smile, a faint laugh escapes your throat as tears fall from your eyes. “I’ll be home soon, just a couple more weeks, think you can wait a couple more weeks for me love?” In the background on Sam’s end of the call you can hear Danny tell him he has 2 minutes until the interview starts. You nod your head yes in response to his question, “There’s no amount of time that I wouldn’t wait for you Sam, I love you.” You wipe your face from the reminisce of your previous tears, “I love you too babe, I’ll call you tonight.” You hear Sam blow a kiss through the phone, followed by the disconnected tone.

#greta van fleet imagine #sam kiszka #sammy kiszka #sam kiszka imagine #sammy kiszka imagine #long distance #request #Greta Van fleet #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #danny wagner #imagine #jake kiszka imagine #josh kiszka imagine #danny wagner imagine

139 notes · View notes

lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years

Text

Baby Broke Down In My Bed Again

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: this came to be because 1. I wanted to try and write a more sanguine, less patient reader 2. @minaslittleone do you remember a long time ago when we agreed that someone with as much self-hatred as Wilhemina probably had moments when sex wasn’t bearable, or something like that? Well, I decided to write a fic about it. Reader x W’s relationship has been going on for quite a while in this one, because I wanted a less guarded, more trusting and forgiving Wilhemina.

Word count: ≈ 8 700

You collapsed on the bed with a groan and let your body sink into the mattress. It had been such a long, boring and yet incredibly busy day, that had made you feel way older than your years. All you wanted now was to forget about it entirely and let warmth and content take over.

Wilhemina was tucked in on her side of the bed, reading a book. She had been particularly quiet this evening, seemingly lost in her head, had played with her food and answered your questions with short, annoyed sentences. You had let her be, given her space, regularly glancing at her for any sign of pain, but her back didn’t seem to be the trouble. She had helped you clear the table, and the soft brush of her hand against your arm had felt like a silent apology.

Now you snuggled up to her side, curling your body to fill all the gaps between you and her, and planting soft kisses on the bare skin between her collarbones.

“What are you reading?” you whispered, draping one arm over her stomach to pull her closer.

“Still the same book,” she answered, rather curtly.

You peered up at her, planted more kisses along her collarbone, then buried your face in her neck. Your eyes fluttered closed. She was so warm, so incredibly soft and safe, your safe place; you felt the tension slowly leave your body, and be replaced with sweet, happy content that nestled cozily in your stomach.

Home. In the past year you and her had built your home together. You had painted your walls in her colors and she had filled her rooms with your laughter. By now you knew by heart which parts of her floor creaked when you put your foot on it, which parts of her body to press your fingers on to make her moan.

“Will you read to me?” you whispered against her skin.

It came out too muffled for her to understand. She made a questioning noise, but it bore so much annoyance you decided against repeating your question. Instead, you slipped your fingers under her night shirt and started stroking slow circles on her stomach, the softness of her skin sparking a low fire where there had been only warmth.

You snuggled closer to her still, nudging her neck with your nose and breathing her in. She was intoxicating, you thought, as you planted soft, lazy kisses that lingered longer on her skin as your brain slowly awoke to a growing need, so ridiculously intoxicating; you pushed yourself up on one elbow for better access as you trailed kisses up her neck, your other hand sliding up to caress the swell of her right breast.

Wilhemina set her book aside, which made you smirk victoriously. You sucked on the skin over her pulse point just as she lay one hand on your shoulder, and was about to flick your thumb over her nipple when she gently pushed you away.

There was surprise in your eyes when you met hers. Wilhemina was so incredibly hungry for affection she rarely rejected it when you so eagerly offered it to her.

You scanned her face, your breathing quick and expectant.

Wilhemina held your gaze and shook her head. “Not tonight, Y/N.”

She didn’t look annoyed anymore, just sad. It was this sadness that silenced the protestations tingling on your tongue.

You swallowed down disappointment and planted one last kiss on her collarbone before lying down again, with your face mere inches from her shoulder. You closed your eyes, forced yourself to take a few deep breaths till the heat in your head and in-between your legs was back under control.

“Are you okay?” you whispered.

“Of course I am,” she retorted, but the tone of her voice betrayed her.

Her voice was always softer in the evening. There was a warm fondness to it that let giggles and chuckles and secrets go through almost unimpeded. Four months or so into your relationship, she had allowed herself to take off parts of her armor and hang them next to her coat after she had closed the front door to her place or yours. Weapons were set on the floor, and the weight of them replaced with the weight of your body on top of hers.

But tonight, she was using the voice which to your ears sounded like the low, threatening growl of faraway thunder. Meant to warn, to intimidate, to make you duck your head and run away.

For a few minutes you lay in silence, watching her.

“Do you want to keep on reading?” you asked eventually.

“No.”

“Should we turn off the light, then?”

“Don’t you need to get off first?”

The spite and harshness of her voice had you reeling for a second. You pretended it didn’t hurt.

“Excuse me?”

Wilhemina’s eyes met yours, dark and glazed. “Don’t you need to get off first?”

This time, her voice wasn’t spiteful but mocking, condescending. That made it even worse.

“No,” you answered, gaze boring into hers, “I don’t need to get off first.” You paused. “Did something happen today?”

“Nothing happened today,” Wilhemina snapped.

You swallowed back anger, forced your voice to stay calm. “Then what is it?”

“What is what?”

“Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

With a groan you closed your eyes and rolled away from her, reaching out to turn off the bedside lamp.

The darkness only increased your anger. You lay fuming with your back to her, curled in on yourself and cursing that brain of hers that was so ridiculously stubborn and scared and hurt. There was no talking to her when she was behaving like this and yet it was killing you, not knowing how to help her even after a whole year of loving her.

And what troubled you was, she had opened up to you before. Not enough times that you couldn’t count them on the fingers of one hand, but still. And you couldn’t begin to understand why tonight she had decided to shut you out.

You heard her shift behind you. Before you knew what you were doing, you were turning on the light again and sitting up.

“Talk to me,” you said – maybe a bit too harshly, but you couldn’t do better.

Wilhemina slowly opened her eyes to meet your gaze.

“I have nothing to tell you,” she said slowly and quietly, “except that if you need to get off, the bathroom –”

“What happened today?” you cut her off.

Wilhemina’s face hardened. “I told you before,” - voice slower still, and mocking, mocking so cruelly as if she were talking to a moron -, “nothing happened today.”

“I’m not turning off the light until you’ve talked to me.”

She smirked. “Suit yourself. I can sleep just fine with the light on.” And with that, she closed her eyes.

You huffed, staring down at her disbelievingly. For a minute you waited, refusing to believe she was going to end the conversation like this. But she didn’t move, didn’t make a noise. You watched the slow, regular rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, almost mesmerized, then groaned.

Hot-tempered, your parents had always called you. You knew they were right, and you had been successfully working on it. But tonight, something in you snapped.

You had been so patient with Wilhemina. Taken one step forward, two backwards. Braved the storm, kneeled down and extended one hand toward the terrified and the abandoned shivering in the rain. But tonight, you let the anger win.

So, with your heart pumping fire instead of blood and its smoke filling your head, you lay down on your back, spread your legs open and touched yourself.

And you started to moan. Loud, exaggerated moans, and you made a show of moving your hips so hard the bed creaked.

“Fuck,” you cried, moving your wrist in fast circles that brought you no pleasure at all, “hmm,” biting your lower lip and closing your eyes; you slipped your hand lower down, and forced a finger inside. “Fuck,” you screamed, “I haven’t been fucked so good in months!”

Stop it, a voice pleaded somewhere deep inside your head. You ignored it. You bucked your hips against your hand, slid your other hand up your body to tease your nipple. As you forced another exaggerated moan out of your mouth, you increased the pace between your legs, anger making you desperate for release and increasing with every second you were denied it.

You pushed another finger inside, wincing at the pain, and rubbed harder at your clit, demanding pleasure. You tensed your muscles to help your body reach its climax; and then, finally, finally, felt pleasure build and build and sweep over you. As your body gave a few weak shakes you remembered to arch your back and to cry out, “Yes! God! I haven’t felt so good in so long!”

With a dramatic sigh you let your body fall back on the mattress and brought one hand up to your forehead. There was a drumming in your ears, and something unpleasant that nudged in your chest. You closed your eyes, feigning exhaustion, forcing your chest to heave, and waited a few seconds before you stole a glance at Wilhemina.

She hadn’t made a single noise, nor moved an inch, during your little show. She was still lying on her back, barely breathing, eyes wide open and unblinking. The only thing that proved she was still alive was the tension in her shoulders and the tightness in her jaw.

In the following silence, the smoke in your head cleared. The drumming in your ears slowed down, the tingling between your legs disappeared; but the thing in your chest grew. It grew and crushed your heart till it became hard to breathe.

You were about to say Wilhemina’s name when she slowly sat up in bed. She paused, her back to you, and reached out for her cane. Her hand was shaking.

You closed your eyes and listened to her footsteps as she fumbled about the room for a while, dropped something, picked it up; walked out. Her footsteps receded down the corridor; heels; and then, you heard the front door close.

Your flat was empty and silent when you got up at dawn the next morning. For a long moment you stood still in the middle of the room, not looking at anything in particular, dread gnawing at your insides.

You weren’t sure you could remember what had happened the night before. The pictures were too blurry. There were memories, but could they be real? You didn’t want them to be. Everything you could remember had anger and cruelty woven into it, things that had ugly faces and smiled ugly, selfish smiles.

The side of your bed where Wilhemina usually slept was unmade. You picked up her pillow, pressed it to your nose and breathed in her scent. Then you walked into your bathroom and saw with relief that her things were still there, the toothbrush and makeup products she always left at your place and whose sight you cherished every morning more than you cherished that of the rising sun.

You turned, walked into your living room. Her coat was gone, so were her shoes. There was no note on the table. In the sink still lay the two mugs you had been too lazy to wash the evening before.

On the verge of panic you picked up your phone and dialed Mutt’s number. He was a friend of a friend, and it had been thanks to him that you had first met Wilhemina all those years ago. Mutt’s idiocy and complete lack of maturity had, strangely, grown on you. You two sometimes spent drunken evenings together, watching movies and screaming at the screen every time something happened that was scientifically impossible. In the company of Mutt it was easy to be stupid, and gross, and mean. So, you thought, as you listened to the ringing tone, Mutt was the kind of person you needed right now: someone to confess your sin to without fear of being judged, for without a doubt he had, at one point in his life, done worse; someone that would give you such ridiculously bad advice you could, if you were lucky, withdraw a few crumbs of wisdom from the madness.

“The fuck, asshole,” Mutt barked into the phone, “have you seen the time?”

You closed your eyes, wincing. You could almost smell the alcohol in his voice. “Sorry, Mutt. I really need to talk to you.”

Mutt yawned, groaned, fell silent. All you could hear was the quick beating of your heart. The clamminess of your hand made the phone slippery, and your eyes were starting to sting.

“I, um,” you started. Took a breath, released it shakily. “So, possibly, I fucked up.”

There was a noise like another distorted yawn. “Babe, why am I not surprised.”

“Did something happen at work yesterday?” you asked.

“Yeah, Lily spilled her Starbucks on Jeff’s laptop and it made all the arms go ballistic –”

“I mean,” you cut him off, sniffling, “I mean with Wilhemina.”

Silence. A noise, as if Mutt was moving.

“Mutt?”

“Gimme a sec, I’m thinking. No, nothing that I can remember. Hey, did you know that –”

“Are you sure, Mutt?” you insisted. You felt the hot, wet lick of a tear as it trailed down your cheek. “Nothing that someone said that made her snap? Are you sure nothing –”

“She snaps at everyone 24/7, how am I supposed to know,” Mutt grumbled.

“I fucked up,” you sobbed into the receiver. Your body bent forward with the force of the guilt that finally washed over you. “Mutt,” you whined, “when she comes to work, could you tell her to call me?”

“You’re scaring me, Y/N,” Mutt said.

“Tell her to call me. Lock her up in her office or something until she agrees, Mutt, please. I can’t lose her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N, and it’s too early for this shit. But yes, yes, ok, I will. Not the lock her up thing. I don’t want to be caned.” There was a pause, as you sniffed and sobbed, not even caring to wipe your cheeks and nose, then Mutt added tentatively: “There’s a football game tonight if you want to come over and watch it with me. Don’t call, just barge in. Goodnight.” And with that he hung up.

You called in sick at work. You spent the day pacing up and down in your flat, occasionally throwing yourself on your bed or couch to sob.

Your phone never rang. Not that y ou really expected it to. But still – you had hope.

When the hands on your clock announced 3pm, you decided you couldn’t wait anymore, and drove to Kineros. You parked your car on the sidewalk. Somehow you managed to reach Mutt and Jeff’s office before security caught up with you. They narrowed their eyes at you, but sent the security guard off.

“When I said barge in,” Mutt started, “I meant my place.”

“I’m here to see Wilhemina,” you panted. “Is she in her office?”

“Yeah, but she warned her assistant not to let anyone bother her and I think –”

“I won’t be long,” you cut him off, rushing out of the room. One second later you were back. “Show me the way?”

Wilhemina didn’t look up as Mutt and you walked down the long corridor that led to her office. You scanned her figure worriedly, noting the vacant look in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders and the tight line that was her mouth as she typed quickly on her laptop.

“Babe,” Mutt started, “there’s –”

Wilhemina cut him off, slowly raising her head. “Do not let yourself think for a second that just because you –”

Her eyes fell on you.

Slowly, her mouth closed. You almost stopped in your tracks at the rage that ignited in her eyes.

“I’ll let you two lovebirds deal with your things, then,” Mutt said with a nervous laugh, before turning on his heels. You barely registered his departure.

For a few, long, painful seconds, you stood frozen in front of Wilhemina’s desk, your hands clutching the hem of your shirt, holding Wilhemina’s burning gaze and your whole body vibrating with love and fear and regret; and then, something in your chest burst, and you lurched forward.

“Mina I –”

“I told Lily to wait for you in the room next door,” she cut you off, voice low and so terribly slow.

You blinked. “Who’s Lily?”

“Mutt and Jeff’s favorite pleasure giver. Just the kind of human scum you need, as you made very clear last night.”

“You pushed me to it,” you mumbled half-heartedly.

Unfortunately, Wilhemina heard you.

Slowly, performing the precise balance exercise she had rehearsed thousands of times before, she stood up.

“Because you refused to speak to me,” you were quick to add. “You’re a human being, Mina, not an oyster –”

“You’re so fucking eloquent,” Wilhemina taunted. “If only you could control your emotions as well as you can express yourself.”

You took yet another step forward, your stomach pressing against the edge of her desk, as you felt the familiar hot tingle which meant anger had fought its way through the crowd of all the other emotions battling inside you, and had now reached the stage.

“If only you could actually express yourself,” you spat back, refusing to lower or avert your eyes no matter how painful it was becoming to hold her gaze. It was too intense, too furious and too dark. “Why are you doing this? Why are you shutting me out all of a sudden? I feel like we’re back on day one.” You leaned towards her in exasperation – and in hope, that maybe you could still reach her. Your eyes widened in a plea, your hands closed around the edge of her desk. “What’s going on? I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

Wilhemina’s face closed up even more at your words. The anger in her eyes disappeared under a thick veil.

“I don’t need your help,” she said, still as terribly, terribly slowly.

“I’ll go find Lily, then,” you fumed.

“You do that.”

Wilhemina’s eyes still expressed nothing at all, and it broke your heart, for that nothing wasn’t here to hide her anger. She had no problem letting anger show. That nothing was here to hide how badly she was hurting.

It made you want to break something. Anything, but mostly the walls around her heart. To hit your fists against them and to tear them down brick by brick and to crash your way into her.

And above all the rest rose a sense of helplessness, for you had no idea how to fix this. You had shot a perfect shot, hit the center of the target, the arrow’s head tearing through the heart. And as the hunter bends over their kill, you held Wilhemina’s blank, glazed eyes, and caught a glimpse of the damage you had done.

And then, a wave of revolt. For she had hurt you, too. Had refused to let you in and spat bitter words at you.

There were just too many things happening inside of you, too big a crowd of emotions. You were boiling and you didn’t know how to cool down.

You turned on your heel and were about to storm off when the crowd suddenly held its breath. Anger had bent down and helped frustration up onto the stage.

You turned around, fists clenched and eyes stinging. “I’m sure Lily will tell me more about herself in five minutes than you ever will in five years!” you burst out.

“Then why are you still here?” Wilhemina growled lowly. “Or are you too stupid to understand how one walks? One foot aft-”

“Because I love you!” you burst out. “This past year with you has been the best in my whole goddamn life and it kills me, that you won’t let me in.” You shook your head, briefly closing your eyes against the emotion that you could feel bubbling out of you. “I want to love you but you won’t let me,” you whined.

Wilhemina didn’t reply. She turned a shade pinker, but her lips stayed tightly shut and her eyes stayed veiled as she processed your words. When finally she spoke, her voice was laced with bitterness.

“You seem to think of yourself as the victim,” she said slowly, and a flicker of anger made its way out and shone in her eyes. ”I don’t know much about being loved,” spitting out the words as if they could kill her, “but I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to hurt like this.”

At first you thought the words had slipped unbidden from her lips. It still surprised you when she would confess to being in pain, physically or mentally. Of course there were signs you had learnt to recognise, a clenched jaw, glazed eyes, wanton snapping, but Wilhemina rarely gave her pain a voice. Pain was shameful. It had to be ignored and never, never to be processed.

But then, as you watched her, stunned, and her body hunched up as if she wished she could disappear, and her eyes turned vulnerable, the certainty settled inside you, painful but incredibly warm. It hadn’t been an accidental push, but a voluntary jump.

There was no uprising. Anger, frustration, the stage, suddenly vanished.

Without thinking you stepped around her desk, but stopped when Wilhemina took several steps backward.

Her name left your mouth in a broken plea, but she shook her head and then all of a sudden her façade shattered.

The quiver in her voice when she spoke next made your heart ache.

“I know I cannot ask for much but I thought – I thought in a relationship at least the most basic respect –”

She trailed off, jaw and mouth still working to form words her voice refused to carry.

You shook your head, blinking back tears. All the fight in you had disappeared; all that was left was a terrible sense of dread and guilt.

“No no no, Mina I… sweetheart of course you can ask for everything, I…”

Tentatively you took a step forward. This time, Wilhemina didn’t move. She was peering at you, chin uncharacteristically tilted downward, eyes getting shinier by the second.

You held up both hands in front of you.

“I didn’t mean it,” you heard yourself say. “You’re not inadequate, I – I didn’t mean any of it, Mina. Look at me,” you added forcefully, as her eyes moved to some random thing over your shoulder and threatened to glaze over again. “I swear I didn’t mean it. I got mad, and I fucked up, and I’m so, so sorry.”

Certainly your last few words were what Wilhemina had been dying to hear, for her shoulders suddenly slumped. Tears pooled in her eyes that she harshly wiped away before they had time to stain, and she let out a long, trembling sigh that seemed to take her strength away with it.

A strangled, mirthless laugh burst from your lips. Your arms fell limply to your sides.

You were too scared to even dare breathe properly. Scared that Wilhemina would order you away and refuse to ever see you again, or, more likely, that she would shut you out and retreat behind her walls, pretend she was alright, that nothing had happened and that she hadn’t even felt the prickle of the needle. But her face stayed open, her eyes vulnerable as she wiped at them repeatedly in an attempt to maintain her composure.

“Will you, uh.” You shifted your weight on your feet, unable to stay still for the sight of her so unguarded made you desperate to reach out and hug her. Gather up the pieces and glue them back together. “Will you let me pick you up from work tonight? I can drive you back to your place, and we can, if you want, talk.” Your chest hurt. You leaned towards her, your voice breaking on a sob. “I can make it right, Mina, I know I can. Please let me in – I’m so sorry.”

Wilhemina bit down on her lower lip to stop it from quivering. She nodded, and when her hand came up again to wipe her eyes, tears rolled between her fingers and down her cheeks.

Without thinking you extended your hand towards her, and briefly brushed her wrist with your fingertips.

“Okay,” she breathed, nodding, fingers still swiping at her face.

You peered up at her hopefully. “Okay?”

She nodded.

“Okay,” you laughed, so incredibly relieved you felt like bursting into tears.

A laugh left Wilhemina’s lips, too, sad and half-strangled. She moved her arm until it met your hand. Your fingers automatically wrapped around her wrist, thumb gently stroking her skin as she swiped at her eyes.

She looked smaller, and so much younger, a little girl who felt too much and had been unwillingly shoved into an adult’s body. You wondered if this was her with her soul stripped completely naked.

You had expected high walls built higher and stronger, defensive armies gone mad with wrath at the blow you had dealt - not an open gate. What had you done to deserve it? This was so unhoped for, so dearly cherished, whatever had triggered it, be it trust or love or both.

You weren’t sure how to express your gratitude. Weren’t sure you were worthy of such a precious thing as her trust. Your hands had never held a baby bird that fragile before.

You gave her wrist a squeeze. “I’ll leave you alone now,” you whispered, “and –”

“Actually would you mind –” She cut herself short. Her gaze searched yours for a second, pleadingly, begging you to understand without her having to resort to words.

“Yes?” you breathed, body leaning closer to hers so there was no more than one inch between her and you.

Her eyes met yours again, dark and sad and something in your chest like a string attached to your heart pulled towards her, desperate to hold with healing hands and soothing warmth.

“Could you –”

Again, she bit her lip against the words she wouldn’t allow herself to utter. You searched her eyes to try and understand as frustration flicked across her face, nails digging into flesh, lips twisting; until finally she released a breath and with it burst out, terrified and angry and shaking, “Would you mind just holding me for a second?”

She winced at her own words, her nails digging deeper into her skin in disgust as fresh tears pooled in her eyes. With your heart in your throat you wrapped your arms around her shoulders and pulled her close.

How easy it would have been to burst into tears and wail pitifully in her arms. God knew how badly you wanted to. But Wilhemina was being so brave, and you had to make it up to her for the way you had behaved, so you swallowed back your tears and forced yourself to take a deep breath to ease the ache in your chest.

You buried your face in Wilhemina’s hair, squeezing her so tight in your arms part of you was terrified you were hurting her - the other part didn’t care. Your fingers dug into her shoulders, and hers clutched the back of your shirt, her lips grazing the skin of your neck but not daring to press a kiss.

Her eyes were red and puffy when you met her gaze again. Gently you cupped her face, and dropped a kiss on each of her burning cheeks – then, tentatively, brushed your lips against hers.

A noise that was half a sob, half laughter pushed out of Wilhemina’s mouth and then her lips pressed against yours, hot and wet and needy but with a shyness to them, so hesitant, as if this was your first kiss and she was expecting rejection. You pressed your chest against hers to show her you were not going anywhere, slid your hand up her back and pushed your palm against her spine, a silent I want you, all of you. So Wilhemina nipped your lower lip, and only let herself relax when you hummed appreciatively.

You held her hand as she fought to regain her composure; straightened her shoulders, veiled her eyes, and shielded her heart. You accompanied her to the nearest bathroom, and gave her hand one last squeeze before you let go of it.

Mutt and Jeff peered up at you as you stomped into their office, collapsed into Mutt’s arms and finally let yourself burst into tears.

Mutt gave your back several awkward pats as you sobbed, clinging to him and wiping your eyes and nose on his shirt. Jeff’s awkwardness was almost palpable, and when you pulled away from Mutt, still sobbing, all he could think of was to offer you some coke, and then a drink when you refused.

“No,” you whined, “no, I need to stay sober. I need to make it right.”

“Jeez, did you kill someone?” Mutt asked, with a glance in Jeff’s direction and a guffaw to hide his nervousness.

“I thought about what you asked me,” Mutt went on after a few seconds. “Sorry, babe, but I can’t think of anything out of the ordinary that happened yesterday.”

To kill time you went on a walk, and ended up buying a huge bouquet of roses and dahlias for Wilhemina, as well as two boxes of fancy dark chocolates, a very fluffy lilac blanket, and two bottles of Wilhemina’s favorite wine. You stacked all those gifts in the backseat of your car, and walked back into Kineros at 6:30pm sharp.

Wilhemina was waiting for you in the lobby, sitting very straight on a chair, both hands tightly wrapped around the head of her cane.

“Oh shit,” you whined, “was it 6 today?”

She nodded. You poured out apologies, which she didn’t seem to hear as she slowly pushed herself up from her chair. You fell silent when you realised she had waited half an hour for you, despite it all. Something nice fluttered in your chest.

In the car Wilhemina’s eyes fell on her gifts, then shifted to you, questioningly, and her cheeks reddened when you explained it was all for her.

The drive was awkward. You turned the radio on to fill in the silence, opened your window because the air felt too hot, fidgeted on your seat and drummed on the wheel every time you had to stop at a red light. Several times you opened your mouth to speak, only to close it again.

Wilhemina’s hand was shaking when she opened her front door. You dumped all the gifts you had bought her on the sofa and hurried to help her out of her coat, and did she want you to make her some tea? Was she hungry? Would she rather you ran her a bath? You could make her dinner, her favorite dish, and if an ingredient was lacking you would run to the store so if she needed anything else you could buy it too, and -

“I don’t need anything, Y/N,” she cut you off, not meanly, but with a firmness to her voice and an absence of warmth that effectively made you shut up.

You stood still in the middle of her living room, not knowing what to do and mind running a mile a minute. While Wilhemina tended to the flowers, you decided to fluff and rearrange the pillows on her couch, and when you were done and couldn’t find anything else to do, you hurried to her and planted yourself at a safe distance behind her as you blurted out, “Mina, I’m so sorry.”

Wilhemina’s fingers stilled for a second over the flowers. She didn’t speak, didn’t nod, didn’t acknowledge your apology.

“What I did yesterday was terrible and I don’t know how to make it up to you,” you pushed on, voice quivering but still loud, for you were determined to mend whatever you could still mend. “I - I don’t know how to apologize properly to you, and I’m terrified I’m going to lose you.”

Silence. Your body felt hot suddenly, as if someone had sparked a fire within you. You ran one hand over your forehead nervously, heart drumming in your ears, peering at Wilhemina’s shoulders. Her ponytail fell neatly down her back, red frizz grazing the pale skin of her neck just below her hairline.

Silence lingered. Your eyes fell hopelessly to the floor.

“The gifts were a nice touch,” Wilhemina said.

You looked up at her, automatically took a step forward.

“Were they really? I’m so glad. I didn’t know if -”

“Nothing happened yesterday.”

You cut yourself short, mouth still open as you stared at her in surprise. From where you were standing behind her, you could only see the sharp lines of her left jaw, cheekbone and brow. She was staring fixedly at a rose, hands resting on the table on either side of the vase and supporting most of her weight.

“I passed a couple on the sidewalk and they laughed, and I couldn’t help but –” Her voice faltered, eyes closing in frustration. “I thought they were laughing at me.”

Quickly you closed the distance between her and you and leaned forward to take a better look at her face.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you breathed.

“Because it’s so stupid,” she spat, eyes still closed, anger making her voice tremble. “It’s so fucking stupid, Y/N. I know they could have been laughing at anything, but my stupid, stupid…”A hiss, one hand coming up to press her palm against her forehead.

“It’s not stupid,” you heard yourself say. Your fingers brushed her arm, a silent question, hopeful, tentative, your skin drawn to her warmth always. And just as she had done a few hours ago, she leaned into your touch, and your fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“It made me so incredibly…There was so much…” Her palm hit her forehead as a sob pushed out of her mouth. “It shouldn’t have affected me like that. I shouldn’t have let it. But there was so much… I couldn’t even bear you touching me like that,” she breathed.

“So much what?” you whispered, grazing your lips over her shoulder.

A long, shaky breath. You could almost hear the words screaming in Wilhemina’s head, pushing against the dam in her throat but not strong enough to break through it. Instead, she removed her hand from your grip, reached into her pocket, and slipped a small piece of paper into your hand.

“What’s this?” you asked.

You unfolded the piece of paper to find a phone number in Wilhemina’s handwriting.

Wilhemina sniffed, took a breath to speak. “It’s Lily’s.”

You looked up at her confusedly.

“For the days like yesterday,” Wilhemina explained. Her gaze fled yours, sad and ashamed, before meeting it again. The hand that had been touching yours mere seconds ago now wrapped around the head of her cane and dug into it. “For the nights I can’t satisfy you.”

For a moment you stared at her, unable or unwilling to process her words, while she shrank back further away from you. For a moment there was only white noise in your head.

And then something hot rose inside you, familiar and hated and too strong.

So, hold on – hold on.

“Is that what you want?” you said – too angry. You were losing control again, brain filled with smoke and it felt like you were listening to yourself speak instead of thinking the words. “You want me to fuck somebody else?”

The words boomed through the room. Louder and scarier than thunder. Wilhemina and you were left staring at each other, too small and too helpless to face something that big and that powerful.

You watched as Wilhemina’s face hardened by the second, drawbridge being raised against the assault. “Of course not,” she said.

“Then why the hell would you give this to me?” you spat, waving the piece of paper in her face.

Wilhemina fought for a second more, before her face crumpled and her gaze dropped to the floor. “I told you,” she whispered, arm coming up to hug herself.

The gesture made something break in you. Some of the smoke in your brain cleared out through the crack.

“You’re a blithering idiot,” you heard yourself hiss. It sounded half-convinced, but it made Wilhemina wince anyway. “If you think I’d want that,” you added.

“And you’re as stupid as you look,” Wilhemina hissed back weakly, “if you get mad at me for trying to help you.”

“I’m mad because you seem to have such a low opinion of me,” you grumbled, crossing your arms against your chest.

“I know there are human needs, which one who is in a relationship is expected to-”

“My ‘human needs’ do not control me.”

A faint, mirthless laugh. “Of course they don’t.”

“They don’t.”

“Right.”

“Yes, right.”

Silence.

The last of your anger was fizzling out. You could still feel it crackling faintly in your upper body, but the last embers were being stifled by something colder and heavier.

The silence buzzed in your ears.

Stubbornly you held Wilhemina’s gaze, trying to look mad, but your fists were unclenching, and it was sadness – it was sadness, taking over. And with it came a sudden sense of exhaustion.

You didn’t want to fight anymore. You wanted to pretend everything was alright, close your eyes and go to sleep. And in the morning the sunshine would have driven out past mistakes, selfishness and hurt, and you would get up with a happy heart and music in your head.

Your gaze wavered. You pretended to examine the piece of paper in your hand, but your vision was swimming, and the clamminess of your palm had smudged the ink. There was a shape that must have been a zero but now looked like a battered eight, and the last two numbers you couldn’t venture to guess what they had been.

You ran your thumb over those broken remnants of Wilhemina’s neat handwriting. Wondered what she had been feeling, when she had pressed the nib of her pen on paper, and had her hand shaken at all? Some people talked with their hands, Wilhemina’s had a language of their own. They would fidget and brush and grab and claw, and they would shake – and you would hold.

Always, dear Lord, always – you had promised.

You glanced up at Wilhemina again, to find her looking back at you, tears flickering their way down her cheeks.

“Should we, er.” You paused, looking down at the floor again. “Should we have dinner?”

You weren’t sure Wilhemina would play along. But when you gathered enough courage to glance up at her, she was wiping her cheeks, and she nodded.

Wilhemina disappeared into the bathroom while you cooked pasta. Your hands moved on auto-pilot, your brain too numb and too tired to think. You were dumping bits of butter into the pasta when Wilhemina emerged, hair down and body wrapped in a long-sleeved, loose-fitting, thin periwinkle nightdress you had bought her a few months ago.

The fact that she had chosen this nightdress in particular made fresh tears pool in your eyes. It felt like a peace offering, an extended hand you were only too eager to hold. You placed a plate on the table in front of her, and whispered something about her looking very nice. Wilhemina acknowledged the compliment with a nod.

She played with her food until you coaxed her into actually eating some of it, and then you took your turn in the bathroom while she did the dishes.

In front of the bed you hesitated. You didn’t know whether Wilhemina wanted you in there with her, or if she’d rather you slept on the couch, or worse, if she wanted you to drive back to your place. Would she play by the rules? You eyed her as she walked around the room rearranging things and closing the shutters, and planted herself across the bed from you.

Your gazes met. You were trying your best not to chew on your lower lip. Wilhemina’s fingers were fidgeting with the hem of her nightdress. For a few, painfully long seconds it went on like this, until Wilhemina lifted the sheet and lay down underneath it.

You waited for her to settle and then, deciding her silence was an invitation, slipped under the sheet yourself.

Wilhemina reached out and turned off the bedside light.

Hoping you could fall asleep was stupid. Every inch of you was thrumming with nervousness. You wondered if Wilhemina could feel the quick beating of your heart, so loud it seemed to make the whole bed shake.

What time was it? You had no idea. You forced yourself to lie as still as possible, with your hands folded on your chest and your eyes fixed on the ceiling. When you couldn’t stop yourself anymore, you turned on your side, facing Wilhemina.

Blue light seeped through the shutters behind her. So the sun had barely set. What had Wilhemina been thinking, when she had closed the shutters and seen the light still clinging to the sky? Had she ignored it, resigned on playing pretend, that this was a happy night with bright twinkling stars in the sky and on her left the pale halo heralding the rising of the moon? That she wasn’t bleeding inside but warm, and that sleep would find her and press a kiss to her eyelids like a gentle lover.

Wilhemina’s eyes were wide open, shining in the dark. You raised a hand, hesitated.

“Can I touch you?” you breathed.

Something growled. You were not playing by the rules. In this ideal world you and Wilhemina had silently agreed to live in, there was no need for asking. Permission was always granted. Your fingers were to press against her skin freely and there was no need for checking because everything was always fine. This was how you were supposed to play. Cheaters would be kicked out of the room.

Wilhemina shifted, settled on her side, facing you. The distance between you two was small, less than the length of your hand.

She nodded.

Your fingers grazed her shoulder first, a safe place, before moving until they reached the edge of her nightdress. They jumped over her neck to land on her chin, and then spread out, cupping her cheek.

Wilhemina leaned into your touch and let out a sigh at the familiar softness and warmth of you. She made a movement as if to shift closer to you, stopped herself. For a moment you simply stroked her cheek, and then you continued your exploration of her, hand slipping down her chin to brush past her collarbone and down between her breasts.

There had been nothing sexual about your caress, but Wilhemina reached for your hand anyway and kept it still over her heart. Her eyes met yours, sad and ashamed.

“I know, baby,” you breathed. You offered her a smile you weren’t sure she could see in the dark. Laced your fingers with hers, gave her hand a squeeze. “I won’t, I promise.”

Wilhemina bit her lower lip to stop it from quivering. You pressed a gentle kiss on her cheek. “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay,” you breathed against her skin, before pressing another kiss on it.

The thing growled again. In the ideal world you had agreed to live in, it scolded, your hand should have slipped lower and moans should already be filling the room. But in this ideal world, one more piece of Wilhemina would be breaking, and one piece of you would start to rot.

Wilhemina draped one arm over your waist, and when you felt her tentatively nudge your collarbone with her nose, before nestling her face in the crook of your neck, when you felt her shift so that her thigh pressed against yours, nightdress riding up and her skin warm and soft, you closed your eyes to block out anything that wasn’t her and you, and the space your bodies occupied.

And how it made your heart swell, the trust her actions told of. Pressing herself against you like that, and trusting that you would be true to your words, and not seek to take it further. Or was her need for affection so strong she was willing to take the risk? You decided to believe in the former.

Your hand that had been on her heart slid up her chest and underneath her nightdress to feel more of her. You buried your face in her hair.

“I don’t mind whether we make love or not,” you whispered. You cleared your throat and said it louder, in case she hadn’t heard the first time, or had refused to hear. “I really don’t. What matters to me is that you’re happy – or at least, that you feel safe.”

Your hand started tracing lazy circles on her skin. Wilhemina’s lips pushed against the skin of your neck, nose blowing hot air on it.

“If I reacted the way I did yesterday,” you pushed on, “it was only because I got mad at what you said, and because I knew you were holding something back from me.” You swallowed, drew a nervous shape across her shoulder. “Sometimes… sometimes it gets so hard for me to control my anger. It��s not an excuse, I’m just telling you so you understand what happened. I know I never should have reacted the way I did.”

You pulled away then, determined to have her look at you before you uttered the next words. You had forgotten it was very likely she wouldn’t be able to see your expression in the dark. It seemed to you honesty shone of its own light.

Slowly, her eyes opened to meet yours. You cupped her cheek and offered her a smile. It was quivering, burdened by guilt and remorse, but it was there still.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, loudly, because you felt a whisper wouldn’t be enough. You wanted to scream the words out.

Wilhemina nodded, made to hide, to bury her face in your chest but you gently held her head up so she could look at the honesty in your eyes. Her teeth sank into her lower lip in a vain attempt to stop herself from breaking down, but her chin was trembling in your palm, and soon enough you felt tears slip down between your fingers.

Angrily you pushed your forehead against hers. “You’re not inadequate,” you breathed. “You’re not inadequate. Do you hear me?” She nodded, a sob pushing out of her just as her lips caught yours so it petered out in your mouth. You kissed her back, spoke the next words between her teeth. “I don’t think I’d ever been made love to before you. It felt nice, but you… every time you as much as touch me I feel a thousand raptures. Do you hear me?”

Her tongue pushed inside your mouth, despair making her too brutal, and she was still choking on tears and sobbing into your mouth as her hands grabbed at every part of you that she could reach. You kissed her back, hands holding her waist, until she had bit and nipped your lips swollen and stolen all the air from you and you had stolen all the air from her, and you both pulled away at the same time, breathless.

You both stayed silent as you caught your breath, blowing air into each other’s mouth. One of your hands let go of her hip to swipe at her cheeks and stroke across her brow. Wilhemina sniffed, pressed her forehead against yours again, and let go of a long, hot, moist breath.

And then, because you had agreed to tell her your failing, she agreed to share her secret with you.

She held your face in her hands and tilted it so her mouth was brushing your ear, and you reached for the sheet and pulled it over your heads to hide from the game masters and because it had always been easier for Wilhemina to communicate in complete darkness. When no one could see her and her failure, and she could stop performing for there was no one to intimidate.

She described harmless things first, the color of the dress the woman had been wearing, how the man’s arm had been wrapped around her waist. He’d been wearing glasses and her hair had been tied up.

Then she said how, when she had looked up at them, they had been laughing, their heads almost touching, and how the woman’s eyes had scanned her face first, and then the man’s. And how the woman had nodded at something the man had whispered in her ear, her lips twitching with amusement.

They had passed her and they had walked on and out of her life. And she had walked on and out, too, but her steps had faltered.

And she shouldn’t have let it, she whispered in your ear, as the air beneath the sheet grew warmer, she really shouldn’t have let it, but the laughter had sunk into her and crawled all the way up and down her, hurting everywhere – except her heart. Her heart had gone numb to protect itself.

She’d carried the weight of the laughter crawling and hurting inside her and she’d carried on her day, completing all the tasks she had had to do, and then she’d driven home, taken off her coat and accepted the cup of tea you had slipped into her hands. The laughter had still been weighing her down when you’d told her about your day and she’d tried but failed to listen, and later when she’d helped you cook dinner, forced her food to stay down, let you neglect the dishes and fled to the bathroom where she’d locked the door behind her.

She had locked the door behind her, she confessed in a small voice. Because she had been craving for solitude, because your fond smiles and worried looks and tender touches had hurt her as much as the laughter had.

And then in bed you had pressed yourself against her with a renewed promise of love and tenderness and her heart had roared back to life, crying out that this was too much, that it couldn’t handle any more. It revolted against love and desired to burn itself out. It shall step through fire and burn down to ashes and it would not allow anyone to save it.

You let her speak. Your throat was too tight to let out words anyway. Until Wilhemina sniffed and said she knew there would be more nights and days like this, and that was why she had given you Lily’s phone number – at that, your voice forced its way out to growl that you would never, it would kill you and even if you could bear it, it would kill her too and that you would never allow.

Wilhemina lowered her head and sobbed.

After you two had emerged from under the sheet, you got up to get her and you some water, and opened the window to air the room. Outside it was finally night. You looked at the dark, silent street and wondered if tonight could still be saved, after all; if it could still be made into something Wilhemina and you wouldn’t be afraid or ashamed to remember.

But then, as you lingered at the window and Wilhemina called out your name, sleepy and soft, and you turned to see her lying on her side with her arms opened, you realized tonight had already been saved. So you quickly closed the window and crossed the room to her, and breathed a “Thank you” into her hair as her arms closed around you and pulled you close.

Tag list: @mssallymckenna @supremeinlilac @pluied-ete @rainbow-hedgehog @pearplate @angelxsarahp @paulawand @asktammyr @peggycarter-steverogers @coconutlipss @saucy-sapphic @thesupremewife @paulsonpills @vintagepaulson @billiedeansbottom @lilypadscoven @winslctrg @simpforpaulson @venablesgirl @mckennamayfairgoode @ka-s

#sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable #ahs #ahs imagines #fics

143 notes · View notes

one-more-offbeat-anthem · 3 years

Text

I. “Sorry,” the guy says, his voice deep and sun-warmed. Dean steps back, extending his hands as if to say no problem, and then he recognizes the guy--it’s Castiel, the dude from the campus coffeeshop with the weird name that made a bunch of people look up, Dean included.

“You’re Castiel,” Dean says. “I’m Dean.”

“I’ve never been introduced to myself before,” Castiel replies, but he’s grinning, and he sticks out his hand for Dean to shake. Dean helps Castiel pick up the papers he dropped when Dean ran into him, and they walk to their next class together, because it turns out Religion 101 and Intro to Philosophy are in the same building. Castiel tosses Dean a peace sign as he turns towards his classroom, and Dean waves back.

II. A week later, Dean's outside his history professor’s office to get feedback on a paper when Castiel walks up, his head buried in a book. He looks up when Dean coughs, and then a smile grows on his face.

“How are you, Dean?” Castiel asks, as if there hasn’t been a gap in their conversation at all.

“I’ve been better. Dr. Turner is about to ream me over this essay. I may have...left it until the last minute.” Dean paused. “How are you?”

“Trying to finish reading this book before my next class. I may have...also left it until the last minute.” Castiel’s smile grows broader.

Just then, Dr. Turner opens his office door, and Dean smiles at Castiel ruefully.

“Hey, Dean,” Castiel says, just as Dean follows Dr. Turner into the office and is about to close the door, “I never got a last name.”

“Winchester. You?”

“Novak.”

III. “Who the hell would drive this monstrosity?” Benny, Dean’s coworker at the auto shop he works at after class, asks. They’re both staring at a massive gold Lincoln Continental from the seventies that has a popped tire and is, according to their boss, making “funny noises.”

“That would be me,” a familiar voice says, and Dean turns to see the shock of dark hair and vibrant blue gaze that indicates Castiel Novak.

“Oh, hey, Cas--Castiel,” Dean says.

“Cas is fine. But yes, I drive this...’monstrosity.’” Cas uses finger quotes and everything.

“You and Dean should get along, then,” Benny quips, “He acts like his car was God’s gift to mankind.”

“Hey!” Dean protests. “Baby demands respect.”

Cas quirks an eyebrow. “You call your car Baby?”

“So what?” Dean frowns at Cas, although it’s difficult, what with the twinkle he can see in the other guy’s eye.

“So can you fix my car?”

“We can,” Benny says. “For sure.”

After Cas leaves, Benny elbows Dean and winks at him. Dean decides to pretend not to know Benny for the rest of their shift.

IV. They see each other all the time after that, almost like the universe is pushing them together. When Cas sees Dean’s car, his dad’s old 1967 Chevy Impala, he tells Dean it’s a “ridiculous” car, and Dean only doesn’t write him off completely because he’s starting to like Cas.

They run into each other in the student union or the library and do homework. If they’re both at the coffeeshop where Dean first heard Cas’ name, they sit together. Cas shows Dean pictures of his cats and Dean tells Cas stories about what his little brother, Sam, who’s still in high school, has been up to. He learns that Cas’ whole family lives over five hundred miles away, that Cas chose this university to get away from them. Cas learns in turn that Dean is only thirty minutes from his hometown on purpose, in case his mom or brother need him.

Cas is a member of their university’s beekeeping club and he’s double majoring in philosophy and English. Dean doesn’t know what he wants to major in yet, maybe social work, so he’s getting all his pre-reqs out of the way. Cas says that it’s okay to not know what he wants to do, and Dean believes him.

This goes on for a couple of months, and at some point hardly a day goes by where they don’t see each other, and it’s kind of the best thing that’s ever happened to Dean.

V. Dean doesn’t often go to parties, but his friend Charlie who he met in DnD club found out about some frat having one this weekend and apparently they had to go, which is how he’s found himself standing awkwardly in the hallway of a random fraternity, nursing a potentially hazardous red Solo cup of jungle juice.

“Well hey there, stranger.”

Dean turns to see Cas holding a beer. “Hey,” Dean replies, feeling his face warm. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to Cas, but Cas is his friend, and besides, Cas is cool. Interesting. He writes poetry and wears vintage button-down shirts and paints his own Converse. Dean feels like he himself is what would happen if you made the midwest a person: flannel, leather, ripped jeans, work boots, none of it to be aesthetic. This is just what he looks like.

He runs a hand through his hair nervously, takes a sip of his drink.

“Come here often?” Cas asks after a moment. The hallway is dark, the music audible even though they aren’t in the main room.

“Ha.” Dean swirls his jungle juice. “Charlie--I’ve told you about her, I think--she dragged me here. Pretty sure she’s making out with her girlfriend on a couch as we speak.”

“She threw you to the wolves?”

“A little.” Dean smiles ruefully. “I’m usually reading mystery novels on the weekends and she told me I was boring.” “That’s funny.” Cas smiles with just his eyes. “I would say you’re anything but boring.”

Dean shrugs. He’s glad for the dim lighting because he just knows his face is getting redder the longer this conversation goes on. He fidgets with the cuff of his flannel with the hand not holding his drink and stares off into space.

“Hey Dean?” Cas says suddenly.

“Hm?”

“Do you like me?” Cas tilts his head slightly, like he always does.

“What?” Dean sets his cup on the windowsill next to him. “Do I--what?”

“Just wondering. It’s alright if you don’t.”

Dean furrows his brow. “Do you...like me?” God, this feels like he’s in eighth grade again, crushing on the guy that would always let him borrow a pen in science class.

Cas considers for a moment. “Definitely.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Oh.”

Cas somehow tilts his head further. “Well?”

“Uh, yes. I, uh--” Dean fumbles, but he can’t take his eyes off Cas, who knocks back the rest of his beer and sets the bottle on the floor before stepping into Dean’s personal space.

“Can I kiss you?” Cas is smiling.

“Please.”

At first, it’s gentle--just a tentative press of lips, Dean can feel the upward curve of Cas’ lips. Then it turns into something a little heavier as Dean’s brain gets back online and he remembers that he has hands, and that’s Cas’ tongue, tentatively exploring, and then not-so-tentatively exploring, and Dean’s pretty sure he might explode.

Eventually they part--Cas has backed Dean against the nearest wall, and Dean has his hands on Cas’ hips, pulling them together, and then Cas leans his forehead against Dean’s.

“Hey Dean?”

“Mmm-hmm?” “Do you think I could get your phone number?”

#ahh please no one hate that I kinda made dean shy here but shy dorky college au dean is my 1 weakness #destiel #mutual tags pls tell me if I'm annoying anhhhh bye #cillabee #usersheya #userstarry #casthyelle #offbeatwrites

289 notes · View notes

shhh-no-ones-home · 3 years

Text

another one down Helmut Zemo x reader x Bucky Barnes

+++++++++ Mostly Zemo but ends with Bucky, if you read it you'll see what I mean lol

Song: control freak by doll skin

tag list: @cynic-spirit +++++++++

The safe house was a beautiful sight to behold. It was minimalist but very lavish, something that absolutely screamed Helmut Zemo. From the colors used in the paintings on the walls to the furnishings placed ever so carefully around the large room. Even for just a safe house, not a intended, livable, home; everything seemed so meticulous and thought out.

"Do you like it?"

The baron inquired, motioning his hand for me to sit on the plush couch. I of course would be lying if I said I didn't. It was much nicer than any place I'd ever had the pleasure of staying, apart from maybe the compound but even that didn't have the same spark that this did. I couldn't help but gawk at the grand estate he'd lead us to stay in.

"It is nice, that's for sure."

I confessed, trying not boost his ego but catching the smug look on his face as he watched me sit. Another thing I'd noticed about him. Every move I made since I'd met them in Madripoor seemed to catch his eye, and then some. Not only did he carry himself with stature, he made sure he was always one step ahead, knowing you better than you knew yourself. Part of me wondered if he knew I found him attractive. The other part wanted me to stop thinking about it.

"I've seen better."

Bucky said slyly, pouring himself a drink. His whole body looked tense, angry even, like he was trying with every fiber in his being not to kill the man standing in front of me. And who knew, maybe he was.

"Sure you have."

I barely caught as Zemo mumbled under his breath. I glanced between the two of them. Bucky was staring daggers through the baron and his jaw was visibly tightening.

"What's the point of all this stuff anyways if it just sits around doing nothing?"

Buck grumbled, clearly annoyed. Similar to me Sam just sat and watched the little quarrel at hand.

"Usually it would not just be sitting around. But in case you forgot I've been a little busy elsewhere."

Zemo was stepping further and further away from me, seemingly challenging Bucky with every step he made.

"Back in my day you only needed one place to call home."

Bucky stepped closer. They were almost chest to chest.

"Back in your day-"

"This is not a pissing contest boys."

I interrupted, Sam sending me a look as I stood and walked to them. I looked between them both. Bucky was all but seething; and I'm sure it didn't help that Zemo looked as cool as ever, barely worked up or even irritated.

"I don't care what the two of you have to do to get through this but it had better happen sooner rather than later, because if I have to listen to you two bicker like an old married couple for five more minutes I am absolutely going to lose it. And I don't think any of us want that."

It came out a little more stern than I had intended but they knew exactly what I meant. My powers sort of permitted that, but of the three of them Bucky was the only one who'd ever seen it happen. Not to mention the only one who'd ever been able to come near me enough to calm me down.

"How about we all just get something to eat and go to our respective rooms for the night. Not another word nor topic need be talked about."

The suggestion didn't go unnoticed as Bucky side eyed me, looking to Sam sat at the table watching this play out in silence.

"I think that's the best idea you've had all day."

°°°°°°°°°

After dinner we were shown to different rooms upstairs. It was all just as elegant as the rest of the house but the thing I was most excited about was the large bed taking up the majority of the space I was in. The only thing that would've made it more perfect was if Bucky could manage to sneak his way in here and fall asleep in my arms like he did back home. Not that we were a thing, but we found comfort in each other, so often times he spent the night at my place. After the first couple times we realized how stupid it was to not stay in the same bed together and here recently that had become the new norm. That is until he left to take care of the Karli situation.

It didn't matter though, because we were back together again. Well, sort of. But even here I felt betrayed by my own body. Usually I thought solely about Bucky. He was my person whether I wanted to admit it or not, even if we'd never gone on a proper date or called it what it really was. But despite that, and despite myself, I was yearning. And I felt guilty about it because now I was doing something that felt worthy of guilt. I shouldn't be thinking about the baron the way I was that's for sure. God I needed to go to bed, to shower, to do anything that made me stop thinking about it. But then there was a knock at the door. My brows knitted together in confusion as I opened it, just the person I didn't want to see.

"I wanted to come make sure you were comfortable with your accommodations."

Helmut said, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood tall and stoic in front of me.

"Yes, thank you."

He nodded once, turning his body away from me like he was preparing to leave.

"Is there anything I could get for you before you turn in for the night?"

He asked and it hit me, the shame of wanting him to come in.

"Actually, would you mind showing me how the shower works, I would hate to accidently break it."

I let out a nervous laugh, one he rivaled with a toothy grin as I let him into my room.

"It would be my pleasure."

He sang, following me slowly to the bathroom. Once there he sat at the edge of the tub and looked up at me, a small smile now playing on his lips.

"You know, you seem to be a complicated little thing."

I drew my brows.

"How so?"

He shrugged, reaching over and turning the faucet on the right.

"Hot here, cold here, shower plug."

He instructed before turning it back off and standing up. I watched as he walked back out into the room and before he could leave I caught his arm.

"Wait."

I said quickly. I needed something answered.

"Please tell me what you mean. I've heard about you and I need to know why it's me that escapes you."

I confessed almost desperately.

"Of the heroes you are the one with the least information, no background, no comprised list of powers, and no track record. Apart from James' apparent desire to please you, you don't have a tether to anything or anyone. I admire that about you."

God the blood should not be rushing to the places that it is. he spoke so smoothly it was like my brain stopped working. But despite that, there was one thing that caught my attention.

"You think Bucky aims to please me?"

I asked almost embarrassed and he smirked at me.

"There are much better pleasures in this world than the ones he is offering you."

He said lowly, stepping closer and closing the gap between us. It took me a moment to realize but I'd been holding my breath as his gaze bore into my own.

"And what pleasures are those?"

It was quiet and reserved, and maybe a bit testing, though unintentional. The look he gave me following my statement told me everything I needed to know, but if I had any questions about it they were answered when he leaned down and kissed me gently. There was a pause at first, from both of us like he was waiting for me to pull away, but I didn't. When he realized that though he stepped closer, if that was even possible; one hand on my hip and the other placed gently at my jaw as he now kissed me with purpose.

Once again my brain stopped altogether and I couldn't focus on anything but him. My hands tailed slowly up his arms, one making its way into his hair and tugging lightly. The hum that escaped him made me smile before he pulled away. His eyes were darker now, a hunger behind them as he stared down at me.

"Pleasures you could never even imagine."

He recited, trailing his finger tips across my jaw. We were still in very close proximity and as I thought for a second to kiss him again it was like I was brought back to reality, pushing him away and covering my mouth with my hand.

"No."

I said, muffled, unbelieving myself and what I'd just done.

"I can't do this, not to him."

It came out a little more broken than i'd intended but then again that's kind of how it felt. He looked down, nodding once as he resumed the position I'd met him in, hands clasped behind his back.

"You have a commitment to him. I understand."

He said in a soft tone. I felt bad again but this time I couldn't quite tell why. It was like I was letting him down but he was right. I did have a commitment to Bucky, to be there for him like he was for me.

"He's the only one who understands me."

I croaked out, trying to find any other answers behind the barons eyes that I was right to feel the way I did.

"That could change."

He said matter-of-factly and suddenly the feeling in my gut changed.

"Maybe I don't want it to."

I snapped back, brows drawn in frustration that he would be so bold to suggest I pick him over Buck. I stepped to him, finger in his face as he walked backwards into the door.

"at the end of the day you'll be back behind bars. He has been nothing but amazing to me since we met, a true gentleman and a friend. That's not going to change just because you come along with your stupid fancy house and antique cars. He cares about me, and I him."

The rage behind my eyes must have told him all he needed to know after that, his hands in the air as he finally looked different than his usual cool self. I had to admit though that it was probably my powers coming through, when I got worked up or angry they had a tendency of showing up. But one thing we didn't need was me crushing him or his house into the ground. I shook the thought as I opened the door, motioning for him to leave. He stood in the doorway for a second though.

"It wouldn't matter anyway y/n, like you said, he cares about you."

When he looked to the side with a knowing glance my face dropped, watching in horror as he nodded.

"James."

He said, walking off and leaving me to my devices as Bucky came into view.

"So you don't mind that I don't have a fancy house and antique cars?"

I laughed out, a sound somewhere between angry and unbelieving, reaching for his hand and squeezing it lightly.

"Do you love me?"

I asked. There was a pause and I almost got worried, but the genuine smile that spread across his features tore that feeling away very quickly. He nodded before pulling me flush to him.

"I do."

He said and all my worries melted away. i couldnt believe id been so stupid.

"Do you?"

He asked, making me blush as I nodded back, snaking my arms around his neck.

"So frickin much."

"thats good, cause i was worried id lost you there for a second."

he confessed and i just closed my eyes, feeling him press his forehead to mine.

"you could never lose me."

i breathed against him, his lips ghosting over my own.

"promise?"

i bit my lip for only a second before crashing them into his, holding the back of his head in my hand as he held me tightly to him. when we pulled away i looked between his eyes, almost getting lost in them. i nodded slowly as he stared back down at me waiting for an answer.

"i promise."

#wattpad #x reader #baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #white wolf #the falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon #captain america #imagines #one shots #marvel #322

58 notes · View notes

potassium-pilot · 3 years

Text

Prompt 12: Family

A big, blank spot on the wall of the Borel manor parlor wouldn’t normally bother her on another day, but Dia, still recovering from a near-fatal injury she sustained in the last treasure hunt she went on, suffered from intense boredom. Her day seemed wasted to her by sitting around, doing nothing. The books that surrounded her helped, as well as the free company linkshell, but her fellow adventurers were busy adventuring, and one could only bury herself in fiction for so long after spending years firmly planted in reality. Thus did the wall become painfully obvious.

To her, it wasn’t an exaggeration to say it seemed wildly out of place. Many works of art neighbored this new thorn in her side, yet there did that spot sit empty, lifeless, only showing the wallpaper. Why wasn’t there another work of art? Why couldn’t there have been one? Was he so busy that he forgot to hang something new there? Was she so busy that she never thought to ask?

No, that space simply wouldn’t do.

She cautiously stood up from the settee, taking great care not to reopen her abdominal wound, and found a different perspective. It helped little to ease the discomfort the blank wall was causing. There had to be something to place there. She would sneak off to the Jeweled Crozier and shop around herself if the act of even standing wasn’t so painful. Now that the quandary had revealed itself, she pondered what would hurt more to withstand.

“Oh, Mistress Sito, my lord will be rather upset that you’re not resting your wounds”, cautioned the steward, Angelbert, from the doorway to the parlor.

“The man fought off a terrorist cell hours after being stabbed; he can deal with me standing here staring at a wall”, she snarked. The steward frowned at the remark. “May I ask why you choose to stare at a wall, mistress?”

“Angelbert, do you know why there’s a blank spot here?” The old man stepped towards the spot she stood in, and examined the wall. “Running a house near singlehandedly has made it a bit hard to pay attention to wall decorations, I’m afraid, but I’m sure my lord has his reasons.”

She hummed in consideration. “Well, what might he think of filling it with something else, I wonder?”

“Such as?”

“Well, look at the rest of it- there’s art abound. Why not fill that spot with another work?”

Angelbert took a moment to think. “Well, the basement does hold several paintings that remain unhanged.” Dia brought her attention to the steward. “Really?”

“Plenty of them. That in mind, he has precious little time to spend thinking about house decorations.”

“Angelbert, I have nothing but time, at the moment. Why don’t we look through them and see what we can find, then when Aymeric gets home, we can ask what he thinks?” His white eyebrows lifted at the suggestion. “Hm, an interesting proposition. I suppose if my lord’s opinion is weighed as equally as yours, it could be a splendid idea.”

She grinned, and stated, “Well, we can’t stand around here, then. Let’s take a look!”

“Er, Mistress Sito, with all due respect, I would rather not aggravate your wounds further. Why do I not simply bring up the collection myself?”

“Angelbert-“ she was about to dispute it before she took a step ahead of her, and felt as if her core was tearing itself apart. She clutched her wound and strained to get out, “That’s a really good idea, you should do that.”

“Please drink your health potion, mistress! Shall I call the chirurgeon?”

She took her place back on the settee, held up a hand, and answered, “I’m a healer, Angelbert. I’ll take care of it. Just please, grab the paintings.” He bowed and left to find them while Dia examined her wounds and applied pain relief for herself, then drank the health potion as was recommended by the chirurgeon she was brought to, as well as Aymeric, her free company friends with whom she sought the treasure, the Scions, and now Angelbert.

A few minutes passed, and the elder steward returned with artwork in hand. “I found the collection, Mistress Sito.”

“Perfect. Here, sit down and we’ll look through it together.” The steward smiled and sat down with the portraits, ready to examine them together with her.

“This one’s just fruit”, she remarked at an unimaginative bowl of fruit topped with grapes, apples, and a banana, “Doesn’t go with anything up there, don’t you think?”

“I tend to agree.” The steward set the portrait to his side of the settee. “What of this one?”

“Oh, that’s a pretty landscape. I wonder where that is.”

“I’d recognize it anywhere: that’s Providence Point before the Calamity.”

“Aww…” she cooed, “Let’s add that to the ‘maybe’ pile.” Angelbert handed the portrait to Dia, who set it to her right side. “Uh…it’s just a splotch of blue…” she described confusedly of the next option.

“I believe it’s an abstract piece, up for interpretation.”

“I’m interpreting that it’s not a good fit up there.” The painting was placed in Angelbert’s ‘no’ pile on his side of the settee. The next portrait made Dia gasp in excitement. “Is that—“

A realistic portrait portrayed an elderly couple with a young boy between them wearing a green coat, green matching pants, and black dress shoes-typical of Ishgardian fashion- and sporting wavy black hair with similar bangs on his forehead, all parties with a neutral expression on their face. “There’s my lord as a lad with his parents. I remember when this portrait was taken, too. He couldn’t sit still, heehee.” Angelbert fondly reminisced of the time when this would have been painted.

“He’s adorable here! Look at him”, Dia marveled at the painting, “What’s this doing here with the rest of this collection?” Before Angelbert could theorize, he heard the sound of a key attempting to unlock the front door. “Ah, there’s Lord Aymeric now! Give me just a moment.” He stood up and quickly darted towards the front door, ready to greet him as was custom.

She kept searching through the rest of the collection, running into a flower vase, an abstract dining room, and an elezen woman holding a cat before she noticed the sound of his footsteps moving towards the parlor. “Ah, there you are!” she greeted cheerfully and attempted to stand up to meet him.

“Don’t you dare get up”, Aymeric ordered calmly, moving quickly towards the settee. She slumped back into her seated position and said, “Fine, then I shall simply sit here and waste away.” He kissed the top of her head from behind her. “‘Tis good to know you’re not being dramatic.”

She feigned a gasp. “Dramatic? Me? I’ve never been so insulted in my life…minus all those times I’ve been horribly insulted”, she teased. Aymeric laughed at her silliness.

“Now, if you have not been waited on hand and foot, I shall have a word.”

“Oh, don’t blame Angelbert. You’ll need more staff for that level of service.” Dia remembered the first time she visited Aymeric for dinner. The steward mentioned that House Borel employed the fewest staff members of any house of Ishgard, the amount being countable on one hand.

Aymeric pondered the suggestion. “You have a point.”

Dia’s eyes widened. “Well, hold on, I don’t actually want to be waited on hand and foot.”

“Neither do I, but Angelbert could certainly use the help. He’s not as young as he used to be.”

“He was young?” Dia joked. Aymeric gave a cautious laugh.

“Careful, Mistress. You’ll find yourself in a similar position one day”, Angelbert remarked as he carried tea and a new health potion. He placed the teacup and potion bottle on the table before Dia continued to joke, “I’m sorry, I refuse to believe you didn’t simply appear in the world anything less than fifty summers old.”

“Well, at least you’re generous with the age, Mistress Sito. Now, have you told Lord Aymeric what you had done before he came home?” he asked before promptly turning away to return to business.

“What did you do?” Aymeric asked Dia concernedly, “And does it have anything to do with all these portraits lying about?”

“Nothing bad, don’t worry. And yes, it does. I came up with an idea.” She pointed to the blank spot that kicked off the process. “That spot has been an immense bother to me since I first noticed it this morning. To that end did I bid Angelbert to help me fill it. He told me you had a bunch of unhanged portraits in the basement, and I asked him to bring them up here and we were trying to decide what to go with. I wanted to see which you would like.” She grabbed the family portrait and held it up so he could see it.

“Now I’m a big fan of this one. I’m not sure why it’s not up there now, but I’m sure there’s a reason, and if you don’t want it up there, you don’t need to put it up there…but you look adorable here, my love! At least consider it.” She set it back to it’s original spot and grabbed the landscape and explained, “This one was in the ‘maybe’ pile. It’s pretty, but it might also bring back some unwanted emotions about pre-Calamity times, so I understand if you don’t.” She set the landscape aside and grabbed the flower vase. “Now at first, I saw the flower vase and thought it was kind of boring, but now that I look at it again, it’s growing on me.”

Aymeric blinked and asked, “You were rather bored, weren’t you, dear?”

“Insanely so. Point is, I think we should fill that blank piece of wall with something, and there are some options here to do so. I know that you’re a bit too busy to think about stuff like decorations regularly, but your opinion matters to me, and I want to know what you think.”

“I would prefer we didn’t fill it at all…at least, not yet.” Dia raised an eyebrow in confusion to that statement. “What? Why?” Aymeric walked towards the empty wall space and stared at it.

“That family photo you adore so much was the original portrait that filled this gap.” Aymeric let out a sharp breath through his nose. “I took it down after the new government was formed.”

Dia carefully stood up, and slowly stepped towards him. “But why?” she whispered.

He hesitated to answer, but finally explained after a moment, “‘Tis silly, but…it transformed itself into a reminder. It reminded me that I was once an object of gossip and scorn, that generally, I was rather disliked by many of the other houses due to those origins of mine. In a way, it mocked me. I couldn’t be burdened with those memories as someone who needs to lead such people into a new age. Yet, that portrait served as something that would yank me back into the old and antiquated, into a position that I care not to relive. As such, it served no purpose sitting there, and so, I had it taken down.”

Dia frowned. She didn’t want to bring back bad memories with that. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, my dear. I never told you this, and simply hoped you wouldn’t notice. It worked for a while.”

“It did. Well, if that’s the case, why do you not want to fill the spot?”

Aymeric brought his gaze to her and responded with a raised corner of his lip, “In truth, I would like a new family portrait to hang here…one of you and I.”

Dia’s mouth went agape and after taking a moment to process what he told her, she let out a breathed laugh of delight and confusion. “Isn’t that more for married couples, people with their own children?”

“Is there anything traditional about the two of us, about what we’re doing here? I’m a bastard leading a country that detests bastards so, unofficially courting an outsider as she unofficially lives in my family manor. But a few years ago, such thoughts would be unthinkable. Yet here we are, living these thoughts as truth, and rather happily, if I may say so.”

Aymeric stepped towards her and gently gripped her hands. “You are my family, whether that is seen in the eyes of Halone and Ishgard or not, and if you would entertain the idea, I would like to commemorate that soon. You need but say the word, and I shall find the time and artist.”

Dia didn’t know quite what to say. There was no other thought in her head, no conflicting emotions to tell her it was a lie, not when he looked to her with such sincerity. Strangely lucid, yet hazy, lost when she was so clearly found, the only thing she felt was adoration. Her ardor for the man seemed boundless, ever growing, and in this moment, it swelled gloriously.

Not that she was ever capable of vocalizing such emotions.

She kissed his cheek, then brought her forehead to his and asked softly and half-jokingly, “Do I get to choose the outfits?”

“You will have full control over anything you’d like, my love.” She liked the sound of that, so much so, that she met her lips with his, and they enjoyed their warm embrace for all it was worth. Like coming in from a cold winter’s night, their company was the hearth they sat near for warmth. The fire easily burned brighter. This was the most stimulating activity Dia’s experienced since she sustained her injury, and Halone knew Aymeric dealt with the House of Lords far too much to not feel the least bit greedy at her touch. He pulled in her closer, and she happily obliged.

Her wounds did not, however.

She yelped in pain and backed away.

“Are you all right?!”

“Give me a moment, I’ll be fine!” she strained through gritted teeth. Dia started preparing healing spells for herself while he quickly darted for the coffee table to grab the health potion Angelbert prepared and returned to her side with it. Slowly, the tension she exuded began to melt as the pain was being relieved gradually. She passed the worst of it, and gulped down the potion as required.

Godsdammit, she thought.

“I’ll just sit down then”, she announced meekly.

“A good idea”, he affirmed as he took her shoulders to stabilize her and make sure it wouldn’t reopen as she walked.

“Was this how you felt after our experience with the True Brothers of the Faith?” he asked her as he helped seat her.

“Ha! Not even close. You’ll need to feel completely baffled that someone could just stand up and fight off four people hours after being stabbed on top of abject fear for my life.”

Aymeric shook his head. “Well, I, for my part, will attempt to avoid doing anything so reckless again. I realize that danger tends to follow you regardless of what you do, but it still hurts to see you so.”

Dia folded her arms and sarcastically responded, “Hm, and I’m just so thrilled about it.”

“Must you be sarcastic about this?”

“Sorry, it’s the pain talking.”

He stayed silent. She nudged herself closer to him and rested her head on his pauldron. “You sure that this is what you want as your family? A snarky witch who teases you constantly?”

He removed his pauldrons and pulled her in with one arm so she could rest on him easily.

“Without a doubt in my mind.”

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #aymeric x wol #aymeric de borel #female wol #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #brush your teeth #ffxiv fanfiction #anyways i love writing fluff for these idiots

17 notes · View notes

seekingseven · 3 years

Note

Another drabble request: how does Four find out about Twilight's wolf form?

Linked Universe Prompt Requests #8!

Oh, that's a great question! Here's one possible way it could have gone down...

⚠️CW: Alcohol Mention! ⚠️

(You can also read the fic here on Ao3!)

~~~~~~

Four was not the kind of person who spent his evenings in a places like this, and he knew Twilight and Time weren't either.

Maybe that was why he was so uncomfortable.

Music pulsed through the floor, amplified by the tavern's high ceilings and the patrons' warbling voices. Drinks clinked, beer frothed, and lantern light clotted over polished countertops. Across the room, a red-lipped waitress tossed a red-faced patron a pinched smile, the kind that crinkled at the edges with professional, faux patience, and the man let out a wheedling chuckle. A group of boys howled at each other as glossy cards splashed across their table. Behind the bartop, a tenderfaced bartender dropped a stack of glass mugs, and a nearby group of tipsy women had begun to crackle out the Hylian national anthem.

Four pressed his hands over his eyes and tried to cough out the smell of vomit and rotting sweat. No use. Spirals pulsed at the edges of his vision--he was pressing too hard--and he let his hands slide into his lap. The muscles in his neck tensed as he slipped deeper into Twilight's pocket.

This was not what he had in mind when he had decided to follow Time and Twilight on their "quick, fifteen minute errand." He had been right in deducing it was more than that, of course; reports of local children going missing near a known monster hideout hadn't inspired confidence in Four that grocery shopping was all on the two's minds.

But, a tavern?

To each their own, he supposed, but he couldn't entirely stifle the little flame of disappointment in his chest.

Adrenaline gushed through his throat as the world swung around him; Twilight was moving again. Vibrations thudded through the cloth around him. The overhead lanterns flickered crazily, blocked by Twilight's shoulders one minute and blazing down his backside the next. Four shielded his eyes under his hands and stared at his knees. This whole shrinking thing had been a bad--terrible--idea. He could only hope that Time and Twilight had a lower alcohol tolerance than they appeared to.

The movements stop, and Four sighed as the acid in his throat slipped back down. A booming echoed from overhead, and Four couldn't help but wonder if this is what the Minish had to deal with whenever he came to visit.

"Is Mr.Garto here?"

Four's ears perked up; that was Twilight's voice, and that was the name of the man who had first begun reporting the disappearances. Interest piqued, he righted himself until he as peering just over the small slip of space between the pocket and Twilight's tunic. If he turned just enough, he could catch a glimpse of Time's legs and the mahogany bartop behind them.

"He's not here right now," a voice whispered. The muscles crisscrossing Four's chest cinched. That wasn't the sound of a bored bartender, or a dolled up waitress, that was...

"A child?" Time asked, voice thick with its typical lack of tack. "Where are your parents? A tavern is no place for a boy your age."

Silence--at least, between the three parties. The debauched din around them showed no interest in smothering itself for the sake of dramatic tension.

"My parents work here," the voice replied. It was soft, but there was a bristle underneath it; a boy, Four would bet, and a frightened one at that. "My dad's Mr.Garto. Amerigo Garto. He's out right now. If you have questions, then you can, uh, demect them to me."

"Cute," Twilight murmured, voice lowered so that he was its only listener. Four would have rolled his eyes if he didn't happen to also find the childish mispronunciation endearing.

"Very well then," Time cut in. Whatever spell the boy's subtle stutter had cast on Twilight was lost on him, judging from the clipped words and serious tone. "Please tell your father that we would like to speak to him about the abductions. If he has any information, he's welcome to contact us. Here's the postal address of the inn my teammates and I are staying in."

A shuffle of cloth, and the faint sound of a hand bumping a counter. Four pulled his arms over the pocket and strained his neck to the side. The cloth around him dipped under his weight, threatening to give, and Four flinched so hard that he slipped back inside.

"You're looking for them?" the voice came again. "The lost kids?"

Time chuckled. The paternal sound felt oddly out of place in the drunken supernova around them. "Of course we are. We have an idea of where they might be, so we wanted to get in contact with your father to see if he had any more information."

Twilight leaned forward, letting both his pocket and his pocket-sized stowaway swing along with him. "We'll find them for sure. Don't worry."

"You will? Do you think you can find them? My sister and my puppy, I mean."

"Your sister?" Time asked.

"Your puppy?" Twilight added.

The boy's voice seemed smaller, now, lighter, and it took little imagination to envision the pale faced, blue-eyed seven ear old that was undoubtedly cowering under the others' combined stares. "Yes. They were the first to go missing, sir. Sirs. I hope you can find them. Let...let me know if I can help."

Across the bar, someone threw a bottle of wine against the wall. Glass powdered around the purple stain in the wood. Twilight flinched. A gaggle of teenage laughed in their testosterone-saturated way, unabashedly amused at the adults making spectacles of themselves, and Four stifled the urge to slap all of them.

"We will," Time said. His voice was a breath's distance from inaudible. "Take care, little one. We'll speak to you soon."

A mumble of agreement, muffled, and Four clutched the fabric of Twilight's pocket as the world spun on his heel. Left, right, left; he was swaying with each pull and pinch of movement, and he caught only a heartbeat's glimpse at the boy before Twilight and Time exited the tavern.

He looked exactly as Four had imagined him to.

"That's so sad," Twilight murmured, letting the tavern door close softly behind him. "I hope we find them."

"We will. Hopefully Garto gets in contact with us soon. For now, we'll just need to brief the others and see if there are any other locals who might have more information."

"Yeah, yeah. That sound about right."

This time, the silence was real. Only the sounds of feet squelching against mud and dirt interrupted their thoughts.

Twilight stopped. Four gripped the back of his head and hissed as it bonked against the raised metal of Twilight's scabbard.

"Hold on," the rancher began, "I forgot something back there."

"Forgot? What?"

"...something. I'll be back. Don't wait for me."

"Sure. Try to not stay out to long, though."

Twilight assured he wouldn't, then turned heel. Feet against the floor, night air, cold, and then a flush of heat. The air is stuffy again, and the quiet is gone, and Four is peering precariously between gaps in the pocket stitching. He thumps against the back of Twilight's leg as the rancher makes another sharp turn. It's a wonder that the rancher hasn't grown suspicious of the wiggling in his pocket yet.

But perhaps he was too occupied to grow suspicious, because Twilight slowed to a stop and leaned forward on what Four assumes to be the bartop.

"Is the kid still here?"

A grainy voice responded with a huff and grunt. "No, he went outside. Just through the hallway. Something about wanting to play hopstoch."

"Ah, okay. Thank you."

Another snort. "If you find him, tell him to come back inside. It's too dark to be out alone."

Twilight made a sound that could have been construed to be somewhat affirmative, then hurried out the door. The evening breeze, greased with the steam and sweat spilling from the tavern's backdoor, greeted them again. A clink of metal and the cloth ruffling; Four furrowed his eyebrows. What was Twilight up to?

It was the last cohesive thought he would have for a good minute.

The cotton confines around him popped out of existence. Air rushed against his head and through his air as he fell, weightless, and he had barely processed the fact that Twilight had vanished before he thumped against a tree stump. Dazed but unharmed, he sat up, eyes widening.

In the place where Twilight had stood mere moments ago was a massive grey wolf.

A wolf...

Wolfie?

"Who's there?" someone whispered. A figure on the other side of the backyard inched forward, and Four's throat tightened when he recognized it as the boy from earlier. His eyes were red. Little hopstotch stones dangled between his fingers, shining and unused.

The wolf--Wolfie--barked. The boy flinched, squeezing his elbows to his sides. Wolfie barked again, insistent, and wagged his tail furiously. Blue eyes watched silently as Wolfie rolled on his side, then chased his tail, then made an impressive show of chasing a terrified chipmunk through the yard. Gradually, the boy's eyebrows slipped downwards. Wolfie let out another bark. A whisper of a smile pinched at the boy's mouth.

"Where did you come from, big guy?"

Wolfie barked again, advancing further and, when the boy didn't recoil, butted his head against scabbed knees. The boy laughed again. Wolfie's tail wagged harder.

"You're so big! Who's your owner? They must take really good care of you. And you look really strong, too. Look at these muscles!"

The boy carefully closed a hand around Wolfie's paw, then lifted it upwards. Strength roiled beneath an oily coat, and the boy let out a small gasp of awe.

"Wow! You look even tougher than my sister! Hey, wanna play hopscotch with me? I think you would be good at it."

If Wolfie licking the boy's face wasn't confirmation enough, him hopping towards the dilapidated hopscotch court was. The boy laughed with delight and rubbed Wolfie's snout, giggling harder as the wolf licked a wet strip across his cheek.

"Huh," Four murmured, picking stray wood chips out of his hair and grinning to himself. "Looks like we both have a little secret."

~~ Fine ~~ I hope you enjoyed! Thank you so much for reading! [Previous Request] - [Next Request!]

#linkeduniverse #linkeduniverse twilight #linkeduniverse wolfie #minish four #linkeduniverse fanfic #so sorry for the plethora of typos here im just #this fic turned out to be a lot more of a challenge than i thought it would be #haha!#hope you enjoy!#seeking's prompt requests #ope forgot a tag #linkeduniverse four

35 notes · View notes

gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

Finding A Light // Part Four

Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: An unexpected kiss leads to a long overdue confession.

Warnings: mild angst, one swear, fluff

Part One , Part Two , Part Three

A/N: There will be one more part after this!

(not my gif)

8 Months Later

Summer had quickly came and went, a three month period you found yourself spending more at the Burrow than at your own apartment. It was fairly difficult not to want to spend your time with such a wonderful family after all. Though Ron wasn’t very delighted upon the realization that your friendship with George was easily just as torturous on him as when dear Fred was amongst them. He has found himself on the receiving end of one too many pranks. Time had passed by considerably fast, and you were back to work in Hogsmeade now that the new school year had begun just three months ago.

Presently, you sat in the hard wooden chair across from the desk Ron had come to call his own, though he’d always found himself tempted to wander up the stone steps into the office a few paces behind him from time to time. This always was his favorite classroom, save for the cabinet that dreaded spider had emerged from. He could do without that.

“Are you always so cluttered, Ron?” You jest knowing full well what the answer would be, righting a few knick-knacks that had toppled over amidst the sea of assignments needing to be graded.

He sighs as he looks up at you with a squint, pursing his lips in partial response to your words. “Have you come to help me or have you come to poke fun, Y/n/n?”

His tone was light, however, a smile pulling at the very corner of his mouth as he raised a questioning brow at you.

“Why not both?” You reply, reaching across the mahogany desk. With a twitch of your fingers, the cream colored quill in his hand became a shimmering green, resembling that of a peacock feather. “I just might change your hair to this color.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, though he does kick at your foot under the desk, stealing a glance at you through his lashes. You bite back your smile as you return to your stack of assignments you promised you’d help him grade. It seemed never ending, one stack replaced with another and another, the only sound being the tips of quills dragging along parchment.

You refrain from telling him how just how utterly bored you’d been getting, thinking of a million other ways the two of you could have spent that Saturday morning. But he had promised that cake was on him when you two could finally make your way to the tea shop that afternoon. That and the small smile on his face as he read through essays was something you didn’t want to interrupt.

Over the course of the next twenty-five minutes, you’d managed to finish a complete stack of essays. Somehow, you’d been so focused you weren’t privy to the way Ron had been looking at you. Watching the way your brows furrowed as you read through each page or the curve of your lips. He nearly knocked over his bottle of ink in the process.

You exhaled a soft sigh as you rest your chin on the palm of your hand, tapping your finger against your lip as you allow your eyes roam to the redhead seated just two feet across from you. His tongue poked between his lips as he wrote a thoughtful comment at the end of an assignment. Perhaps that’s why it always took him so long, he always writes a small note at the end of every one rather than a simple score. Lupin always tells him it isn’t necessary, but Ron doesn’t have it in him to not do it.

You finally managed to divert your attention to another page before your gazing could get you into any trouble. However, both your attention was pulled to the door creaking open on the far end of the classroom, Professor Lupin stepping halfway in.

“Can I have a word with you, Ron?” He asks, his voice echoing into the space before he smiles upon seeing you. “And good morning, Y/n.”

You offer a wave and an equally warm smile, your gaze falling on Ron who got up with a pale blush forming on his cheeks. He appears rather nervous, though your soft grin works wonders to put his sudden nerves at ease unbeknownst to you.

He crosses the large room, feeling almost awkward with the distance from his desk to the door and the fact that he’d been the only one making any noise in that very moment. But shortly he disappeared behind the thick wooden door, leaving you to wait in the room by yourself. You wandered around the classroom Ron had taught in every Monday through Friday, your gaze flickering around every inch of the long room.

The ceilings were tall and beautifully arched, much like the windows that lined the stone walls. A glowing lantern was positioned in the spaces between each one, though they hadn’t done much of anything to illuminate the space compared to the natural daylight filtering in. The dark hardwood floors were pristinely polished save for the bit of mud Ron had managed to track in; he always seems to have a habit of making his presence known in one way or another, whether he was aware of it or not. Three rows of tables fill the majority of the room, an extra quill and bottle of ink placed neatly at each seat as well as a copy of the course textbook should a student be forgetful.

Magnifying glasses and odd objects in varying sizes of glass cases line just about any shelf you could come across, a few cobwebs dangling from unfrequented corners. You would imagine the upkeep of a place on this large of a scale would be rather difficult. Your eyes lingered on an aged skull belonging to an unknown magical creature for a few moments before moving on to the next strange thing. It was a grand room for an equally grand school, and you could see why Ron had wanted to come back. Because, for lack of a better word, it really was magical. Regardless of the fact that it was a school for witchcraft and wizardry.

You hadn’t attended here for that long, only having been here for your first year. By the looks of it, it seems as though you’ve missed out on a rather exciting place to learn and perfect your magical abilities. You’ve heard about the good, the bad, and the ugly that came with such a place and the world it was created to teach. Even with such knowledge you still feel as though it would have made for an interesting upbringing, it certainly seemed that way with all the stories Ron had told you enthusiastically about. Because regardless of its less desirable memories, every place has a good and a bad.

Your exploration was soon interrupted by the reopening of the door, Ron stepping in by himself and closing it gently behind him. His expression was somewhat unreadable upon first glance.

“Has he told you to quit writing so much on every essay?” You tease, stepping closer to him. A smile is quick to grace his lips.

“No, he uh—” he trails off briefly as he runs his hand through his hair, chunks of ginger locks falling back into his eyes shortly after being pulled away.

You raise a curious brow at him, gesturing for him to continue.

A soft laugh leaves his lips as he runs his hands over his flushed face, appearing to be happy about whatever this unknown news may be. You hoped he’d enlighten you soon. “He said that…that after the Christmas holiday, the classroom is mine.”

“What?” You ask, taking a moment to process his words.

“Next week is his last week. And after the break, I’ll be the sole professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts. It’ll—it’ll just be me.”

The words came out in a jittery laugh as if he hadn’t quite believed what he’d heard, that this was a dream he was bound to be pulled from at any moment. But it hadn’t been, it was real and it was happening. His smile broke through the moment he looked at you, and he was practically beaming.

“Ron!”

You took the few steps to close the gap between you, throwing your arms tightly around his neck. His arms encircled your waist as he let out a relieved laugh, the shared embrace so tight it had the two of you swaying side to side ever so slightly as he nearly stumbled backwards.

After a few lingering moments, you settled flat on your feet again, only having half released each other from your hug.

“Congratulations, Ron,” you say with a delightfully surprised laugh.

It was only then that you realized just how close you really were, your laughter soon dying down as you stared up at him. He swallowed thickly when things fell silent and the fleeting moments had begun to feel like an eternity, his breath fanning over your lips. His cheeks turned a very noticeable shade of crimson at the close proximity, finding himself unable to meet your eyes for a few moments. But when he had, your gaze flickered back and forth between his eyes, and you quickly found yourself leaning on your toes. Your lips press to his in a whisper of a kiss before you gave it second thought, before you realize what you had done, and you immediately pull away from him just as fast as it began.

His lips had still been puckered slightly when you looked at him with wide eyes, scarlet flooding your cheeks as you realized you’d just kissed your best friend. His arms remained around you loosely as he stood there partly in shock, not having processed everything that had just happened in the span of the last ten minutes.

You clear your throat and turn away immediately, wriggling from his embrace as you cover your mouth. Panic flooded your chest as you blinked, hoping this hadn’t really been happening. But the hopeful action yielded no such luck.

“Oh my god,” you say softly, the heat of your embarrassment burning down your neck as you turn back around regretfully. “Oh my—I’m sorry! I don’t…I don’t know why I did that.”

You’re stammering by this point and you can barely look him in the eye. Ron’s mouth must have opened and closed at least a dozen times as he stood before you, watching you scramble to grab for your bag and sling it over your shoulder haphazardly. You wanted to be absolutely anywhere but there in that moment.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, his gaze following after you. “I—I um…I forgot Mr. Flume needed me for something at the shop today.”

“Y/n, wait—” he finally manages, clearing his throat when the words came out rather hoarse.

“I’ll see you later, Ron.”

He opens his mouth to protest your hurried actions, though he’s a bit too late as he watches you apparate away in a flustered daze, leaving him to stand there in the large room by himself.

—

You had spent the entirety of the day replaying that moment in your head, each time making you feel more embarrassed and humiliated than the last. What were you thinking? Well, it was clear that you hadn’t been at all, because hours had gone by and you still wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You had completely skipped going to Hogsmeade all together, though Mr. Flume hadn’t actually needed you for anything anyway. But you couldn’t bring yourself to go to the tea shop in fear that you might run into Ron; of course you would, that was your Saturday tradition. There was absolutely no way you could have gone, not after that.

You nearly paced a hole in your already nearly threadbare rug, unable to sit still for longer than a minute or two as you cleaned and nervously rearranged just about everything in your apartment. Though a few pillows had still lay strewn across the living room floor from where you’d frustratedly thrown them. It was still unbelievable to you that you had really kissed your best friend, you had never wanted to turn back time more than you had in this very moment. It was beyond you how you planned to ever face him again, the mere thought of it making your stomach swirl with nausea.

You pinched the bridge of your nose as you slumped back on your sofa, releasing a frustrated groan, one of many that day. The once sunny day had now turned to a downpour as the evening came around, the weather seemingly reflecting your soured day. It was your own fault, you let your feelings get the better of you and now look what had happened.

Perhaps he’d wanted to tell you something less horrific than you’d imagined, you hadn’t really allowed him to get a word in edgewise. Maybe he would’ve told you that it hadn’t completely ruined your friendship, maybe he shared your feelings. The more you let your mind think through the possibilities, the less you feel like it’d turn out in your favor.

The sudden knock on your door pulled you from your thoughts and startled you all the same, and you sighed as you rubbed your eyes. Eyes that widen slightly once more when you swing the old door open. You swallowed thickly when you saw Ron just on the other side, raindroplets dripping from the very tips of his hair and his cheeks reddened from the cold. His chest heaved slightly as he looked at you. He stands there and stares, something different in the way he’s looking at you, something much softer and you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“Ron? What—what are you doing here?” You ask, gripping the edge of your door tightly to mask the way your hands tremble. You’d hoped it wasn’t to tell you he never wanted to see you again.

He’s quiet as he mulls things over in his head, only looking away to his feet very briefly as if to gather himself to properly articulate his response. “You forgot your scarf.”

He grabs the maroon fabric that was tucked carefully within his jacket, holding it out to you with a slightly shaky hand. You smile softly when you look at it, taking the rain dampened scarf in your hands.

“This is your scarf,” you say with a confused laugh upon closer inspection, running your fingers along the frayed knitting.

“I know it’s just…you use it more than I do so basically it is yours,” He stammers, scratching the back of his neck nervously as he shrugs his shoulders in an attempt to look nonchalant. It hadn’t been working very well and he knew that.

“Oh,” you say softly, nodding as you hold it closer to your chest. “Thank you.”

Things quickly fell silent and you found it wasn’t easy to fill it as you stood there, finding it equally as difficult to look him in the eye. An apology was on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill past your lips in what would surely be a flustered string of words, but for the life of you you couldn’t get it to go farther than just that. Not with the way he looked at you so intensely yet so fond that you didn’t quite know what to make of it. It was clear both of you had something to stay but couldn’t quite form the words.

You took a breath, shifting on your feet as you looked around him timidly, the small overhang at your doorstep appearing to do a pitiful job protecting against the rain. “Do you want to come in—”

“I love you.”

The three words were spoken over yours, almost unheard against the heavy downpour. They were gentle and they were true, how could you not have heard them? The disbelief in your mind was trying desperately to convince you otherwise, that maybe you hadn’t heard him correctly.

Yet even though you clearly had, very clearly, it still hadn’t quite registered to you exactly what he had just said as you finally looked at him. “What?”

It’s all you can manage to say in that moment, your heart hammering away in your chest so much so it could be heard ringing in your ears. You watched as a smile slowly tugged at the corners of his lips, a soft yet nervous laugh falling from them as his hands fall to his sides.

“I said I love you,” he repeats in a louder voice, hoping with all he’s got that he hasn’t misread the situation earlier that morning. That seemed very much like something he would do. Though it felt as though there was nothing to misread. You kissed him. And he wasn’t all too sure what the future held for him, but he found himself wanting to kiss you everyday for the rest of his life after that moment. It was simple to him.

You look at him for a minute, mouth agape and his soft smile never falters, his eyes sparkling with hope in the way he looks at you. Before you could allow any doubt to cloud your mind further you take a step forward and grab his face, pressing your lips on his in a much more firm kiss than earlier that morning. A kiss with much more certainty. His cheeks were wet and icy raindrops had begun to trickle down your sleeves but you didn’t care, not with the way he grabbed you and pulled you impossibly close, grabbing handfuls of your sweater.

You couldn’t bring yourself to mind the fact that his rain soaked clothes were seeping into your own. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the very apparent fact that you were in love with your best friend and he was in love with you.

The need to take a breath was becoming too great as you reluctantly parted from him, not straying to far from his lips. Your hands moved to rest on his chest as he kept you close, your gaze bouncing around his face. From the pale freckles smattering across the bridge of his nose and tops of his cheeks, to the rain drops collecting in his ginger lashes, or the absolute love struck look filling his eyes. Even down to the single rain drop threatening to fall from the very tip of his reddened nose.

You kissed it away softly before looking up into his eyes. A small bout of quiet laughter erupted between the two of you as he rested his forehead on yours, noses brushing against one another’s in a wonderfully endearing sort of way. Your mingling breaths came out in puffy clouds from the cold temperatures, curling around the two of you before dissipating up into the rapidly darkening evening sky.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, kissing him softly once more. “I love you.”

Your cheeks were burning by this point, flushed a pale crimson as he tucked your hair behind your ear. His smile widens, mischief dancing behind it as an airy laugh leaves his kiss swollen lips. “I figured that part out when you kissed me today, Love.”

You swat at his chest with a soft groan and push from his arms. “You’re the pain, Ron Weasley. And I hope you know that.”

He’s openly beaming at you now, and you couldn’t stifle your laughter as you tugged him inside by the hand. He turned to close the door behind him, the grin on his lips when he faces you again something you find utterly adorable. You quickly found yourself biting the inside of your cheek to fight back another bout of giddy laughter.

“What?” He asks, amusement in his tone as he shrugs off his jacket.

You shrug as you shake your head, his hands finding yours as he squeezed them softly. Your foreheads touch once more as he closes his eyes, patiently waiting to hear the exact reasoning for your laughter.

“Madam Puddifoot is going to be over the moon, you know,” you murmur softly, leaning on your toes and nudging his nose up with yours.

He squeezes his eyes shut as he imagines the sheer spectacle the jovial woman is most definitely going to create, his cheeks flushing at the thought. “Bloody hell,” he says softly with a sigh.

Though any future embarrassment was quickly deemed unimportant in that very moment in favor of another kiss and a soft ‘I love you’.

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @n3ssm0nique @writeroutoftime

#ron weasley #ron weasley one shot #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley series #ron weasley fluff #ron weasley x you #ron weasley x reader #ron weasly imagine #harry potter fic

97 notes · View notes