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starlessea2 · 9 months

Note

If you still want Astarion requests, I’d love to see something with a Tav who’s really nervous to let Astarion bite? 🥺

Positively Starved (Astarion)

Pairing: Astarion x Reader [Baldur's Gate 3]

Summary: In spite of your nerves, you invite Astarion back for a bite; admiring the trust you've put in him, he promises to be gentle (Act 1 spoilers).

A/N I wrote this in under an hour as I wanted to play around with some requests! Let me know if you'd like to see more of these off-the-cuff oneshots! (Also, slight mention of blood in this one).

Masterlist

"You can feed on me tonight... if you'd like."

The words sprung from your mouth. They lingered in the air, each syllable punctuating over and over—ringing out through your shared connection.

You felt a cringe.

Where in the seven hells did that come from? Was one near-death encounter not enough?

Before you could attempt to splutter out any sort of explanation, you were met with Astarion's laugh. "How very generous, my dear! I was starting to wonder when you'd invite me back for a bite."

Blood pooled to your cheeks; you could feel it—see it in the way his eyes turned them a similar, darker shade.

As you ruminated on his words, your heart hammered in your chest. The silence was palpable. But just as you were about to open your mouth to dismiss the idea completely, the man was roused into action.

"You know... I never expected you to be so eager," he finally said. Your embarassment swelled tenfold. "Tell you what, when the others have turned in for the night, I'll come to your bedroll."

Immediately, your breath caught in your throat. You glanced around—far less subtly than you would have hoped. To anyone in earshot, it would have sounded like Astarion was propositioning you.

Well, he was, you quickly realised. Just for blood over sex.

"Right—okay," you stammered back. You hated how weak your voice sounded, so you took a moment to make it stronger. "Come find me later then," you told him, before returning to sifting through your supplies.

You tried to calm your nerves, but as you turned to leave, you did not miss the way Astarion's fangs poked through his grin, nor how his eyes trailed your neck. Your legs almost buckled.

◤━━━━━━━━━━━◥ ◤━━━━━━━━━━━◥

As night fell, you found yourself, and your bedroll, tucked away in a small stone outhouse on the edge of camp. You'd discovered it earlier in the day, when looting storage boxes for odds and sods. It was cold, and damp—but at least it wasn't dark.

Amber glow lit up the space; you'd illuminated it with a few low-wicked candles as you waited for Astarion. In this warm light, you tried to make yourself comfortable on your bedroll.

"Setting the mood are we?"

Astarion's voice echoed through the outhouse. Although you tried not to acknowledge it, your heart immediately quickened in response—as did your mind race.

Your eyes followed him as he came inside, closing the old oak door behind him. "I must admit, I didn't expect this..." He waved a hand before him, inspecting the dripping candles, and your poor attempts at cleaning the place up.

"How come?" you asked.

His smile sent a shiver down your spine. "Well, aside from me getting a tad carried away the first time we did this... I could also feel your thoughts."

Even in the dim light, you could see his half-lidded expression, as though he was reliving the moment behind tired eyes.

He went on, "Excitement, yes, my dear. But also flighty as a bird."

Your brows furrowed. Part of you felt indignant, craved to prove him wrong by baring your neck without an ounce of apprehension. The other part wondered how he already knew you so well.

You tried to muster a reply, but it was Astarion who spoke first. "As much as I appreciate the offer, you don't have to do this, you know."

In that moment, everything seemed to still. You could only imagine the state of disbelief painted on your face. Throughout your time together, that must have been the most selflessness Astarion had ever strewn into a sentence.

But now was not the time to comment on it.

"I know," you said instead. "And I won't lie to you. I'm not sure exactly why I sought you out."

You sat up and reached for Astarion's hand. Something flashed over his face, but even so, he allowed you to guide him down to your bedroll.

"Perhaps you were right. Perhaps there is a spark of curiosity in me—excitement, even." His eyes widened, set alight by your confession. "Or maybe, and I know you won't like it..."

With a raised brow, he coaxed you, "Go on."

"When you told me about Cazador—" You paused for Astarion scowl, watching the lines materialise on his porcelain skin. "Well, I just thought how horrible it must have been to be constantly..." You sought out the word. "Hungry."

Astarion's lips parted ever so slightly.

Are you hungry? You shared the thought with him.

"Positively starved," came the reply.

Then he leaned in, casting shadows over your candle-lit skin. To any onlooker it might appear he was preparing for a kiss. But you weren't that naive.

"Not—" Your hand found his chest, the exposed skin peeking out of his shirt collar. "Not too much," you whispered.

Your eyes caught his in a silent plea. Astarion answered by taking your hand and pressing it into your bedroll. "No need to worry, my dear," he said, hot against your ear. "I promise to be gentle."

Your breath hitched. That wasn't the first time you'd heard those words spill from his pretty lips; you just hoped he'd be true to his word on this occasion.

You kept your eyes tightly shut as Astarion found your neck. As his fangs scraped your skin, you took a fistful of his hair between your fingers.

He bit down.

You tried not to cry out. The sensation was one you could hardly describe: a sharp sting followed by... euphoria?

No that wasn't right.

But all you could confidently say was that Asatrion's body lay hot over yours, and his lips were soft, but not quite as gentle as promised.

As he drank from you, you saw stars behind your eyes.

Your body thrummed as he suckled on the tender skin of your neck. The sounds he made were nothing short of sinful; they elicited a strained sort of moan from behind your own lips.

You felt Astarion's hand tighten over yours. He took more from you, worrying your skin between his teeth, coaxing more of your gasps to surface.

Pleasure mingled with pain coursed through your shared connection—a deep longing on either end. You cried out, and quickly, Astarion pulled away.

Feeling the loss of warmth, you opened your eyes. You were dazed, but even then, you noticed his cherry-red lips, tinted with your blood.

You blinked, trying to rid your vision of its blurred edges.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Astarion asked. He sat up immediately, inspecting your neck and overall complexion. "You're looking a little... flushed," he concluded.

A tired laugh escaped you. "My blood runs hot," you managed to say.

"Indeed it does," he agreed. Then he promptly stood up and dusted himself off.

A pang of hurt struck you.

It must have been strong enough to have travelled through your shared connection, since Astarion glanced back almost immediately.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, exasperated. "I'm just going to fetch some water. Try not to move until the dizziness passes."

Your mouth fell ajar. A wave of shyness overcame you. Had it been that obvious you wanted him to stay?

Apparently it had, so you tentatively rolled over, hiding your face from the man. "Thank you," you mumbled into your bedroll.

You heard the door creak open, and Astarion's footsteps damper. "No, my dear," he replied. "Thank you."

#astarion #bg3 #astarion x reader #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfiction #fanfic #bg3 fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

Text

Winter's King 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: friday, my day, am i right?

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You turn your legs over the bench, feet dangling over the floor as you look at the king, dumbfounded and dozy. He sits in the chair by the table, toying with a grab between his fingers as he watches you. Your heart hammers behind your ears as your breath licks like flames in your lungs. You daren’t ask it aloud but what is he doing there?

“I only meant to look in upon you,” King Geralt says as if he can hear your thoughts. “I fathomed the night was long tending to my wife and I would make sure you are well-rested.”

“Your highness,” you stand and smooth the front of your shift, realising you wear nothing more. No dress, no apron. You feel vulnerable to his golden eyes as they follow your hands. The fabric pulls taut on your chest before you can right yourself. “I... Apologies, I am unkempt.”

You search around and go to take your cap from where you hung it. You cover your shorn locks and tie it tight above your nape. The king’s eyes narrow at you.

“What is the purpose of keeping your hair short?” He wonders as he drops the grape back to the plate.

You look at him, shuddering, “I do not... it is only as I’ve been bid, your highness. In Debray, all the maids do so.”

“You are not in Debray now,” he muses.

You’re quiet. You’re not sure how to answer that. You gulp and grab the clean dress from the pile and throw it over your head. It hangs loose, not like Jazlene’s carefully cut and laced gowns. You reach for your apron and the king clears his throat. You stop and look at him.

“Your highness?” You blink, still dazed by his unexpected appearance.

“I did go to see the lady of Debray,” he intones, “she was in a poor state. She would not permit me in her chambers for her condition.”

“Oh my, your highness, I am sorry to hear. Shall I go look in--”

“She has maids a plenty,” he insists, “I hoped...” he leans forward and reaches to his belt. You notice the top of his slate grey tunic is untied and shows the trim of his chest hair, “to share a pastime with her. I hoped perhaps we might see past our differences at last and start our progress towards the kingdom. Alas, despite my warnings, she overindulged and has left herself incapacitated.”

You stare at him, clutching the apron. He flicks his fingers dismissively as his other hand brings forth a pouch, “leave that. Come, sit.”

You can only obey. You put the apron down and cross the chamber. As you near the table, he pushes the tray of dishes out of the way. You lower yourself onto a stool as he opens the mouth of the pouch. He pours out the rattling contents. Carved diced in varying shapes, symbols painted on each side, and man longer pieces that look like bone.

“It is a game,” he explains as the contents roll out, “I’d like to teach you.”

You look down as he sorts out the many pieces into sets. He is lithe in his arrangement. When he is down, he presses his hands flat to frame the assortment.

“You don’t mind?” He wonders, “if you are tired still...”

“Your highness, I am awake,” you rub your eyes and drop your hands to your lap. “A game? How do you play it?”

You lean forward and he seems pleased by your intent. He curls his fingers and takes a breath.

“It is like bartering at a market, or the like,” he begins, “you see how the pieces differ,” he points to the longer ones, “there are tick marks here,” he shows you how one has an ex, another a line this way and the next that way, and a circle in another. “We each have our dice,” he divides those up and pushes a set towards you, “it is a matter of trade and cost.”

“Hmm,” you push your lip out, concentrating.

He continues to explain the balancing and leveraging of each roll. How once you have collected all the pieces with a particular mark, you may wield a greater demand. You tilt your head thoughtfully, your own fingers drawing lines in the air as you make sense of his instruction. You think you understand but remain uncertain.

“We may begin simple,” he intones.

So suddenly are you swept up in the intricacy of the game, that your shock at his appearance dissipates. You can only think of the pieces as he rolls a die. Then the next. You follow his lead and when at last the first trade comes, you hear his offer but have no response.

“You have a question?” He prompts.

“I am thinking, your highness,” you squint as your forehead lines.

“I can tell,” he says brightly.

You peer up at him and smooth your expression. His cheek twitches as he leans back. You counter his offer and he clucks.

“Mm, I see,” he rests his chin on his knuckles.

He hands over his pieces and you bite the inside of your lip. You gather them to your side of the table and frown. You toy with the dice and wait.

“Your turn,” he urges, “unless you are not having fun.”

“It is an interesting game but I don’t want to be let to win,” you mutter.

“I am not letting you win. It is the first turn and it is a long game,” he chides.

“Mm, yes,” you pick through the dice, “your highness.”

He exhales and leans on the armrest, “take your time. I am no hurry to be away.”

You peer up at him and find his gaze set on you. You return your attention to the dice and toss them. He’s a king, should he have better things to do?

⚔️

“It appears you have bested me,” King Geralt sighs and puts his dice down, pressing his hand flat over them, “you have the mind of a councilour.”

“Your highness,” you bring your hands back to wring in your lap.

“Truly, you’ve taken well to it,” he remarks, “it has been some time since I had harrying competition.”

You offer a slight curve of your lips and look away. The window is dulled as the sunlight descends. You blanch and slip forward on the chair.

“Your highness,” you stand, “it is late. I should--”

“You may remain,” he assures you as he shows his palm kindly, “no hurry, little maid.”

“But... shouldn’t you--” you keep yourself from asking after his duty. That is not for you to mind, “the queen will need dinner.”

“As I said before, this place is ripe with servants,” he says coolly, “you should sit and bask in the time you have off your feet.”

You face him and slowly sit. He drags his fingers along the wooden armrest as his expression tightens. He watches you as his square jaw clenches, “unless you would rather be away from me?”

You twist around to look at the door, then to him.

“I will go wherever you command, your highness.”

“Yes, yes,” his hand balls to a fist, “that is not what I...” he sighs with exasperation, “I want to know what you desire. What do you want? What do you need?”

There’s a stirring in your chest as he leans slightly forward, his eyes alight. You peer into the golden pools and your lips part. He is a king and yet speaks as if he would serve you.

“I...” you wisp and clamp your lips tight, measuring your words, “I want to serve you and the queen, your highness. I want to serve the realm.”

He huffs again and grimaces, “for yourself. Not the queen, not me, not the people.”

“Hmmm,” you look down and shrug. You shake your head. You can’t think of anything. “I have a new dress and a hot bath and good food. I can think of nothing. What of you, your highness? What do you want?” You lift your chin slowly, “just for you?”

Your question seems to startle him. He winces and for a moment, seems breathless. He stands suddenly and takes a step forward. He’s close and you think he might lunge at you. You shy away, expecting the same wrath you inspire in the queen. He falters and backs away.

“I want...” he grits and turns his back to you.

He walks to the window and looks out onto the lawns. He hangs his head and grips the window’s edge. He lets out a gravelly sigh.

“I want you...” he utters, “...to come walk with me in the gardens. I would like to do so before we must depart.”

You rise again, “yes, your highness, I will put my shoes on then.”

He puffs out into the deepening dusk. You can feel his frustration roiling from his figure. You grab the stockings and the shoes and return to the chair. You roll the stocking onto your foot and pull it up your leg, rumpling up one side of the skirt as you do. As you hike up the next, the king faces you, surprising you before you can drop the fabric back down to your toes. You sheepishly bend to put your shoes on, embarrassed.

“Thank you, little maid,” he approaches and offers his hand, “for keeping a miserable king company.”

You look at his hand. It’s big and calloused and lined like a map. The invitation seems overly friendly. You accept it, not so bold as to turn him away.

“Your highness,” You murmur as he squeezes your hand then lets his arm fall straight, tugging you away from the table.

Silently, he lets his grip brush from your hand and instead hooks his arm through yours. It is an overly familiar gesture but you allow it. What more can a maid do? As you near the door, he stops and untangles from you completely, stepping away as if struck by the oddity of his actions. He reaches for the door handle and inhales.

He opens the door and steps into the corridor, you follow him, just a pace back. He looks over his shoulder at you then turns ahead. You scurry to keep up with his long strides. He stops at the end of the hallway and you nearly collide with his elbow.

“I am not miserable because of you,” he angles his head towards you as he keeps his voice low, “if you worried...” he shakes his head at himself, “come, little maid.”

You do as he says and trail him through the corridors. It is late and while soldiers remain on watch, most of the lords and ladies have tucked away for their evening meals. The king continues his unstoppable advance with you at his heels. Down a flight of stairs and across the great hall.

Outside, several soldiers bow their heads at his passing and another nears. He dismisses them without a word. You carry on, sensing how his mood darkens with the sky. You’re uncertain of his demeanour, so suddenly shifting from affable to affronted. You didn’t say what he wanted and now he is unhappy. He can be rather like his wife.

He stalks onward to the archway that marks the green gardens of the capital castle. He passes between the leafy pillars and stops to look this way then that, then opts to walk along the middle row. You flit between the hedges behind him as the sky ripples with the looming night and a cool breeze stirs around your skirts.

He is silent as he walks, almost as if he’s forgotten you. You wonder if you fall out of step, if you are lost behind him, would he even notice? Finally, he slows before a pond dug into the center of the gardens, amid lilies and daisies and blue bells. The moon shines down and reflects off the tepid pool.

He treads around the edge of the pond as you stand by the bushes. He circles around to a wooden bench and sits. His shoulders slouch and he leans his head back. The silver light limns his strong features. When he opens his eyes, they glow as they did in your dream.

“I have come this far, I have conquered as I vowed to, I have vanquished the old king,” he speaks to the sky, “I have done all I sought to and yet I am wanting.”

You dip your head, sad for him. You might assume a king would be happy for all his gold and power. That a crown would bring delight as much as glory. All you see is a man in mourning. For all he’s won, he’s lost just as much. Loyal men and many months.

“I have a wife who is petulant, I have an ally who is cowardice, and I have nothing left here to claim,” he continues, “should I remain any longer, I might give it all up.”

He hangs his head and leans forward, gripping the edge of the bench. He sits in silence as he watches the water. A frog hops onto a large stone protruding from the shallows and steals your attention. You watch it leap again and again until it meets the other side.

“Little maid...” the sultry purr crawls over you and you glance over to find the king observing you, “sit with me.”

You shiver and cautiously make your way around the pond. You near him and sit at the end of the bench opposite him. You fixate on the moonlit water. He leans to grab your wrist and hauls you closer. You sidle down until you are almost against him. He slips his hand around yours, covering it in his grasp. He pulls it onto his thigh and rests it there.

He clings to you just like that. You feel a pluck in your chest for him. He has a wife who should share in his troubles but she is too buried in the anguish she made for herself. Yet, she is not there, and you are; a paltry substitute for what he truly needs.

Silence pervades the night but for the chirping of insects and the sweet singing of birds. The king’s grasp on you tightens, then lessens, and tightens again. He eases his hold entirely and pets your hand.

“Will you play another game with me?” His timbre is silty as he looks over at you.

“A game, your highness?” You babble.

He hums and nods, “a child’s game,” he explains, “it is simple.” He sits straight and pushes back his hair, “you will run and I will catch you.”

Your heart lurches. Your lashes flutter. You played the game before, when you were young, with the queen even. But that was years ago and you were smaller and faster. You look at the king.

“Your highness,” you utter.

“It’s my command,” he says, “run.”

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #dark geralt #dark!geralt #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #winter's king #the witcher

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eds6ngel · 10 months

Text

self care night ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

eddie munson x gn!reader

summary: you notice eddie's skin is a little neglected, so you give him a pamper!

warnings: gn!reader. pet names (sweets, sweetheart, angel). established relationship. swearing. no use of y/n. tooth-rotting fluff. mentions of eddie's tough school life. alcohol mentions. weed mentions. talks on legalising weed (bc i am passionate about it). love bombs bc eddie is a sweetheart. lots of kisses [2.4k].

“Eds, stay still!”

You currently had his head bent over the bathtub, massaging in the leave-in conditioner, giving your boyfriend the well-earned hair treatment he needed. But, the longer you pamper him, the more you come to realise why he’d never gotten this treatment in the past.

“My knees are uncomfy,” he whines, the only words leaving his mouth for the past fifteen minutes being constant complaints.

“I’m almost done honey, okay? It’s easier to get to your roots from this angle.”

After a few more minutes of massaging, you place a kiss on his cheek, “Okay, all done now.”

He groans, mumbling, “Thank God for that,” as he stands up, flicking his hair backwards so it lay correctly on his head. You turn your head to the side, hands behind your back as you give him a warm smile, looking like a lost puppy. Eddie furrows his eyebrows, smiling himself as he chuckles, “What?”

“Nothin’,” you cheerily reply, “You just look cute with your hair messy,” placing a quick kiss on his nose and grabbing his hand, dragging him back into the bedroom. You plop him down on his bed, him letting out an exaggerated “Oof!” as you grab the comb on his dresser.

Eddie notices how the handle appears much more shiny that the other times he had used it, the teeth rid of the clumps of curls. “Looks rather clean.”

You sit behind him on his bed, beginning to tackle the knots, them a lot more easier to comb through with the leave-in conditioner massaged into his scalp. “Mhm,” you hum in response, “Poor thing was covered in hair. Needed its own pamper.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong sweetheart. Just like me, the comb and I are extremely against pampering. We’d rather stay messy and gross.”

You scrunch up your nose, although he can’t see it, “Thought you were meant to be defying the stereotypes baby? Isn’t being messy adding to the ‘Trailer Trash’ label?”

You pat him on the shoulder, him knowing from routine that was a signal for him to turn around. He faces you, holding up a finger in detest, “Nope! I own my labels angel! So, if anything, I should conform to it.”

“Hmm,” you hum, “Pretty with your hair washed though…”

You purse your lips at him, to which he copies, squinting his eyes as you do the same. You had these little moments where you simply made faces at each other. It wasn’t mocking or insulting in any way, it was more endearing than anything. It was little moments like these that you loved oh so much.

Eddie lunges forward, grabbing your left cheek and littering kisses all up the right side of your face. You scream at the random gesture, although used to it. “Eddie!”

However, what he does next is the real annoyer. He leans back, shaking his head like a wet dog, your neat combing job now even messier than before. He knows what he did, giving you a toothy grin as you purse your lips, trying not to laugh at him. You sigh, shaking your head, “I hate you.”

He lets out the biggest gasp, putting a hand to his heart, “Hate me? I thought we had a love that would last forever.”

The giggle escapes your mouth as you reply, “You’re such a dork,” him leaning forward once again and mumbling, “I know,” lifting your chin up with his index finger, pressing a slow kiss to your lips.

“Are you gonna sit still for me now?” you ask, smiling brightly as he playfully rolls his eyes, “Yes, my liege.”

You quirk an eyebrow up, combing through the curls that frame his face, “I’m your liege now, huh?”

“Always have been. I’d do anything for you sweetheart,” he softly speaks, you mumbling out, “Sap,” in response. He wraps his arms around your waist, putting his head down in the crook of your shoulder so you can tackle the back of his head. He places a soft kiss there, whispering, “And proud.”

The rest of your combing job is spent in silence, the two of you basking in the simple domesticity. You loved it when Eddie went all out, taking you to the drive-in movie theatre, blasting out songs in his van at 3am, but something about this was special. It was mundane, but loving. That’s what a relationship is all about, right?”

“Okay,” you say, tackling the last knot situated at the bottom of his hair, “And we’re done.” However, Eddie doesn’t move, still laying against your shoulder. You move his damp hair, placing a few kisses behind his ear, whispering, “You okay there, baby?”

He kisses your neck in response, humming and mumbling, “Yeah… Just love you.”

You can’t help but blush at his words, even though he had said it a thousand times before. It was just something about him. You were proud to call him yours.

“I love you too. Need to get on with the face mask though. S’getting late.”

He groans, lifting himself up, taking an overdramatic deep breath as he opens his eyes, beautiful brown orbs, the colour of a small square of chocolate, staring back at you. His hair is now neatly styled, laying more flat on his head than usual, the curls not as bouncy as they once were. Less Kirk Hammett, like he aspires to be, and more Eddie Van Halen.

You get up off the bed, grabbing the green face mask and brush from your bag, the little luggage you brought with you for your night over laying on the floor by one of his many guitar amps.

You cross your legs, getting comfy in front of him as you screw off the lid. You place it to the side, whispering, “Close your eyes,” as you push his hair back with your white headband, the fluffy accessory sitting neatly atop his head. You attend to the face mask, dipping in the brush, the white bristles being overcoated with a sage green colour.

You swipe the liquid across his face, covering all of his pores and zits. You repeat your action: dip, brush, dip, brush, dip, brush. Eddie hums in content, “Smells nice. What’s in it?”

“It’s tea tree bubba. Helps clear up your pores. S’good for acne.”

You swipe once more across his forehead, leaning back and examining your work. You smile at him, soft eyes gazing into his soul as he admires your pureness, “Okay, all done. Now we have to wait ten minutes for it to dry.”

You screw the lid back on, heading to the bathroom to clean the brush. Meanwhile, Eddie has already picked up his acoustic guitar, strumming down the strings to make sure it was in tune.

You lean down to place your skincare belongings back in your bag, asking him, “Been working on anything sweets?”

“Just a ‘lil somethin’…” he replies, clipping the capo onto the second fret, “Still working on it though.”

You lie down on your front, heading leaning against the soft sheets as you legs swing back and forth. “Sure it sounds great.”

He plays you his tune, a more softer sound to what he normally forms, reminding you of ‘Fade to Black,’ a song which Eddie introduced you to. You simply lay there, basking in the way that his fingers pluck at the strings, his left hand moving up and down the fret board in a smooth motion. You loved how dedicated he was to his music, to the band. He even talked to you about pursing it full-time after high school, something you were very supportive of. You loved how passionate he was about it all.

He breathes out, “That’s what I’ve got so far… What do you think?”

You smile at him, “You know I always love what you create Eds. The real question is: do you think it sounds good?”

He drums his fingers against the underside of the guitar, “That’s what I can’t figure out sweets, I like the key, but the fingerpicking sounds off.”

“So it’s not a chord problem?”

He shakes his head, mumbling, “No… I don’t think so anyway.”

“Hmm…” you wonder, trying to think of suggestions with your limited musical knowledge, “How about this?” You hum him a tune, taking different turns that the ones his fingers took, him beginning to copy your humming on his guitar.

Once you stop, he picks up, playing the tune you had created. He puts his fingers over the fret, stopping his movements. He huffs, a slight frustration laced in his tone, “How are you better than me? I should’ve been the one to figure that out…”

He wasn’t jealous of you by any means, not at all. No, he was just annoyed in himself. Your boyfriend was very self-critical, no matter how much he tried to hide it behind the facade of owning his labels. He may have been comfortable in his freak identity, but he never overcame the self-doubt of being less smart than other people.

You maneuver yourself so you are sitting up to face him. You lean forward, cupping his cheeks and saying, “Sometimes you just need a little push. It’s okay to ask for help, you know.”

He scratches the back of his neck, sighing out, “I know, it’s just… Apart from Wayne, you’re one of the first people to ever actually help me. You know how the teachers are… I’m not a third time super-senior for nothin’…”

“S’because I care about you and the teachers don’t. You’re smarter than they think. Don’t ever think otherwise, m’kay?”

He purses his lips, pausing a little before eventually nodding. You tap his nose, looking at your index finger to see it come off clean. “It’s dry now,” you say with a smile, pecking his lips. “Sit on the bed for me. Let me bring in a pot of water. No need for you to move.”

He has no time to answer, your request practically a soft demand as he lays his guitar back down gently, shifting himself from the chair over to the bed.

You return with water in a small, grey pot, a similar-coloured flannel to support as you delicately place it on Eddie’s bed, careful not to spill any on his sheets. Although, you’d seen his mattress, it was ruined anyway from various different things, some you don’t even want to think about.

You soak the flannel in the water, letting it absorb the warmth before wringing it out, telling Eddie, “Close your eyes please.”

He follows your request, eyelids fluttering closed as you press the damp flannel to his skin, caringly wiping away the dried, green face mask. You hum once it’s all off, running back to the bathroom to tip away the water, Eddie barely getting chance to recognise your departure as he sees you shifting through your bag again.

Eddie blinks rapidly as you brings over many different bottles and tubs of products. “I need all of this?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, “I use all of these every night.”

“Seems like a lot of fuss.”

You shrug, “Suppose. But, it makes my skin smooth, so I’m not complaining.”

You take the cap off of the first product, “Okay, this is a toner. It gets rid of any last dirt you may have on your face.” You spritz it over, fanning it so it settles on his pale skin. “Also, it makes you stay younger for longer. But… you know me. I say embrace aging, you know?”

“I know you do,” he says, “Because you see beauty in everyone, and I love that about you.”

“Can’t help that humans are beautiful,” you giggle, Eddie’s heart melting at your words. You were just so pure.

“Okay, this is an eye cream. You apply it with your ring finger,” you demonstrate, scooping some of the cream up, “Prevents dryness. Makes your skin smooth.”

Eddie closes his eyes as you gently pat it under his eyes, rubbing it across as it absorbs into his skin.

You smile widely, “You look glowy already. Okay, night serum! This helps with your blemishes, calms them down a little.” You press the top of the pipette, letting the liquid flow down his cheeks, placing more on his forehead and chin. Using the ends of your fingers, you delicately massage it into his skin.

Eddie taps his own skin, grimacing, “Feels sticky.”

“Because you haven’t let it fully absorb yet!” you laugh, “Just one more thing. And I’m sure you’re gonna love it a lot.”

You reach behind you, dramatically holding the pot of cream in front of him. He takes it out of his hands, reading the label, “Weed cream?”

“Pretty much,” you giggle, “They label it ‘Hemp Cream,’ but we all know it comes from the same plant. So yes… weed cream.”

“Fuckin’ knew weed was good for you. The government sitting there telling everyone it’s bad for you, and they’re shoving it into skincare products.”

You scoop the cream up onto your fingers, rubbing it into Eddie’s skin as you explain, “They allow this because it’s non-psychoactive. Although, I have seen THC oil kicking around Hawkins stores for a long time. Stupid regulations.”

“Exactly sweetheart. Only allow it when it’s used by the conforming population…”

“Like alcohol,” you reply, Eddie nodding along with you. You’d had many conversations about how weed and alcohol had the same short-term and long-term effects, even arguing that weed had less of the two. The only difference you concluded was that everyone ‘normal’ consumed alcohol. Funny that the main group that smoked weed were Mexicans. You and Eddie knew they were hiding their racism.

“Okay, and… we are done!” you smile brightly, screwing the lid back on your pot of cream, “Go over to the mirror baby. Judge my craft.”

Eddie heads over to the mirror as you place your skincare items neatly back in your overnight bag. You walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “How did I do?”

“Amazing, thank you,” he replies sweetly, lifting your hand up and giving it a tender kiss.

“S’getting late,” you remind him with a yawn, “Have school tomorrow.”

“Indeed we do. You ready to head to bed?”

You hum, getting into Eddie’s bed, snuggling under the silken sheets as he flicks off his bedroom light. Although you don’t see him, you feel the bed dip under his weight, his arm draping over your waist as he presses a kiss to your shoulder, “G’night.”

“Night baby.”

And as the two of you fall asleep, you drift off knowing both of your skins were well-cleansed and softly pampered. The perfect way to end a night.

hope you enjoyed! ♡

eddie masterlist.

#eds6ngel #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #stranger things

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wayfayrr · 5 months

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haiiiii can i get uhhhh... spiked latte with Peppermint brittle to take away :3 yan! sky fics are not a want they are a NEED- MOSS HELP ME PLEASE---

order up!! hope it's to your tastes <3

well @sketchyspook - I've got your yan sky here for you with him being a manipulative pos for reader while keeping up his soft facade so they can't really question it :D

[Event masterlist]

“I still can’t believe that link, I mean of all people to fall in love with, you chose the person who was playing through your game? You could have been with a literal reincarnation of your goddess. ”

“You know none of the others were real right? I’m the only one who was alive… as far as I’m aware or care.”

“Still, I can’t believe you don’t resent me even a little bit. I made you re-live your quest so many times and I didn’t even know you were alive.”

All I get in return for that is a playful eye roll like I’d told him a dumb joke rather than confessing how awfully I treated him when he was trapped. It’s rather unnerving how calm he is about all of this, but I really shouldn’t push it any more. I don’t think it would be a pleasant mess to clean up if he snapped and did realise everything he’s been through wasn’t right.

“Can’t this wait until the morning love? We’ve both been through a lot today so we should get some rest right?”

He’s still insisting on calling me that? I do like it, my childhood crush speaking to me like I’m his lover, but something about it seems so wrong.

“Sure, right, fine. I’ve got a guest room and some spare pyjamas you can borrow link.”

“Thank you [name].”

The feeling of something being off with his attitude only grows as he gently grabs my hand while I’m showing him where he can stay. He’s too possessive about this, too happy, even for getting out of a hellscape that his game must’ve been for him, it’s unnerving. My guest room is small and simple with a bed, a small desk and a wardrobe, all in all somewhat reminiscent of his old dorm room. But it should be more than enough for him.

“There should be some spare clothes in the cupboard, my friends tend to just leave them here for whenever they visit.”

“And they’ll be fine with me just using them?”

“They don’t need to know, I’ll wash them tomorrow when we go out to get you some of your own. Goodnight link.”

“Sleep well, love.”

He shouldn’t need my help changing, so I’m confident in leaving him in here while I go shower and settle down for the night too.

Having a hot shower works wonders for clearing your head, a good night’s rest should help to put everything regarding link into focus.

“Hey.”

“Huh? I thought you said you liked the other room? What made you want to sneak into mine?”

“I tried to sleep, but being in there on my own? I was scared I would wake up back in skyloft without you.”

Turning him away if this is true would simply be cruel to him, it doesn’t help the feeling from earlier crawling back though. That he’s possessive, unhealthily so, but I have to brush it off. Maybe I’m just overthinking, maybe he’s just getting used to being real still. It could be any reason like that.

“Move over so that I can get in as well then.”

“You- you’re really not going to ask me to leave my dove? I know theirs a reason I fell for your kindness… I’ll never let anyone else come close to having you like this.”

“What was that?”

“I said you’re not going to ask me to leave and go back to the other room alone?”

Okay, there is definitely something deeply wrong with him if what I think I heard is what he really said. He’s not going too like me questioning him though, and I don’t exactly have the energy for it either. Which I think he can tell, his arms are so warm and welcoming though, it’d be torture to peel myself out of them. Drifting off to sleep where he wants me is just the natural result of how comfortable he is.

“See [name], Isn’t it just so nice to be my lover? Wouldn’t you prefer for it to just be me and you like this forever?”

I’m not even awake enough to respond, instead closing my eyes and sighing against him.

“I knew you would… don’t worry my dove, you’ll never leave my side again. No matter what.”

Ending that haunting sentence with a kiss to my neck and a gentle hum, seemingly more content than he’s ever been. Just from holding me in his arms as we both drift into a deep sleep.

#moss✦writes #peppermint✦brittle #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #link x reader #yandere link #lu sky #self aware au

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 7 months

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Am I the asshole for breaking up with my kind-of girlfriend to have a chance with my childhood sweetheart?

So I (25 bisexual M) was with my childhood sweetheart, X, (25 gay M) for about ten years, so 14-24 years old. X was a massive part of my life and we always used to say that we’d be together forever and everything, and that we’d get married someday.

Around a year ago X got offered the job of his dreams, like this would be the pinnacle of his career, and long story short he was adamant that long distance wouldn’t work for us and so we broke up and X left.

I went through a depressive episode and had some issues with alcohol but ultimately I recovered and that was mainly thanks to a girl that I’ve known since childhood as well, I’ll call her A (24F). There was an instance when X and I decided to explore our sexualities while still dating at around 16 and I slept with A as an experiment (I’m aware this was a shitty thing to do but I was 16 and wasn’t thinking). She’s also wedding-obsessed and wants to get married asap so she can have kids. So A and I dated casually for a bit after my recovery and throughout I made it clear to her that X was still my priority and that if he came back I would leave her for him. She wasn’t happy about this but dated me anyway.

After about six months I decided I wanted to commit to A and I proposed to her, promising that even if X returned I would never cheat on her because she’d be my wife. She said no because she’d still be “emotionally second place” and told me that another friend of hers had offered to marry her, and that they’d been flirting for a bit. She confessed that she’d initially done it to make me jealous (because I HATE this guy, we have history of fights and homophobia towards me and X and just a lot of drama) but she’d slowly fallen for him. A left me for him and they got married.

I dated a bit, etc etc, then one night I got a message from X that fucked me up, not even really saying anything but it just reminded me. I drank, even though I’d been clean for months, and I called A and one thing led to another and we had sex. (A is still married by the way, her husband had no clue.)

She realises she’s pregnant just over a month later and we have a discussion and she tells me she’s always wanted me and she’s deciding to leave her husband for me. It’s all lovey dovey and seems a bit naive and not very well thought out but hey I might get a wife out of it.

Couple of weeks later when A has just started to discuss divorce with her lawyer (but not mentioned it to her husband), X comes back, and I tell A that our plans are off. Even if I can’t be with X again, I realised that I feel like triple what I feel for A when I look at X. It’s just not fair to her. She has a husband and a stable family to raise the kid, and I’ll help as much as she’ll let me, but I can’t be with her. We had a screaming argument and she called me an asshole, so… what do you think??

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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wheredafandomat · 1 year

Text

The Chambermaid

Prince! Loki x female reader

18+ | contains smutty smut smut

Having been promoted from simple maid to now a prince’s Chambermaid, you assumed the workload would be less considering you were now only catering to one person so you were surprised to find yourself even more exhausted now. Being a chambermaid to a royal meant waking up before them to ensure you had their breakfast ready, their bath drawn as well as their curtains and their clothes laid out all before sunrise; the royals woke frustratingly early. You later discovered that their early rise was to ensure that they all carried out any duties before midday allowing them the rest of the day free for other activities only the rich in Asgard could afford. Loki, although somewhat lacking duties, was no exception to this premature wake meaning neither was you.

Despite now only being contracted to ensure prince Loki’s welfare, you found yourself regaling his maidens too, and there were many. Most mornings you were cleaning up after them, fetching clothes for them and having the unfortunate job of marching them out of Loki’s rooms. You tried to do so with a smile, a smile that quickly faded to a frown whenever they’d make a comment in passing about your presence. Loki however was always quick to defend you. This morning you had managed to escort one of Loki’s flings out before running him a bath. Right now, you were making his bed, puffing his pillows when you noticed the markings in the headboard. You studied them, running your fingers over them when you realised they were bite marks. You wondered whose they were. Loki’s or theirs. You imagined how deep in the throes of passion you’d have to be to decide to take your pleasured anguish out on a headboard.

“Curious?”

You jumped as you heard Loki’s voice, startled as your hand fell from the frame. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to turn and face him.

“Your highness I—” you began before he interrupted.

“Please, it’s Loki” he corrected “my acquaintances are rather loud, they prefer to muffle their moans on my unfortunate headboard.” He spoke, clearly smirking from the tone of his voice. Well, that answers that question you thought as you slowly turned to face him, face flushing when you realised he was only covered by a towel hanging low on his waist. His skin was still wet, droplets cascading leisurely down his back, his shoulders, his face. You followed one down his chest, down his torso before it reached his muscular abdomen. You had to drag your eyes away from his Adonis belt before the droplet disappeared, the towel engulfing it. “I myself don’t muffle my moans but I’m not the one being fucked by a god.” He chuckled, removing his towel causing your breath to hitch as you spun around.

“Would you like me to um—to—“ you stuttered.

“Draw me another bath?” he interjected “I’ve just remembered that there’s a council meeting I’d like to avoid this morning and a bottle of wine I’d thoroughly enjoy immersed in it.”

“Umm-yes.” You spoke.

“Well, lead the way.” He prompted.

Your feet began to move, carrying you into Loki’s bathing chambers. Your hands were practically shaking as you twisted the tap before water came flooding out. Loki didn’t enter the washroom until the bath was full which was for the best considering he was currently completely naked. And wet.

“Not going to stay?” He called after you as you turned to leave. You paused, eyes rounding as you panicked.

“What?” You gulped.

“Apologies, that was said in jest, don’t look so pale” he assured. “Others would jump at the chance to bathe with me.” He snickered. “In fact, they do.” He added, mostly mumbling to himself. “That will be all y/n.” He dismissed.

“Your highness—” you were about to bid before he interrupted.

“Loki” he insisted “I call you y/n, you call me Loki.”

“Loki.” You nodded curtly before leaving.

Most of your mornings were the same until one morning things were different. The princes of Asgard were sent away for battle meaning that the prince's chambermaids, yourself included, didn’t have much to do throughout the day. You ensured Loki’s rooms were kept tidy and dust free but apart from that, you were left to your own devices.

One morning your devices left you running your hands over the bite marks on Loki’s headboard again. You couldn’t understand it, how anyone had managed to bite down so hard. You couldn’t picture sex so passionate, so electric that you’d subject your teeth to that torture. You thought about Loki’s previous words “but I’m not the one being fucked by a god”. Is that what makes the women so zealous, the fact that they’re sleeping with a god because that’s essentially what he is, a powerful, brooding god. Maybe that was the secret to messianic sex, sleeping with Loki.

Considering Loki’s room was uninhabited and your curiosity was well and truly piqued, you made your way onto his bed. Immediately you wanted to melt into the comfy sheets, bury yourself in his pillow but you couldn’t, that wasn’t the mission at hand. You ventured up the bed, facing the headboard as you did so until you were near his pillows. You lowered your head enough until your teeth were grazing the headboard but you were not close enough. You moved closer, his pillows underneath you as your teeth moved over the dents left from previous suitors. You imagined them, one by one as Loki fucked them. You imagined the movement of their hips, the way Loki would allow himself to moan freely. You added a tiny bit of pressure to your bite, thinking about how desperate they’d feel right before their climax, desperate enough to bite down harder. You hadn’t realised you were writhing above Loki’s pillows until you felt that familiar pressure building in your abdomen. It was wrong, truly wrong to continue now that you were aware but you were too close now. You ground your hips down harder, faster, eyes falling closed as you let the faux feeling of Loki around you, holding you engulf you. You came, sparing your teeth the pain by biting into your finger instead of the headboard.

You came down from your high before leaping away from Loki’s bed with shaky legs as if you had just been caught. Immediately you stripped it, replacing the bedding before leaving the room.

As the days went on, you found yourself yearning for Loki’s presence more and more. During the day, you prayed for his safe and no doubt victorious return but in the night, you imagined him when you’d touch yourself, cumming to the thought of his head between your thighs or him fucking you in his bed. It was a bad habit, thinking of him in this way knowing you’d never be in the fortunate position his lovers were but you couldn’t help it, Loki was your new obsession. You were enthralled.

One sunny morning whilst you were having a late breakfast, your presence was requested by Loki meaning that he was back. You tried to hide your elation as you rushed towards his rooms. Your smile was so wide that your mouth hurt. When you reached his door, you bit your smile down as you knocked. After a few moments you entered.

“Are you any good at stitching y/n?” Loki asked, facing his dressing table as you walked in.

“Yes, I can—” you began before Loki turned to face you “are you aware that you’re bleeding?” You pointed out, gesturing to the cut above his brow.

“Quite.” He answered.

“You want me to stitch you?” You gulped.

“I trust you.” He shrugged.

“And not the sisters in the medwing?”

“I trust you.” He repeated. You nodded in reply.

“Well, I just need to grab a few things.”

“I’ve got all the materials you will need.” He insisted.

“Right then, let’s get to work.” You clapped.

“Where do you want me?”

Underneath me

“Here’s fine.” You said, gesturing to his bed. Loki stood up with what looked like a first aid kit before making his way to his bed and sitting on the edge, looking up at you. You opened the first aid kit, laying the things you’d need out. “I’ve got to clean the wound first, it might sting a bit.” You announced, dabbing some cotton wool with rubbing alcohol. He nodded in reply before you pressed the antiseptic wool to his forehead. You knew it stung however Loki had no reaction. You positioned yourself closer to him, standing between his legs as you tilted his head further up before you began stitching. As you stitched, Loki’s gaze moved onto something else but his hand found its way onto your leg. His grip tightened whenever the needle penetrated his skin; it was obvious it hurt. You tried to ignore the tingling feeling flooding your centre as his hand practically caressed your inner thigh. His hand then ventured between your legs, wrapping around the back of one of your thighs as if this was better leverage against the needle. You wondered what he was thinking as you stitched, his face level with your cunt.

You hesitantly finished knowing that once you did, this moment of closeness would come to an end.

“It’s done.” You spoke, breaking the silence. You didn’t step away, he was still holding you.

“Thank you.” Loki smiled, looking up at you before slowly releasing your thigh, realising how tightly he had been holding it “sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You smiled chastely. Your eyes lingered on one another’s for a few moments before you both realised and tore your gazes away from each other. “Well” you started, clearing your throat “if there’s nothing else, I’ll just be going.”

Loki nodded as you departed grudgingly. You made it to the door before wrapping your hand around the handle and turning it.

“Wait.” He called out, making you pause.

“Yes Loki.”

“Could you—um—would you” he stammered as you turned to face him.

“Yes?”

“Draw me a bath?”

You nodded, strangely upset that this was his only request. You had let your mind run away with you. You made your way to the washroom, tears pricking at your eyes. Once you had run Loki’s bath, you called after him to no reply. You made your way out, calling him again when you saw him lying on his bed but he didn’t answer. You tried again to no avail. It was clear that he was asleep so you thought it best if you simply left. You headed to the door again, pausing when you heard Loki’s half asleep voice.

“Stay.”

“W-what?” You answered, unsure whether you heard correctly.

“Stay here, please.”

“Okay Loki, I’ll stay.”

You stepped towards his bed cautiously, stiff as an iron board when you laid against the edge of it. Your eyes rounded when you felt Loki drape an arm around you before pulling you back against him until your back was against his chest. You felt him breathing softly against the nape of your neck, smelt him against the pillow, you were happily engulfed by him. Inhaling deeply, you allowed yourself the privilege of closing your eyes.

Hours later you were woken suddenly by the sound of Loki mumbling almost incoherently. Your eyes flew open as you felt him writhing against you; he was hard. You whispered his name but he didn’t answer so he was probably doing this in his sleep. His rock hard length was pressed against you so you pushed your hips backwards until he was firmly pressed against your ass. You let your mind wander again, imagining being one of Loki’s flings as he ruts against you in his sleep. Reaching behind you, you grabbed his hand before slowly placing it against your hip, stifling a little whimper at the feeling. You had heard of this phenomenon before, men returning from battle and having a delayed adrenaline rush. Was this it? Was this Loki’s delayed adrenaline ramping him up and turning him on?

Your dress began riding up your legs before you tugged it up and then paused, this was wrong. You knew you should be waking him up, stopping whatever this was but gods it felt good.

“Fuck” he muttered, grinding against you “don’t stop on my account.”

Great, now he was awake

“Loki I—” you began, unsure what to say.

“If it’s satisfaction you crave, continue pulling your dress up or by all means, you are free to leave, I won’t pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do.”

You were silent, not sure how to answer.

“Make a decision, pet.”

Pet

Almost immediately, you pulled your dress up before tugging your panties down.

“Are you sure?” Loki spoke in your ear.

“Gods yes.” You almost moaned.

“Very well.” He smirked, slapping your ass causing you to bite down on your lip. You moved one of your legs slightly as he angled himself towards your entrance. You could already feel how slick you were with earliers heavy petting and the thought of him inside you so you wasn’t surprised when he slipped in with ease. His hands were both on you, caressing your body, holding your hip whilst he fucked you. He pulled you back against him, one of his hands snaking round you to tease your clit. You were near certain this was all a dream, a very sexy dream.

“Yess Lokii.” You moaned as he drew fast circles on your clit, his cock moving against your walls. He rolled you over until you were on your front and he was above you. You tried to stifle your pleasure in his pillow as he drilled into you, circling his hips as he came. He slowed his thrusts before pulling out completely and laying against the bed. You hadn’t realised, too lost in your own world until Loki’s spoke.

“Come here.” He commanded. You lifted your head, looking at him when you noticed that he was still hard. Obediently, you made your way towards him, lowering yourself on top of him, both of you moaning as he entered. With the new angle came new pleasure. You bounced above him, feeling him deep inside you as you screamed his name. He was gripping you tightly, chin tilted upwards as he looked at you. When your eyes met, you felt as if you were floating, the intimacy not going unnoticed. His fingers were rubbing your clit again, sending your pleasure into overdrive. Your thighs were already shaking.

“I’m gonna cum Lokiii, oohh godd.” You cried as he fucked up into you.

“Cum for me, come on, ughh, such a perfect cunt ughhh.” He groaned.

Your body tensed as you reached your climax, it was undeniably the best orgasm you had ever had. Before you had even fully recovered, Loki spoke.

“I want you on my face.”

“Loki” you gulped.

“Now.”

Submissively you once again followed suit, only pausing when you were positioned above him. Thinking about the practicalities of this position and not wanting to hurt him, you were about to object until he pulled you down on top of him, feasting on you. You moaned his name stridently as he suckled on your clit. You were already so sensitive, thighs quivering as he lapped up your arousal, the lewd sloppy noise filling the room. Your pleasure was too much, your moans were too much. The feeling was too much, too electric. Before you knew it, you were leaning forward, biting down on the headboard, making new markings as Lokis tongue entered you.

“Lokiii.” You cried, your orgasm spilling over you as your thighs tightened around his head. He continued licking your cunt, groaning as you came on his face. After a while, you realised Loki probably couldn’t breathe so you got off of him quickly, not knowing what came over you. Your hand found your mouth as you looked at Loki laying there red faced. “I’m so sor—”

“No, that was perfect” he beamed, licking his lips “norns you’ve made me hard again.” He smirked.

That was unexpected

Loki made his way off of the bed, standing at the edge as he pulled you towards him, positioning your legs over his shoulders before entering you again. You fucked, you came, Loki lifted you up and had you against the wall before you both came again until you were both thoroughly sated.

Eventually the two of you relaxed in a bath, Loki massaging your shoulders as you sat between his legs. It felt unfamiliar to be in the basin this time.

When you were finished, you were back in his bed, only laying down this time before falling asleep. You knew you were bound to wake up sore.

Needless to say, you never had to chase any more wayward women away. You were enough.

Omg I wrote this on google docs I’ve been putting off writing anything because I didn’t wanna use google docs 😂 anyways I’ll probs finish off the requests next week considering I’m a google docs bitch now eh

Tags:

@lokisninerealms @lokiprompts @mischief2sarawr @lulubelle814 @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @eyesbluelikethetitanic @vickie5446 @mcufan72 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @lokilvrr @evelyn-kingsley @strangelockd @xorpsbane @lovingchoices14 @donaweasley @sailorholly

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#oc fiction #tom hiddelston loki #loki fanfiction #loki smut #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki of asgard #loki imagine #loki imagines #prince loki #prince loki x reader

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bullet-prooflove · 3 months

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Valentine's Day Bingo: Pink - Connor Rhodes x Reader

Tagging: @lapricot @stxrryswvrld @cosmic-psychickitty @rosaliedepp @mrspeacem1nusone @sowrongitslottie @crazy4chickennuggets @shepgurl @upsteadlogic @cixrosie @burningpeachpuppy @i-spaced-sorry @handsupforamiracle @slytherqueen14 @queenslandlover-93 @thebejeweledwatercat @voidsteffy @shakespeareanwannabe @cerealreblogger @aaronhtchnrs @mysoulisasunflower @vermillionwinter @thebaileybugle @kotlclover2021 @neapolitantoebeans @joyfulfxckery @wnbweasley @evee87 @celilice1 @one-sweet-gubler @wooshwastaken @anime-weeb-4-life @99-reasons-to-live @legit9thlunaticwarrior @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @witches-unruly-heart @infinity-mars @telepathay @iworldlywriter @nu1freakshow @nothinbtannika @whovianwholikesgirls @@angelicbxtch @altsvu @olymosity @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @district447 @sarahedwards16 @stelacole @abby-splace @kabloswrld @rawremodino

Hitting the Wearing Pink Bingo Square

When Connor first meets you, it’s in the Emergency Room on Valentine’s Day. You’re wearing a pink mini dress that barely covers your assets and fuck me heels. The left side of your face is smeared with blood, the vessels in your left eye an eruption of tiny starbursts. His heart sinks because there’s been a spate of attacks on working girls recently and he thinks he’s looking at a fresh victim.

He’s both right and wrong.

“Look after her alright?” Antonio Dawson tells him as you’re escorted into the medical bay. “She’s my partner.”

A cop then.

It doesn’t take a genius to work out that you were part of a sting to catch the guy whose been beating the hell out of those women.

“Did you get him?” Connor asks, pulling on a fresh set of latex gloves as you sit on the edge of the hospital bed.

Now that he’s up close, he realises it’s not as bad as he once thought. The blood seems to be coming from a cut above your eyebrow, it’s starting to slow at this point. It’s a big gash, he’ll have to have to stitch it. His work is neat, careful but you’re still going to have a scar, he thinks.

“He was in the ambulance behind me.” You inform him as he tilts your head up towards the light and begins to clean the crimson from your skin. “Trust me, he’s worse off than I am.”

He believes you. He can see the grazes across your knuckles as you flex and unflex your hand. Once he’s finished with the mop up he continues with the rest of his examination. He’s as gentle as he can be, his fingers poking and prodding the bones under and around your eye.

“Nothing’s broken.” He tells you as he draws away and busies himself removing the stitch kit from one of the stainless steel drawers in the corner of the bay. “ I’ll get you stitched up and then grab you something else to get changed into.”

It’s a professional courtesy and a human one. He knows that your night doesn’t end when you leave the hospital, you’ll be heading back to the precinct in order to complete your reports on the assault. He assumes you’d rather not do it in a blood stained mini dress.

“I’d appreciate that.” You tell him softly, looking down at the burgundy stains soaked into the fabric. “Antonio’s probably already waiting with the evidence bags.”

“I’m guessing this all came from the perp.” Connor says gesturing at your clothing.

“I had a push knife.” You say by way of explanation, your gaze straying to the gap in the curtain. There’s a flurry of activity on the opposite side of the glass, you can see Choi barking orders as they angle the stretcher into the bay beside yours. “I don’t think he’s coming back from that.”

“It depends where you got him.” Connor remarks as he begins the process of stitching your wound together.

“Neck.” You say quietly. “More than once.”

Connor doesn’t speak, his dark eyebrows furrow in concentration. You both know the guy in the next room probably isn’t going to make it.

“You must think I’m cold, the way I’m talking about killing a man.” You say softly, your gaze lowering to the cuts across your knuckles.

“No.” He says honestly as he finishes up his work, snipping the thread carefully. “I treated some of the other girls he hurt...”

He trails off, his mouth fixing into a grim line. You’re not the only one haunted by those girls, you can tell. You’ve seen the pictures, read the reports. He’s been up close with their pain, endured their suffering, their agony.

“I think you’re incredibly brave putting yourself out there like that, not a lot of people would.” He tells you, stripping off the gloves before tossing them into the medical waste bin.

You can read between the lines, you know what he’s not saying. These victims, they’re on the fringes of society, the people that others don’t give a shit about. He’ll be the first to admit he’s jaded, he didn’t expect the police to actually do anything about the problem, a waste of resources he had overheard one cop saying when he was working on the last girl.

“These women.” You say, shaking your head. “They’re just trying to put food on the table, support their families. They don’t deserve what happened to them.”

When he looks back he realises it’s your compassion that he fell in love with, your ability to see the person underneath all the noise. He sees it over and over again throughout the course of your relationship.

He isn’t sure why he’s replaying the day he met you, he thinks it’s because the fleece pyjamas you’re wearing are the same colour as the dress you were clad in that night. The two of you are tucked up in bed together, your body draped across his like a weighted blanket. His palms smooth over your clothing as he holds you close, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. He had never envisioned that it would end up like this, that the woman he met that night would become the one that devoted himself to, the one that he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

Love Connor Rhodes? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#connor rhodes #connor rhodes x reader #connor rhodes x you

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themultifandomgal · 2 months

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Hey you! I just read that you take requests for peaky blinders and I’m wondering if you could maybe write something for John x reader? Like from s1 when he calls for a family meeting, that he wants to marry Lizzie. But reader is there maybe she works with Grace at the bar and has known John since they were young. She was in love with him but he married Martha, reader helped with their kids and her births and when his wife died she stayed around to help John. But he never thought she looked at him like anything more than a brother. But Polly knew and Tommy too, so when John asks them about Lizzie in front of you. They all tell him he’s blind to not see how reader loves him and his kids. She is really sad cause she thinks he’s going through with the wedding to Lizzie but when he gets home that night and she’s watching the kids he finally talks to her and asks her how she really feels. Like he would see her in such a loving way he couldn’t even consider she’d ever want a man like him. A real cute ending would be lovely

John Shelby- Tell Me The Truth Pt1

I just realised writing this how similar to my last request this one is so this time I’ve used actual dialogue from the season 1. Might make this one into a little series. Hope you enjoy.

Also trigger warnings- swearing, talking about vomit, violence, the usual peaky blinders stuff.

“Oh for fucks sake” YN groans as a man vomits at the bar “I gotta clean that up now, fucking twat go ‘ome to ya wife”

“Why d’ya think I’m ‘ere love” the chap wipes the vomit from his mouth making YN shudder a little. Rolling her eyes YN goes to get her mop and bucket while she leaves Freddie and Tommy to talk, although knowing it may end up in someone getting hurt

“Hi YN” Finn, the youngest Shelby sibling says smiling at her

“Hey Finn, why aren’t ya at school” the boy shrugs his shoulders

“Borin’”

“It may be borin’ but do ya wanna end up like ya brothers? an alcoholic, an other a deceiver, another married at 17 because he fucked some poor girl. Get yourself some juice then head back to school”

“Fine” the boy whines but does as he’s told, well kind off. YN doesn’t need to know that he’s took the juice and headed off home.

Walking back to the bar with a mop and bucket and some other cleaning supplies, she now sees Tommy and Freddie holding Danny up. Glass and chairs thrown everywhere

“Oh hell did I do it again?” he asks

“You did it again Danny”

“Miss YN I’m so sorry” Danny cries

“It’s ok Danny” YN says sympathising with him. She knows better than anyone how the war has changed so many people and families. She worked as a nurse to help the injured soldiers. Combat Fatigue, or shell shock is what they called it when men would return home, but they weren’t themselves. Unfortunately Danny, once a sweet caring man, now has moments where he forgets where he is. Just a noise could set him off. Knowing this YN knows that she shouldn’t be harsh on him. It’s not his fault

“Mr Shelby you have to do something about him”

“Damn right Harry. You pay the peaky blinders a lot of money for protection. Your the law around here now, aren’t ya Tommy?” Freddie say as Tommy takes a swig of whiskey

“And what would you suggest? Hm? Putting a bullet through his head? Kill an innocent man? Thought you would have done enough of that during the war”

“YN back to work” Harry says pointing at the girl

“Sorry ‘man’s business’ right? that’s a load of fucking bollocks and you know that”

“Harry get YN to drop the bill off at the betting shop. We’ll take care of this” Tommy says putting his cap back on and walking out of the bar

“I don’t know why you’re still involved with that lot” Harry mutters grabbing a broom. YN shrugs

“Grew up with John boy didn’t I. They’re family”

“Yet the man you love married another. I’d leave them before they break you” with that Harry gets to sweeping the floor. What Harry said hurt YN, not the part about them breaking her, no. They wouldn’t do that, the Shelby’s all treat YN as family. The part that hurt YN was that John married Martha, YN’s best friend. Tommy always said it was only because he got her pregnant and wanted to do the right thing, but YN always wondered if he hadn’t of got Martha pregnant would he have ever married her? Would’ve he and YN had a chance? Well it’s to late now. John married Martha and now is a widower with 4 children who YN had help Polly deliver.

Later that evening YN walks home, having to pass Johns house where she can hear the chaos that is bath and bed time. Going against her better judgement, YN finds her feet making their way to Johns house and knocking on the door. A disheveled John answers the door

“Oh thank god your here. I don’t know how Martha did this everyday” sighing YN gives him a weak smile entering his house

“Just get a glass of whiskey for me for when we’re done”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders reader #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #john shelby #john shelby x wife #john shelby x y/n #john shelby x you #john shelby x oc #john shelby x reader #john shelby imagine

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artemis32 · 2 years

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Subjugation I

Yandere Erasermic x reader

****

I've developed a thing for duo's

Also, warning, it's illuded to the the reader is / was a student, so if you're not into that, don't read it :)) reader is 18+ (around 19 to like 20-ish) so don’t get your panties in a twist

word count - 6.5k

****

tw - violence and abuse (against reader), implied sa, kidnapping mentions, age gap (reader was their student), mentions of starvation (let me know if I missed anything - broader warnings in the tags)

****

Part II

bnha masterlist

****

Six months, two weeks, four days, fifteen hours, and thirty-two minutes.

"Hmm. I was thinking we could order out for dinner. I'm not really in the mood to cook. What do you think Shota?"

Mr Aizawa - Shota, he insists - hums.

"Sure."

You were positioned awkwardly on the couch, laying on it upside down with your legs thrown over the back, staring up at the ceiling. Boredom ate away at the corners of your mind.

Every few seconds you’d tap your foot to the rhythm of a non-existent song, then your limbs would fall limp as you recalled your boredom. The cycle had been on repeat for the past hour and a half.

The conversation between the two men paused for a moment, and you grit your teeth in annoyance as you prepared for what was about to come.

“Say sweetheart, any special requests for dinner?”

You stare up at the ceiling with a deadpan expression on your face.

“Not hungry,” you respond in a flat tone.

The silence that follows has you mentally groaning.

Please not today. Please leave me alone.

“Ah... sweets, that wasn’t my question. Come on now, there must be something you’re craving. Oh! What about that Thai place you used to go to? We haven’t had that in a while.”

I wonder why.

The words lay on the tip of your tongue, but you bite them back. Now isn’t the time to kick up a fuss. Not when you’d been behaving so well lately.

The words make you gag.

“Hizashi asked you a question.”

Your skin prickled. You hadn’t realised that they were still waiting for an answer.

Out of the two of them, Aizawa definitely instilled more of a fear in you than Yamada ever had. You tried not to dwell on why exactly that was the case.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you hummed.

“Fine. Whatever.”

A beat of silence passed before Present Mic started speaking again, attempting to ease the sudden oppressive atmosphere.

“If you’re bored, you’re welcome to join me. Cleaning isn’t the most entertaining thing in the world, but it passes the time. Or you could help Sho with his work - what do you think Shota?”

You sit up, stretching your arms high above your head, joints popping from the lack of movement.

“I’d rather eat glass than help either of you.”

The words are said so nonchalantly that it stuns them.

Mic laughs nervously. “Come on now, there’s no need to be so hostile, I’m just trying to help you.”

His words almost make you laugh. Help you? How ridiculous. To think that either of them were aiming to help you. They were denser than you thought.

“No thanks,” you bite the words out harshly.

You stand and make your way around the couch, past the dining room table where Aizawa is seated grading papers, towards the hallway that leads off to your - the - bedroom.

They may have labelled it as the bedroom that the three of you shared when you behaved “as a reward”, but it wasn’t your bedroom. This wasn’t your home.

You weren’t happy here, and you would never be.

Mic seems to deflate at your harsh tone, watching you pass by with a pout.

“Why do you hate us so much? You never used to be this hostile. Is it because we don’t let you watch TV - is it because we don’t take you outside anymore? You know that that’s your punishment for the last time you...”

He trails off, not needing to say anything more for you to understand what he meant.

You feel your restraint wearing thin, mentally begging him to shut up.

“Maybe if you behave, we can go to the backyard - or maybe the beach or something this weekend? Of course, you’ll have to be extra convincing.”

His suggestive words are what make you snap, bile rising up your throat.

“As if I’d ever want to go anywhere with either of you... You- you disgusting perverts!”

You regret it instantly, slapping your palm over your mouth as soon as the last syllable glides off of your tongue, but it's too late. The words had slipped out before you could stop to think about them, and you immediately know you’ve made a mistake.

Aizawa lunges out of his seat, straight at you, but you’re already moving, sprinting down the hallway towards the bedroom.

Your feet slip on the hardwood floors, and you almost shoot straight past the doorway to the bedroom, grabbing the door frame at the last second. You pull yourself into the room and whirl to slam the door behind you.

Aizawa slams against it, pushing you further into the room as you throw your entire body weight against the door, trying desperately to shut it.

“Apologise now and maybe I won’t thrash you.”

The words are said calmly. He’s barely out of breath, far too calm. You’re breathing rapidly, though that’s more because you’re frightened, and less because you’re physically drained.

“No, I meant every word,” you spit the words like venom. “Go fuck yourself. You’re disgusting and you know it!”

His words lend to your righteous anger, giving you the last bit of adrenaline you need to shove the door closed.

You say a small prayer of thanks to whatever lead you to run into the bedroom instead of the bathroom across the hall amidst your panicked sprint down the passage.

The bedroom was the only room in the house with a lock on the inside of the door, and the sound of the lock clicking into place seems to echo throughout the room, a final bell, ringing like a clock striking midnight.

You jump back slightly as Aizawa slams his hand onto the door. It seems to shake on it’s hinges for a moment.

“When you come out here, you’d better be ready to beg on your knees, or I might kill you. You remember what happened the last time. You remember the promise I made to you.”

The solid door between the two of you seems to give you an inflated sense of safety, and you let loose, consequences be damned.

“Beg you? Don’t make me laugh. I’m not coming out anytime soon, so you’d better get comfortable Mr Aizawa.”

His name, his title, it all comes out so mockingly.

Your heart continues to beat wildly in your chest, even though the danger has long since passed. You flop down onto the bed, a small smile on your face.

When you left the room, whenever that may be, you knew that one of them would be waiting for you. You also knew you were likely in for the beating of your life for how you had spoken to them. But in that moment, you got a sick sense of satisfaction out of their reaction to your words.

****

Months ago, when they had first kidnapped you - rescued you - you had been vicious with your hands, even more so with your words.

You would bite, scratch, slap, punch, kick, spit at them whenever they tried to get anywhere near you. They’d been patient with you, saying that they understood that you needed time to adjust, to accept your new life.

What a fucking joke.

When you realised that your physical resistance had no impact on them - of course it didn’t, they were two fully grown men, two seasoned pro-heroes - you had switched to verbal assault instead.

And you had been delighted to find that it seemed to cut them far deeper than any one of your weak kicks ever could.

So you went with it, calling them every vile name you could think of, spewing insults as if your life depended on it.

In a sense, it probably did.

One day, around two and a half months after you’d arrived at the Aizawa-Yamada residence, you learnt about exactly how far their patience for your venomous words went.

You’d been tired, having slept on the floor in the bathroom after being caught in an escape attempt the evening before. You’d been hungry, your meal privileges being revoked as an extra punishment for trying to fight them after they caught you. But most of all, you’d been mentally drained and scared, just like anyone else in your situation would have been.

Yamada had come to the bathroom to drag you to the dining room table, back to his usual cheery mood.

Any other day, you would have been able to grin and bear, but after months of being so constantly on your guard, you were sick and tired of entertaining his disgustingly joyous moods.

He had gently coaxed you into a seat, serving you a plate nearly overflowing with food. He fed you what he assumed to be motivating words, encouraging you to eat.

Aizawa sat across from you, eyeing you with a look you couldn’t describe.

For twenty minutes you sat there, staring down at the plate of food, watching the steam curl upwards in enchanting swirls.

The men across from you were having a whispered conversation, interrupted only when Yamada cleared his throat and addressed you.

“Honey, do you not like the food? I made all of your favourites...” he trailed off, unsure of what to say next.

You felt the weight of their stares on you, you felt months’ worth of pent-up emotion, you felt anger and resentment and sadness and fear, and you felt so tired.

You felt all of these things, and you felt nothing.

Slowly, you lifted your head, your stare boring into Yamada’s, then into Aizawa’s.

Shaking your head, you let out a soft, dry laugh.

Nothing about this situation was funny.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

You’d never seen Yamada - Present Mic? - Hizashi? - look so concerned.

It made you sick.

“The two of you... You’re...”

They seemed to be waiting for you, anticipation thick in the air as they sat on the edge of their seats.

“We’re what?” Aizawa asked sharply.

“Perverts. Disgusting, horrible, depraved perverts.”

The words were whispered under your breath, barely audible, but they heard it nonetheless.

They stiffened, and the tension in the room skyrocketed until you could barely breathe.

Everything seemed muted at that moment, almost as if it had been dulled. You felt as though you were having an out of body experience, and you knew that you’d messed up.

But even though you felt dread slowly crawling up your spine, settling over your mind, you found a sick sense of satisfaction in deathlike stillness you’d managed to pull over the room.

Aizawa was the first to react, huffing out a quiet laugh. It rumbled in his chest, growing a bit louder as he leaned back in his seat.

He let out a heavy sigh, as if he’d been holding it in for years, before standing up and making his way behind you.

You tensed as you felt his hands on your shoulders, kneading the tense muscles, urging you to relax.

He moved your hair to the side, leaning down with his mouth next to your ear. His proximity gave you goosebumps, and they rippled across your flesh as his breathe ghosted over your neck.

“How long have you been saving that one sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. It sounds mocking, and he says it with a sneer.

Your racing thoughts are interrupted as you feel his fingers lace through your hair. He does it softly, intimately, and for a single moment it feels like a lover’s caress, and you think, foolishly, that he’s trying to comfort you.

The picture-perfect moment is ruined as he pulls your head back and slams it into the table.

Ringing fills your ears, and your vision is fuzzy, but all you can think about is the fact that Yamada had moved the plate of food out of the way mere seconds before your face had connected with the tabletop.

You weren’t sure if that made you feel better or not.

Aizawa yanked you back up by your hair, getting close to inspect the damage he had inflicted on you.

“Perverts huh? Let me give you a piece of advice sweetheart. You say something like that again, you’ll have a hell of a lot more to worry about than just a night without dinner. I swear to you, I’ll beat you black and blue.”

His words scare you. His actions scare you more.

Fingers still laced through your hair, he drags you to the bathroom and throws you in before crouching down in front of you as you lay sprawled on the floor.

“And in the future, if you really think we’re so perverted, maybe we should prove it to you. Hell, maybe we should do it anyway - give you a real reason to be scared of us.”

He stays there, staring, waiting for an answer.

Your cheeks feel wet.

When did you start crying?

You nod your head slowly, cautiously.

“I’m sorry... I won’t say it again, I- I promise.” Lies.

Aizawa nods before standing up. He towers above you, making you feel smaller and more vulnerable than you had in a long time.

“I think after you ruined dinner like that, you deserve another night on the floor. Hopefully tomorrow you’ll have a better attitude.”

He slams the door shut, leaving you dazed and shaking, your face bruised and bloody.

****

You’d been especially timid for months after that incident, toning down all your escape attempts and physical assaults and verbal abuse. You were still cold and harsh, you still spat and kicked and spewed venomous words, but you knew when to hold back. You saw the tell-tale signs of their patience wearing thin and you’d back off for a while, or at least until they’d calmed down.

It was a never-ending cycle, something that could be likened to a game or a dance, and it was exhausting.

But through all that, you never once uttered that word again.

And true to his word, neither Aizawa or Yamada had touched you, though they’d both made plenty of sexual innuendos and snide remarks, even going as far as to talk about exactly how good they could make you feel.

It all made you so sick, but you never said anything, never made a remark like you had that day.

****

Six months, two weeks, five days, three hours, and sixteen minutes.

The room was stiflingly hot when you woke up.

You didn’t remember falling asleep but buzzing off of so much adrenaline must have tired you out more than you’d thought.

Sitting up with a groan, you rubbed your eyes and surveyed the room.

Everything was the same as it had been when you'd dozed off. The dresser you'd shoved in front of the door hadn't moved an inch.

You stumbled slightly when you stood, dizzy from laying down for so long. Once your head had settled, you made your way to the ensuite bathroom.

Again, you said a small prayer of thanks, grateful that you at least had the privilege of a bathroom during this stalemate.

That's exactly what it was, you realised.

You didn't intend on leaving anytime soon, you'd been truthful when you told Aizawa that. But you also knew that they wouldn't back down, and that you were in for a lashing if you were to leave your newfound safe haven.

A small part of you was terrified.

Because you knew that you would eventually have to leave the safety of these four walls. And you knew what awaited you when you did. But you pushed those thoughts to the very back of your mind, shoving it into the box of things that you swore not to think about if you could avoid it.

On the bright side, you had a bathroom, fresh water, and there were various snacks hidden throughout the room, courtesy of Yamada and his bottomless pit of a stomach.

You made it to the bathroom without stumbling again and went about taking care of your business.

Ten minutes later, you realised you had zoned out, staring up at the bathroom window. The sight of it brought back some unwanted memories.

****

You had only attempted to escape twice since being taken, a number you thought the two men should be thankful for. You may have been cold and rude, but at least you didn’t give them many problems.

That was probably part of the reason they’d kept you around.

The first time you had tried to run away had been planned out in painstaking detail, and you’d accounted for almost every possibility. That probably also lent to the anger you’d felt at being caught, and the words that had followed.

It was also the reason that every window and vent in the house was barred up. It made you feel like more of a prisoner than you already were.

The two men had left for work that morning, as they usually did, and Yamada had showered you with promises of a lavish dinner and gifts when he returned. You had to swallow back the bile that you felt rising up your throat.

Part of your plan - probably the biggest deciding factor - had been patience. You had to wait, and wait, and wait, and wait. You never knew if they would decide to call off work and spend the day here instead.

You wouldn’t want them to catch you midway through an escape.

After what felt like hours of waiting, but was truthfully only an hour and a half, you made your move. The anxiety coursing through your veins made every noise ten times louder, and it felt as though time was slipping through your fingers as you hurriedly unscrewed the heavy metal grille covering the bathroom vent.

As much as you would have loved to climb out the window, you weren’t fond of the thought of falling twelve stories down, no matter how desperate you were to get away.

The next best option was the vents, and you had spent days learning the layout of the apartment, trying to come up with a mental map of what the rest of the floor of the building would look like.

It had been exhausting, but you couldn’t leave any written trace of what you were planning - not when the two pro-heroes picked up on every shift in your mood, every slight change in routine.

Keeping up the pretence of going about your daily routine that morning had been difficult too. You had to fight the urge to stare off into space, thinking over your plan again - but more than that, you had to fight the urge to look at the lifted floorboards where you had stashed the few tools you needed to open and close the vent without suspicion.

There had been a moment, right before Aizawa had left, that you’d felt your anxieties rise. In that split second, it felt almost as if he were looking through you, rather than at you, with a look on his face that you couldn’t quite describe.

But he’d left without saying anything - no warning words, no cautious looks, nothing.

Honestly, their lack of suspicion was likely the main reason you got caught - it made you too confident, cocky even.

It had taken you an hour to destroy the apartment, fifteen minutes to open up the vent, five minutes to clamour into the narrow passageway with the few tools you’d decided to keep with you, and nearly twenty-five minutes to close the vent again. Evidently, it wasn’t as easy to close it when you were inside the vent.

But you’d done it all, and it hadn’t even taken two hours.

You felt somewhat proud in that moment.

That same pride had been what got you caught.

Stumbling through the ventilation system, you’d realised how far off the mark you were with your mental layout of the building. It felt as though you were crawling around in circles.

You lost track of time. That had been the final nail in your metaphorical coffin.

The two men had returned home, talking about some or other recent hero rescue. They fell silent as they entered the apartment and saw the destruction you’d wrought.

Originally, you had hoped that they would think you had been abducted, or that they would think that you tore the place apart in an attempt to find a tool to escape.

Wishful thinking on your part.

They immediately closed the front door, set their things down, and walked to the room you tended to lock yourself in when they returned.

You never found out exactly what their reaction had been to the scene they stumbled upon in that room, and deep down you knew you didn’t want to.

The damages to all their possessions hadn’t angered them as much as your refusal to come out.

“We know you’re in the vents sweetie. Please just come out. We can talk about this - you’ve been so well behaved, we’re willing to be lenient with you. If you come out now, we won’t even punish you, you just have to help tidy up.”

You probably should have taken Mic up on that offer, but you were too stubborn, too sure of yourself.

Anytime they got anywhere near you, you’d quietly crawl away. You spent hours like that, shimmying through the vents, dodging them, blocking out their words.

Yamada was kind, trying to reason with you, cutting deals with you.

Aizawa remained quiet for the first few hours, helping Yamada look, but never saying anything.

He had reached his limit when Yamada silently whispered to him.

“This isn’t working - it’s getting late, she must be tired and hungry, can you help speed things up?”

Then the threats had started.

Threats of punishments, violent, invasive, perverse punishments.

It continued for hours.

You’d like to think that if you had become a hero, they would have applauded your grit in a situation like this. They didn’t seem to appreciate it though.

It probably would have continued on for a while, until they had to sleep, or leave for work, or until you found an exit. It would have continued, had Aizawa not shattered your hope of escape in one fell swoop. With a few words, all of your time, patience and determination crumbled.

“If you’re looking for an exit, you’ll be up there forever. We take up this whole floor, and the vent doesn’t go down.”

This apartment takes up the whole floor? That’s not possible...

He continued talking, oblivious to your sudden panic.

You don’t remember a lot of what he said, but you got the general idea that though the apartment wasn’t big, the entire floor belonged to them, and they had made sure that the vents wouldn’t lead out or down in any direction.

Dazed and absorbed in your thoughts, you didn’t realise they had found you until you were being dragged out by your ankle.

The lights were harsh after hours of sitting in the dark, and the look of Aizawa’s face had scared you half to death. Yamada had swooped in to save you, saying that as punishment, you’d be sentenced to sleeping the in bathroom until further notice.

Aizawa had added that you wouldn’t be getting any meals until you proved that you were actually sorry.

Of course, that situation had ended quite violently a few days later.

****

Your second and final escape attempt had been... messy, for lack of a better word.

It wasn’t something you had planned for weeks in advance. You hadn’t even been thinking about escape at all.

But the opportunity had presented itself so neatly, so perfectly timed.

And they hadn’t suspected anything. It had been so long since your previous attempt, nearly five months.

You had remained in the same apartment, and you had seemingly learnt your lesson. They both often applauded your wonderful change in attitude, saying how nice it was that you acted so sweetly for them now. As if they hadn’t threatened to beat you to a pulp, or worse.

It had been a Wednesday evening, and both men were tired after a long day of work. Yamada had decided that it was a good night to order in - neither he nor Aizawa wanted to cook, and even if they trusted you with knives, you had made it clear that you would never cook for them.

If you did, you would probably end up feeding them glass.

You hadn’t said much, agreeing with whatever they wanted as you focused on the TV.

There was some old Spanish movie playing. You hadn’t been paying attention.

Yamada sat next to you, trying and failing to get you to lay against him.

Like a real couple should.

Aizawa sat on your other side, watching the movie with half-hearted interest, listening to Yamada ramble on about when dinner would arrive.

Fifteen minutes later, you decided that you needed the bathroom.

When you stood up, Yamada rose as well, claiming he wanted to grab a bottle of wine and a few glasses for when the food arrived.

The two of you had just barely moved, hardly a step away from the couch, when the doorbell rang.

That in itself wasn’t unusual. The bell rang all the time.

Only this time, the delivery guy announced that someone had let him up - he was waiting right outside the door to hand off the delivery.

Adrenaline was a strange thing. It heightened your senses, it warped time and made it feel as though you were wadding through honey.

The two men looked at one another, Hizashi beside you, Shota on the couch. Then they looked at you.

You all stood there for a moment, a split second. They seemed to be warning you, urging you make the right decision, even though you all knew exactly what you were about to do.

Without saying anything, you turned on your heel and started sprinting towards the front door.

Yamada’s heavy footfalls behind you told you that he was close - too close.

You would have thrown yourself to the side, out of his way. Or maybe you would have tried to run a bit faster. Hell, you might even have stopped, if common sense had caught up to you sooner.

But the intercom crackled to life once more, the delivery guy calling out once more, and your mind was made up.

The front door was in your sights. A few more steps and you would have been able to brush your fingers against the stained hardwood.

Yamada’s arm coiled around your waist and he yanked you back, hard.

The air was knocked out of your lungs as you both fell to the ground with a heavy thump.

You opened your mouth to scream, to cry out. He would have heard you. The door was close enough, he would have heard you.

Yamada seemed to sense what you wanted to do, slapping his palm over your mouth as soon as you took a breath.

You laid there struggling as Aizawa walked past, his eyes flashing as he made his way to the door.

The hand on your face felt bruising, gripping your jaw harder when your tears made your cheeks slippery. You lay there for a few more minutes, trying to wrestle yourself out of Yamada’s iron grip.

Aizawa closed the door and made his way back you. When he crouched down in front of you, your body went limp.

Your only chance had slipped through your fingers. Again.

Luck was clearly not on your side.

They stopped pretending to trust you after that.

A few weeks after that, you moved.

The city centre was no place for such a happy family to be living, or at least that’s what they claimed. So you moved into a house, large and sturdy, in the middle of nowhere.

It was hidden away from the public eye, hidden by trees and acres of land and hundreds of road and trails that led nowhere.

Perfect for them. A nightmare for you.

They still barred the windows, shut the doors tight with too many locks.

A part of you told you that you weren’t that far from civilisation. After all, they still had to frequently travel to the city for work.

But the rational part of your brain, the one that had twisted and grown to learn all of their less than likable traits knew that they would move as far as they had to if it meant keeping you hidden. Even if that meant a three- or four-hour commute to the city, even if it meant living in some backwater town that seemed barely inhabitable.

****

Since your last escape attempt, it had been somewhat peaceful. But so, so boring.

And since your last tantrum, as they had taken to calling any show of defiance - whether that was an attempt at escape or something else - it had been six months, three weeks, four hours, and forty-two minutes.

It felt almost pathetic to keep such a stringent record of the time between “punishments”, but it kept you sane.

You reckoned that it had been just over a year since they had kidnapped you, but time became difficult in the days after your two escape attempts, so you’d taken to counting the days, hours, minutes after the punishments instead.

Now, it had been about half a week since you’d angered them. Pushing their buttons, making Aizawa specifically lose his temper so quickly, it felt cathartic.

Yamada stopped by the room every few hours, telling you he left food right outside the door, slipping bits of paper through the gap between the door and the floor, sitting for hours at a time just to talk to you about his day - trying to make you feel bad, if you were to wager a guess.

He even went as far as to beg a few times. You’d hear him crying, whispering through hiccups, asking you to please just end this. He was a good actor; you’d give him that much.

The snacks hidden throughout the room had run out on your second day cooped up in the room, but you hadn’t allowed yourself the time to panic about it. Thinking about leaving the safety of these four walls made you sick.

Though perhaps if you looked sickly enough, Aizawa might take it easy on you.

You shudder to think about what twisted sort of beating you’d receive after this. You were hoping, praying for a solution, holding out for something - for anything. You just weren’t sure what exactly that anything was.

****

Six months.

Three weeks.

Two days.

Fourteen hours.

Fifty-two minutes.

It had been almost a week. You were hungry, but more than that - you were so tired. Paranoia had started creeping in, and you couldn’t sleep. Every time you dozed off, you’d wake up in a panic. The slightest sounds set you off.

You knew that you’d have to leave the room soon, even if it were only to grab something from the kitchen. You knew that they took turns staying home, waiting for you to leave the room.

Moving the heavy dresser was easy enough. Moving it quietly took years off of your life.

Now all there was to do was wait.

Thankfully, Aizawa tended to keep books on his bedside table - many of which you had read over the past few days to pass the time. His tastes didn’t exactly suit your own, but it wasn’t as if you had anything better to do.

You’d read about four or so of his books, rearranged all of the furniture in the room, hell, you’d been bored enough to clean - both the bedroom and the attached bathroom - you’d even gone through their closet, hosting what you’d deemed a fashion show.

So far you felt as though you’d done a decent job of keeping your boredom at bay, but you were running out of things to do. And your idle mind led to your hunger becoming more apparent.

Four hours later, a gentle knock on the door pulled your attention away from the book you were reading - some or another thriller novel.

“Hey sweetie, I’m leaving your lunch out here...”

Hizashi’s words trailed off as he spoke softly under his breath. You didn’t catch the rest of his sentence.

“Okay, well... I- Both Shota and I hope you decide to come out soon.”

To be completely honest, you were very surprised that they hadn’t forced their way in yet. How they would achieve that, you weren’t sure, but you knew that if they really wanted to, they could have.

Not that it mattered - while the anxiety of waiting had been slowly taking over your mind, it had been a nice break, a change of pace to have them out of your personal space for such an extended period of time.

You loitered near the door for a while, watching the minutes tick by on the bright digital clock next to Hizashi’s side of the bed.

After nearly an hour and a half, you stood and reached for the door handle with a quivering hand. For some reason, you felt a growing sense of apprehension.

It’s fine. Just be quick about it - no need to psych yourself out.

Just open the door, grab the food, and get back into the room. There ain’t nothing to it.

After one last quick, deep breath, you unlocked the door. The click of the lock seemed so loud - too loud.

Regardless, you tell yourself that there’s no point in backing out now, not when the door was already unlocked.

Grab the food, shut the door.

The handle moves smoothly as you pull in downwards, cracking the door open an inch. You spy out into the hallway, hardly daring to breathe.

Grab the food, shut the door.

The hinges on the door seem to screech out in the silence - you tell yourself that the adrenaline is making it sounder louder than it actually is.

Grab the food, shut the door.

You’re straining your ears, trying to hear through the sound of the roaring in your head.

Grab the food, shut the door.

It’s right there. A large bowl of soup - maybe miso? There’s another bowl next to it, slightly smaller, filled with rice.

The sight of food so nearby makes your mouth water.

Grab the food, shut the door.

You look around cautiously, left, down the long passageway, towards the dining room and the kitchen, and then right, towards the office shared between the two men and the spare bedroom.

Nothing.

Rather than letting out a sigh of relief, you quickly lean forward and grab both bowls, jumping back into the room and slamming the door behind you.

Setting the bowls down on the dresser takes far longer than you’d like, but before you can linger on the stupidity of slamming the door, you twist the lock into place and slump against the door.

You had split some of the soup - miso, you’ve now confirmed - and the floor was slippery with the remnants of it. Just as you were about to move away from the door, intent on cleaning up the mess, there was a knock at the door.

“Sweetheart? Did you take the food? Are you okay in there?”

Yamada. It’s just Yamada.

Your heart is racing as you choke out a response.

“Um, yeah, I- I’m fine.”

Too close.

You ignored whatever he said next, going about cleaning up the mess you’d made. While you were crouched down on the floor, you thought about how exactly you’d have to ration the food you’d been given. You weren’t eager to have a repeat of the experience you’d just had.

****

Despite your plan to ration out the food you’d painstakingly acquired, you’d eaten it all within a few hours.

You originally stuck to your plan, eating only a few tablespoons from each bowl. But the aroma rising from each bowl, so tantalisingly close, had almost felt like torture.

And so, three hours later, despite your seemingly unwavering will, both bowls were empty and you were happy.

The problem of getting food again whenever you needed it would have to wait for another time, you decided.

After a scalding hot shower and a bit of pampering, you got into bed with a smile on your face for the first time since you had locked yourself up in this room. You felt so much better after eating, even your paranoia had eased up a bit.

Tomorrow, you’d think about what to do. Perhaps it was time for you to try and get out again. Or maybe you’d come up with some sob story speech for the two men. Or maybe you would stay holed up in this room for another week or two.

Regardless, you fell asleep content and warm, feeling almost happy.

****

When you awoke hours later, your head felt heavy, limbs weighed down, tongue heavy in your mouth.

The sounds around you were muffled, as if the world had been plunged under water.

You heard two voices.

What happened? Where am I?

The voices grew closer, though you still couldn’t make out their words.

It was as if a switch had been flipped in that moment. One second you were dazed - confused and slightly uncertain, but comfortable, and the next it felt as though there was ice flowing through your veins.

They had drugged the food.

They had drugged the fucking food.

You felt so stupid. Why had you not for one second considered the fact that they may have drugged the food they’d been leaving outside your door?

Maybe you could pretend that you were still sleeping. But how long would that last? What would you do once they realised that you were awake?

In fact, you didn’t even know how long you’d been unconscious for, or where you were. You knew nothing and you felt the tidal wave of growing anxiety beginning to wash over you.

Above all of your questions and concerns, you felt like a scared child. You had always known that they would eventually get you out of your safe zone, but right now, you had no idea what they planned on doing to you.

Not knowing made the fear even worse.

You almost threw up when you felt a hand resting gently on your arm, squeezing softly to get your attention.

“Don’t worry honey, we won’t punish you just yet. The anxiety of waiting, of not knowing - that’s all part of the fun, isn’t it?”

#yandere #dark content #female reader #bnha #mha #eraserhead #present mic #yandere erasermic #yandere erasermic x reader #yandere aizawa x reader #yandere hizashi yamada #yandere hizashi x reader #yandere aizawa shouta

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xfgpng · 7 months

Text

reader description :: petite asian female, 21, 5’0, medium length straight hair + pale skin

reader :: jackie lee

commissioned :: ✔️ (as in a follower’s oc lmao, not my own)

wc :: 1.6k

warnings :: smut, fluff, mentions of blood, face slapping, name calling

it had been a few days since waking up in the manor. jackie had tried to wrap her head around just how she ended up in this situation. she remembers the ramen on her desk and the manga being open. she doesn’t even remember the chapter she had been on before everything had went blank.

she wondered if she had perhaps passed out from exhaustion and that she’d wake up any moment but after a few days of cleaning up and following orders from the demon butler, she knew she was stuck.

“you said i could have the day off if i did all the chores early” jackie frowned, “please sebby?”

that was another thing she had begun doing the moment she realised she was in fact in the kuroshitsuji universe. she had always harboured a very strong crush on the character, he was her favourite after all but nothing could ever make up for the real thing.

“get on with it, would you?” sebastian sighs, “have i not told you not to disturb the young master when he’s busy?”

“i’m disturbing you” she grins, “i could be more than just a young master for you”

he rolls his eyes but he can’t help himself. he eyes her frame careful, the way her cute breasts are covered perfectly by the soft fabric of her uniform. the skirt being shorter than necessary because he could admit that he was a pervert and seeing her bend over while struggling to keep the pathetic piece of material down was very amusing.

“i told you to stay in your room when we have guests over” he ignores her remarks, “go now”

“guests?” she perks up at that, peaking her head into the study. she can’t make out what’s being said but she knows it’s important. all the more reason to annoy the butler.

“i’ll go.. if you make a deal with me” she reaches up to grab his collar, “i’d make it worth your while”

“please” he scoffs, “you think i haven’t had my fair share of humans?”

“none like me” she smiles but he can tell that smile is far from innocent.

he’s about to chastise her when ciel calls her into the study. he doesn’t seem phased by the look sebastian gives him, asking the butler to get their guests some tea and desserts.

“cie— young master?” jackie smiles, she remembers him telling her that she would still have to act normal around outsiders. she didn’t bother explaining where she came from and it was easy to pretend that it was sebastian’s doing. the butler could deny it all he wanted but ciel was still suspicious enough to believe her and she played into his suspicions every chance she got.

“i want to introduce you” ciel says and spends the next 5 minutes making unnecessary introductions that jackie knows isn’t even important but he’s doing it to spite her.

 she supposes she was a bit of a brat all week.

“i see” one of the men says, grinning as he looks at the hem of her skirt, “she looks … promising”

jackie grins at the man, feeling sebastian’s eyes on her as she purposefully leans closer to the older man. he was far from her type, her heart belonging only to the demon butler but it was fun to piss him off.

“i thought you said you loved me” he says dryly, gripping her by her waist and pushing her against the wall when she finally leaves the study.

“ready to make that deal?” she asks, ignoring the pain, knowing it’ll leave a mark. she liked the feeling but it just wasn’t enough for her.

“no” he says firmly, “i cannot make —”

“i know” she grins, “it won’t stop me from asking”

“you infuriate me” he lets go of her and takes a step back, “you’re free to leave and starting from tomorrow, you are to wear pants only”

“i don’t work for you” she rolls her eyes even though she technically did, she was still a worker for ciel and the young master of the manor seemed to find her useful.

was he jealous? he was the one who insisted she wore the skirt in the first place. the idea of riling him up was far too exciting.

a demon incapable of love but still had the nerve to feel jealousy? she laughed to herself.

jackie doesn’t wait for his response, walking off to her private quarters. she knew she was pushing her luck, after all, he wasn’t human and it would be too easy to kill her but she had a feeling that despite his indifference, he cared in his own way.

“do you think you can just walk away from me?” he pushes her onto her bed, caging her in. she hadn’t expected him to follow, not so soon after playing this cat and mouse game since she arrived.

she would find ways to make him angry on purpose and she knew how much he hated when she would entertain other men that found her attractive and that was most men, especially when they would travel for their… business.

“is this what you wanted hm?” he asks, “such a fucking slut, parading yourself around like a piece of meat?”

“sebastian i—”

“quiet” he snaps, gripping her jaw and finally kissing her the way she’s been dreaming about for days.

“so easy” he scoffs, moving away but she stops him. jackie was more than ready, lifting up to meet him halfway, too enthusiastic for someone who just met the man.

reading about him as your favourite character was different than having said character in your bed, ready to devour you until there was nothing left of you.

“please” she wraps her legs around him, wearing nothing but a shirt since she didn’t have time to fully undress before he barged in.

“please what?” he laughs, “you’re that fucking desperate for me or are you willing to let any man fuck you?”

“maybe” she smirks, unbuttoning her own shirt, “maybe they’ll give me what i want”

 the slap should shock her but it doesn’t. she feels the sting but the sound was more intense than the feeling but it still made her moan, eyes widening in shock at the pleased look on his face.

“you talk too much” he removes his gloves before the rest of his clothing, “spread your legs and keep it open for me”

she does as she’s told, far too excited to make him angry. apart of her still worried that he’d leave her high and dry just to prove a point.

“good girl” he grins, slipping his index finger into her pussy. he’s not surprised at how wet she is. he knows the effect he has on people, especially her.

“sebastian please” she gasps, gripping the sheets, “i want you”

“i know” he grins, “you’ve wanted me all this time, haven’t you?”

she can tell he’s mocking her but the way he looks down at her, teasing her, only makes her blush, wanting him more. jackie was starting to wonder if she was secretly a masochist, running after a man that was so far out of reach.

not that she cared, she wanted him. he had been so indifferent towards her but he would still secretly watch her from afar, unable to help himself because he needed to know she was safe. the feelings were all too confusing for a demon such as himself to understand so this, taking her this way, was all he could do.

it was all he could give to her because falling in love was out of the question. there was no such thing.

he pressed the tip of his cock into her slowly, gripping her waist hard enough that it would leave marks, proof of who she belonged to.

he didn’t believe in the heavens and he certainly didn’t think there was a god strong enough to challenge him but between her thighs, it could be the closest thing to finding out what heaven really was.

“fuck” he groans, biting down onto her shoulder to control himself. he would never lose himself in a woman like this and yet here he was, closer than he’d like to be.

she moan loudly, he was sure everyone in the manor had heard her and it’s not like she could help it, he was so much bigger than she was and the stretch was painful.

when he looked down, he couldn’t help but moan at the sight. she was stretched far beyond her limits and the tiny droplets of blood did nothing but make him want to ruin her further.

he didn’t wait for her to give him the green light, picking up his pace and fucking her into her bed like some cheap whore at the red light district.

“don’t try and run” he warns, gripping her jaw tightly, “this is what you wanted”

“too much” she whines, not sure if she wanted him to slow down or go faster. her body felt like it was on fire and the more he moved inside her, the more she wanted him.

“good, take it like the good girl you are” he laughs, kissing her as he lifts her leg up. she was just so easy to move around.

he’s very own little play thing and he supposed it was better than finding time to fool around with how bossy the young master was.

here, in the manor, he had his very own jackie and it wasn’t like she could leave anyway. maybe he would trap her soul after all.

#[ 🪼 ] xfg writes #[ 📍 xfgpng follower reqs ]#reader insert #kuroshitsuji sebastian smut #kuroshitsuji smut #black butler sebastian smut #sebastian michaelis smut #black butler smut #sebastian michaelis #sebastian michaelis x reader

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writersdare · 1 year

Text

Give Me Attention | Ashton Irwin

Pairing: Ashton Irwin x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Ashton and Y/N had been friends for a while. However, everything changed once she found out an unpleasant secret he thought to hide from her.

Warning: angsty, an intimate moment, a bit of cursing and mentioning of alcohol

Word Count: 2 947

Requested: yes

Author’s Note: This one was actually hard! I've been working on this one for quite a bit, and really hope you'll like the story. I'm still not sure about the whole concept, but I like to try new ideas, so I don't regret choosing this path. If you watched a film "Matthias & Maxime", you'll maybe recognise one scene from there. Besides phrases from the requested prompt list I also used another, quite a known one. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts! Thank you for your patience on this one ♡

Friday was supposed to be for parties or at least for something fun. However, Y/N had her own meaning of fun, and Ashton did not exactly like it.

“You do realise I’m not a plumber?” the guy was lying on a floor, head inside a kitchen counter, where pipes of a sink were.

“I believe in you,” Y/N smiled, changing a wet towel to a dry one. “Besides, you’re almost done, don’t complain,” she giggled and stepped back, taking a moment to appreciate Ashton’s naked back. “You’re so sweaty.”

“Oh yeah?” he mumbled, puffing loudly, while he was trying to screw the pipe. “Next time you’ll clean it yourself and I’ll look at you.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, but couldn’t hold a giggle again. The guy was slightly mad and salty, she knew, though, he was just tired. It was a late evening, and Ashton was her lifesaver, as no one agreed to drive at such time and fix the pipe. It wasn’t even a big deal, it just clogged up! Well, perhaps, “just” was a wrong word, as Ash had a hell of a night. A drummer of one of the most popular bands in the world was cleaning a freaking sink…

“You’re the best, Ash,” Y/N said, smiling, and filled a kettle with water before heating it on a stove.

“Hell yeah, I am,” Ash chuckled and carefully stood up, being on all fours at first, as he was afraid to hit his head. That would be a dramatic end of the night, truly. “It should work now,” he sighed and turned on a faucet. The water flowed down easily and finally didn’t end up on the floor.

“Thank you so much! Really! I’d hug you, but—“

“I’m sweaty, yeah, I got it,” Ash smirked and took his own white shirt on a chair to wipe his body a bit. “I’m gonna take a shower, alright? You better get me something stronger than tea,” he warned, seeing two cups on a table.

“Alright,” the girl chuckled and stood up to check if she had something on a shelf.

Y/N and Ashton knew each other for a while. In fact, she was a good friend of all four guys from the band. Ash lived closer to her place, so it was rather natural to spend evenings together occasionally.

Rather quickly the girl reconciled with her romantic feelings towards Ashton. They were just there, for him, it was stupid to deny. However, Ash always treated her like a friend, and Y/N didn’t even dare to make a step or give a little hint. It wasn’t like she suffered from low self-esteem; no, that was in the past. The girl just preferred to call herself a realist. Ashton and Y/N were as if from different worlds. His working schedule was a total mess, his relationships were, maybe, even crazier. Y/N knew if something more had ever happened to them, she could not stand unseriousness. The feelings were too strong, and they’d grow stronger, if they were a thing. It was just smarter to have Ash as a friend to avoid a risk of loosing him eventually.

“Feeling better?” she smiled, when Ashton came back to the kitchen. He wasn’t wearing a t-shirt, and drops of water were still noticeable on his chest. “How is this disease called? When a person leaves a shower without a proper use of a towel?” Y/N smirked, trying not to stare at Ash too much.

“Oh, c’mon, are you shy?” the musician chuckled, and she hated, when he was getting a bit spicy with her.

Y/N only grinned and gave Ashton a glass of Martini, when he set down next to her.

“Well-deserved,” the girl joked.

“Thank you. And yes, I’m feeling better. But do you know how I’d feel even better? If you didn’t call me in the middle of the night to fix your pipe.”

Y/N rolled the eyes, and the guy giggled, quickly leaving a kiss on the cheek. Ash smelled like her showering gel; slight alcohol notes hit the nose, too.

“I’m only joking. You know you can call me any time,” he smiled.

“It’s not that late anyway,” Y/N mumbled, but grinned back. They enjoyed teasing each other, no one was offended there. However, when Ashton’s phone ringed, the girl got slightly upset. Who could call him at twelve p.m.?

“Oh, sorry, I gotta take this,” Ash stood up. “It’s Cassy, I’ll be in a minute.”

“Cassy? Not sure if I know who it is.”

“My girlfriend,” the guy said it so easily as if he just announced the weather forecast for tomorrow. “Oh, shit, I forgot! I met her in a bar a week ago, didn’t I tell you? I’ll be back,” Ash rushed up to the living room.

Y/N’s heart dropped, and a smile was wiped from her face completely. A girlfriend then? Who he met just a week ago? That was new. At that moment the girl started to feel uncomfortable for asking him to come over to help. Perhaps, she wasn’t allowed to do so any longer, as he was in damn relationship. And what kind of friends they were, if Ashton didn’t even tell her such news?

“Sorry,” Ash smiled, coming back to the kitchen quite quickly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Y/N smiled back, making a sip from her glass. “Listen, I didn’t know you were dating someone, I’m sorry I called you–“

“What? No-no, what are you talking about?” he outraged softly. “I told you, you can call whenever you need me.”

“I don’t think it’s right anymore, you have a girlfriend, Ash, you shouldn’t be at my place,” she shook a head, struggling to hide how upset she was. Well, the girl tried, but all her strength was as if drained by the recent news.

“Y/N, we are friends,” Ashton stared at her eyes with his grass green. The phrase was so simple, and yet it hurt so much. The truth was painful. “So, it doesn’t matter. I still can come over and can stay at your place tonight,” he smiled cheerfully, but the girl shook a head again.

“No, I think you should spend the night at your place. It’s not that far from here anyway,” the girl whispered and emptied her glass.

Maybe she wasn’t right. Maybe it was stupid to behave like that and demand Ashton to come back to his place. Y/N wasn’t exactly sad he got a girlfriend – after all, that happened before, too – she was just upset Ash didn’t tell her right away. It seemed he didn’t even plan to. If not the call, who knew for how long the girl would stay oblivious?

"You can’t skip my birthday party, Y/N," Calum mumbled, sitting on a couch in a music studio the other day. Y/N was sitting next to him, resting a head on a back of the couch. When the girl confessed that she probably wouldn’t be able to attend the party, Cal didn’t even look surprised – it was just out of discussion, she was coming. So, the musician kept his eyes on a phone screen, trying to complete a level in some silly game. "What’s the matter anyway? You don’t want to get me a present, do you?" he chuckled, joking.

"It’s not that," Y/N sighed and turned her head towards the friend. Ashton wasn’t in the studio that day, and being honest, it was for the best, as their relationship wasn’t great since the guy announced he had a girlfriend. They didn’t talk about it, pretended they were fine, but hung out less – never alone, only with the rest of the band. It was hard to tell what was in Ashton’s mind, and why he just couldn’t tell the truth from the beginning. It had been three weeks, and they still didn’t figure it out. Y/N felt extremely stupid, she needed to let the things go, it wasn’t a big deal anyway. She just couldn’t understand why it still bothered her so much. And was his new girlfriend that special that he didn’t want to introduce to her? It was ridiculous.

"What is it then?" Calum stayed calm, his voice sounded even slightly indifferent, however, Y/N knew he cared.

The girl hesitated, feeling rather unsure if she needed to raise that topic. Although she was the one who started it, saying she wouldn’t be at Calum’s party, so perhaps, there was no way out.

"Is Ashton’s girlfriend gonna be there?"

"Why would she be there?" Cal finally put the phone away. He was quite amused by the question.

"Well, cause she’s his girlfriend," Y/N chuckled, finding his answer quite annoying.

Calum turned his full body towards the girl and stared at her.

"Wait… He didn’t tell you? They have a contract, it’s a PR relationship."

"What?…" Y/N gasped. When did they end up in that stage of their friendship where Ash stopped telling her anything about his life? The girl felt ashamed. She certainly didn’t enjoy looking stupid in front of Cal, however, the guy knew much more than both of his delusional friends did.

After being angry for a while, Y/N came to conclusion that she needed to stop thinking about Ashton that much. Clearly, he didn’t care about her or their friendship anymore, so why should she? It all felt quite childish, but the girl was sure that the main kid in their situation was Ash. Even when it was her, who ended up dancing with different guys up all night at Calum’s birthday party, ignoring the friend completely.

"She drives me insane," he growled, staring at Y/N, who was cuddling a random dude and moving her hips to the tempo of music. How wasn’t she still tired?

"To be fair, you did lie about your relationship," Calum chuckled, glancing at the mutual friend and making a sip from his glass.

"I had my reasons," Ash mumbled annoyingly, not being able to take the eyes off her even for a slight second.

"And she has her own," Michael commented, resting a hand on the friend’s shoulder. However, Ash shook it off rashly and hurried up to approach Y/N, when noticed the "dude’s" palm going down her waist.

"Don’t do anything stupid!" Luke begged, but Ashton didn’t hear him.

"Hey, Y/N, I need to talk to you," his whole body was tense. The musician wasn’t looking at the guy and was only staring at Y/N’s eyes.

"We kinda busy, man," the stranger made a step forward, and Ashton placed the hand on his chest quickly, pushing the cause of his bad mood aside. Ash grabbed Y/N’s wrist gently, but persistently, and pulled her from one room to another, where no one could bother them.

Calum moved to that apartment just recently, so some places were still on renovation, just like the guest room they appeared in. It was almost empty except for few old closets and kitchen counters, which, apparently, were left by the previous owners. It smelled like dust and damp, nothing pleasant.

"What the hell?" Y/N outraged, once Ashton shut the door behind them. "I was having a good time!"

"Yeah? Well, I had a shitty time!" the guy snapped at her and touched his face with a palm, standing in front of Y/N. "Shit, I… What the hell is going on, really? You’re ignoring me, hanging out with some pricks instead!"

"You don’t answer my questions, why should I answer yours?!"

"I got jealous, alright?!" Ash spilled out before thinking, and his voice became softer immediately. "And I know, I’m not allowed to be jealous, you aren’t even mine."

The phrase was absurd to Y/N. Wasn’t he the one who had a girlfriend? It didn’t already matter if it was a fake one. The girl set on a counter that was covered with some plastic tape, and shook her head.

"I gave you space, so you could enjoy your relationship, which, by the way, you didn’t even tell me about."

"Fuck," Ashton sighed heavily and touched both Y/N’s hands. "I’m sorry, alright? I just… didn’t want to tell you. Don’t you remember how you reacted that night? You didn’t even allow me to stay at your place!"

"I didn’t allow you, because you hid from me the fact you got a girlfriend at first place!" she outraged and broke the touch. "I don’t care if you have a girlfriend or not, if it’s PR or not, I just want you to be honest with me!"

"Do you? Are you really so indifferent about me having a girlfriend?" unlike Y/N’s, Ashton’s voice was calm.

The girl shoved him in the shoulder and made an attempt to jump off the counter, but her legs happened to be pressed against Ashton’s.

"Answer me," he demanded and touched her palm again.

"Yes, I don’t care," Y/N replied coldly, watching him bending down and leaving small kisses on her fingers. It became hot all of a sudden, and a heart started its race away from the feelings. It was too late to run, though.

"You’re lying to me," Ash took her second hand and left the kisses on the fingers again.

"I learnt from the best," the girl smirked, but the corners of the lips twitched, when the musician placed his palm on her knee.

"I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want to upset you. Do you think I’m so happy about having this fake relationship?" the green eyes pierced hers, while the hand moved from the knee up. He had no shame.

"I wasn’t upset."

"Stop lying to me," he whispered and brought his face close to hers.

"What are you doing?" the girl didn’t breathe. Y/N also wanted to speak less, being scared to gasp accidentally due to everything what she was experiencing at that moment.

"Proving that you’re wrong," his lips almost touched hers, and the hand was under the skirt, when the girl gathered the remnants of self-control and placed a palm on his lips.

"Fake one or not, but you have a girlfriend. And these lips that… I maybe dreamt about at nights are kissing someone else," Y/N whispered, looking at her own hand. "I’m not doing this," she looked up at Ash. His pupils were dilated by all the emotions that were rushing through his veins. He wanted nothing but her, to hold Y/N in his arms and to kiss her lips, not… someone else’s.

"I’m sorry," Ashton whispered. "I signed the contract. You know how important the job is for me," his voice was trembling a little, as if he wasn’t sure about his own words.

"No one can force you to do that. Others don’t do it," Y/N was speaking the truth. "And I’m not asking you to cancel the contract because of me. You know I’m not like that," she smirked and took away the hand from his lips, once Ashton stepped back. "Even when I found out you had a girlfriend, you didn’t tell the whole truth. Why?"

Ash smirked and shook his head, looking away.

"It’s stupid."

"The whole situation is stupid, Ashton," Y/N chuckled coldly and jumped off the counter. "So tell me. Why didn’t you tell me it was all fake from the beginning?" she was looking at his eyes, but the guy didn’t look back.

"I wanted to see your reaction."

"Are you satisfied?"

"Y/N…"

"You’re just unbelievable," the girl rolled the eyes and headed to leave the room, but Ash caught her by the waist. "Let me go. I really don’t want to see you now," she tried to hold back the tears.

"Like it or not, I am not leaving you. If you want to go, I’ll go with you," he touched her chin, so Y/N could glance at his eyes. "I know I fucked up. But we’ve been friends for a while, Y/N. And I needed to know…"

"You could just ask me," the girl interrupted. "Do you really think I’d say I didn’t like you?"

Ash laughed shortly and turned his head away.

"What’s so funny?" she outraged.

"What’s funny?" Ash asked and returned his gaze back at Y/N. "I’ve been making hints here and there, and you never reacted!"

"Wait… You’ve been flirting with me?"

"For the past year, but thanks for noticing," Ashton shook his head. "You’re so annoying."

"Well, it’s only your fault it wasn’t clear," Y/N allowed herself a small smile.

"Oh, it’s my fault?!"

"Yes," she giggled.

"Come here," Ash chuckled and began to tickle her sides. "My fault then, huh?"

"Stop!" the girl laughed.

The musician smiled and pressed her head against a shoulder, then hugged Y/N tight.

"I’m sorry, Y/N. I know it was stupid. But… Is there a chance that you’re not too mad at me, and we can go on a date any time soon? I’ll cancel the contract…"

"I’ll think about it."

"You’ll think?!"

The laughter rang out behind the door of the old guest room again. Ashton was not going to let her leave his arms that night, although Y/N wasn’t planning to. They both knew that the hardest part was just ahead, but maybe they could go through it together. After all, there was a chance that the girl was simply mistaken, and they didn’t need to lose each other. To take the risk and actually be together was worth it all.

taglist: @dgrangaa, @gracieboogirl

– gif and photo aren’t mine and belong to the rightful owner –

All stories are original and written by me. Do not copy, trace and post anywhere without permission and credit. The stories are fictional, they do not correspond to reality and written just for fun ♡

Masterlist | Taglist

#Ashton irwin #5sos blurb #5sos imagine #5sos imagines #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer imagine #5sos #5sos angst #5sos fic #Ashton Irwin imagine #Ashton Irwin angst #Ashton Irwin x reader #Ashton Irwin x y/n #ashton 5 seconds of summer #ashton 5sos #ashton 5sauce #Ashton Irwin blurb #writersdare #writersdare ashton 5sos

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whumblr · 6 months

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A terrible price

Hello, I had a very awful thought and I'll let you all suffer with me :) Pls don't hate me.

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

TW: Character death :)

So, what if Zayne had won. What if he’d managed to 'convince' Jay to give up his research. Maybe after a particular nasty evening, with Jay covered in blood just sobbing and shouting "Fine! Okay! You win!” And he actually does as Zayne says. No more trying to nail Emery. Just letting things play out to let Zayne clear his debt and walk away.

Zayne is satisfied.

And over the next couple of weeks, his mood improves with every passing day.

Even Jay can’t resist to go along with Zayne’s bright mood. Everything feels lighter, even Zayne’s visits. Sure, Zayne still torments him, but not as much as when he wanted to break him, and Jay finds himself, just like Zayne, looking forward to when Zayne can finally say he is debt-free and breaks free from Emery.

He’s practically counting down the days, sure that after Zayne’s life improves, so will his.

But one day, Zayne suddenly stops visiting.

Jay is relieved at first. Pretty sure that, well, this was it. But something is gnawing at him. Surely Zayne would drop by to ‘celebrate’ his freedom and maybe tell Jay that he was packing up and leaving. Or drop hints that his last job was going to be soon. This is strange. And something’s not right. But his new-found freedom makes it somewhat impossible to focus on anything but the fact that he can finally try to take the first few steps to closure.

Then a couple days later when he arrives at work in the morning, Dennis is waiting for him in the lobby. Wearing a grave and somewhat unreadable expression on his face. Jay remembers he received a phone call the day before, shot Jay a sharp glance, but just grabbed his things to rush out of the building.

He now leads Jay into a meeting room, fiddling with a paper file in his hands.

“I’m not sure how you’re going to take this,” he starts, a meek gesture to them alone in the room.

Jay doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how to respond and Dennis continues after a deep breath:

“They found Zayne's body in the river.”

Jay just gives him a blank stare. Merely blinks. Everything, from his thoughts to his expression, just stops moving. Until the gravity of those words fully hits him and he realises what’s going on.

Zayne is…

His lips slowly part as his jaw drops. His thoughts go from zero to full speed in a matter of seconds. His mouth moves, stuttering out fragments of words, unable to fully form even a single word.

“You need prove,” Dennis’ voice breaks through his thoughts. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” His mouth feels dry and he eyes the file in Dennis’ hands.

“It’s not pretty.”

“I need to see it.”

Dennis hands him the file. A police report. Autopsy report.

And on the first page he is immediately greeted by a headshot of… something that resembles Zayne.

His face is all bloated. His eyes are closed, skin discoloured, hair flat on his head. Everything that made Zayne ‘Zayne’ is just… gone; his expression, his smile, his swiped back hair. Now it’s just… a body. With his eyes closed he could almost look peaceful and while the water erased most signs of violence, there’s still something eerie about certain spots on his face that don’t a complete picture, as if parts have been erased. Black and blue parts.

With every page he turns, he quickly swipes his hand over the pictures, not wanting to see. Just reading the cold, medical terms on what happened is hard enough. The words blur together and he only sees things like stabbed several times, lacerations, bruises, breaks, collarbone, ribs, wrists—

“I thought I’d be relieved…” he finally says, over the hand covering his mouth.

“Me too.”

He’s just too late covering a picture on the next page of Zayne’s torso, covered in stab wounds. The lines are clean, but something about them still makes his stomach churn. Something about the placement of the wounds that betrays a precision to avoid any fatal harm. He notices the old scar on his abdomen and for some reason that really hammers home that this puffed up body on a slab really is - was - Zayne.

“What was the fatal one?” He hears his own voice, brittle.

Dennis turns a few pages back and points at the picture. That’s when Jay notices the line over Zayne's throat. There’s a sharp intake of breath.

A little voice in the back of his head manages to make things even worse: did they use Zayne’s own knife?

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Every bit of relief is squashed by something heavy. His heart is racing. His hand is shaking and just doesn’t want to leave his mouth, as if he’s gonna throw up immediately once he removes it.

And he feels something wet against his fingertips.

“No I... why...?!” He takes his glasses off and furiously swipes his sleeve over his cheekbones. “Why am I upset about… about Zayne?!” he cries out, brushing tears away as soon as they appear, as if he can erase any evidence of the bitterness swirling inside.

“You don’t have to cry for the man who did those awful things to you…” Dennis says, voice soft. “It’s okay to cry for the man they dragged out of the water.”

Something doesn’t quite break but Jay feels something crack. Tears seep through it and he finally just slumps down on a chair, catching his head in his hands.

“This is too cruel. He… he didn’t deserve this. Not like this.”

Nor do I! This isn’t the happy ending he wanted! Everything, going back to his old life, his freedom, his recovery, is going to be overshadowed by this. How could he ever be relieved that he was going to be left alone now, happy that Zayne would never visit again, when he knows—

And Zayne… he was so happy these last few days. So sure that his freedom was near. And everything was ripped away. Cruelly punished for doing just as he was asked to do, for making it to the end, for merely existing. For meeting the wrong man.

“I was going to say… call in sick and go home but—”

“But home is no longer safe,” Jay finishes. It wouldn’t take long before Emery would tie up the last loose end. “When was he killed?”

“About five days ago.”

“You’d think Emery would be on my doorstep four days ago then…”

“I’m not going to take any risks. I’m going to finish up, talk to Luke to see if we can arrange some protection and you’re staying with me.”

Finally free. It cost a terrible price. And even now he still isn't free at all. A bigger threat still looms over them all. And it wouldn’t be satisfied with just its first victim.

Things might actually take a turn for the worse.

Suffer List Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion @afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8 @itsmyworld98 @whumpifi @painless-and-colourful

#it's not canon it's a thought experiment :)#I do have Good Zayne Whump as a pick me up #but need to finish that first #hiwthi #home is where the hurt is #home is where the hurt no longer is #hiwthi drabbles #my writing #character death #aftermath of murder #posting on saturday because sunday is for the fun updates :)#the fun torture bits #also I was finished already and I need this out of my head

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nannymcpee · 2 years

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A little shopping trip….. After a quick breakfast, bottle and nursing cuddles I dressed my boo bear in some cute grey trackies and a pink T-shirt. I’d thought about putting him in a onesie but I just can’t resist that nappy peeking out of his waist band. We had a couple of minutes before we had to head off so popped to the park for a quick play on the swings where I pushed him as high as he could go. Then into the car to try out his new makeshift car seat. He looked so safe and cosy in it. Loaded up with stuffie (Harvey the teddy bear), dummy and sippy cup we set off. We got to the shops early so I nursed my darling boy from the car before we headed into the shopping centre taking Harvey for the trip. As we headed straight to the toy stores holding hands my boo bear suddenly stopped and pulled on my hand then reached out for a cuddle. I snuggled him into me with Harvey between us and rubbed his back for reassurance. Then he nuzzled into my neck and I heard his cute little grunts and felt his tummy muscles contract against me. My heart fluttered with excitement as I realised he was filling his nappy. The warm fuzzy feeling inside me grew bigger and bigger as I cooed and reassured my baby that he was ok and such a good boy for mummy. I held him a little longer enjoying the closeness between us and sharing in our secret together. Eventually we ended the cuddle and carried on to the toy shops. We admired all of the Lego displays in the Lego store. Boo bear requested that one day his nursery be decorated in only Lego Christmas decorations for Christmas time. In Hamleys Toy store we played with the games on display and I caught my cheeky little tyke trying to run off with a Bluey toy set. Once I took it off him I treated him to a Bluey Weeble as a compromise. He was very happy with his toy and practically skipped out of the shop. We stopped to get lunch, a sausage roll and ginger bread man while sitting at a picnic bench by the pond and watched the ducks and had plenty more cuddles. We had time to look in one more shop then visited the disabled toilet for a nappy change before heading back home. Boo bear lay down on the floor while I got him all cleaned up. As I was taping him back up into a clean nappy I watched my darling boy sucking on his dummy and cuddling Harvey. He was looking at the wall above him and tracing the cracks with his finger. He looked so adorable and was completely lost to his little head space. I think time stood still for both of us in that moment. The love I felt for him completely overwhelming me and tears stung at my eyes. Once his trousers were back on I pulled him up into my arms and briefly cradled him before we both got back on to our feet and headed back to the car. Before leaving the toilet I caught my sweet little Prince admiring his nappy bulge in the mirror. Back in the car I nursed him again and he wriggled and thrusted, clearly enjoying the feel of his now warm, soggy nappy against him. I rubbed the front of his nappy to increase his enjoyment. He made the cutest little murmurs and whimpers as he continued to suckle on my nipple. Once he was ready to get back into his car seat I strapped him in and gave his soggy, and now slightly sticky, nappy one last pat and drove toward home. Thank you @mummys-lil-mushbutt for making all my dreams come true and making them so much better than I could ever have imagined.

#ab/dl community #caregiver #ab/dl boy #ab/dl couple #ab/dl diaper #ab/dl lifestyle #ab/dl mommy #cgl little #cgl relationship #abdlmommy #abdluk #messy nappy #poopies

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archiveikemen · 1 year

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Liam Evans Main Story: Chapter 22 (Blind Love)

I do not own any of the Ikemen Series content being uploaded on this blog, everything belongs to CYBIRD. Please support them by playing their games and buying stories. Not 100% accurate, expect mistakes.

read this before interacting with my posts

Harrison: Your father, Max Evans, was given an invitation too.

Liam: … That man?

Harrison: Yeah. To be precise, William will be doing the mail delivery.

If William is delivering it in person, that means it will definitely reach him.

Kate: But Liam’s father saw us rescuing Liam that night.

I was certain that Max had seen Jude, Alfons, and Harrison that night.

Kate: Even if he didn’t realise that we’re Crown, he at least would’ve seen that you all were armed.

Kate: He must’ve also noticed that you all had combat experience.

Kate: Would he still fall for our set up by showing himself in front of us, knowing that he will be the cornered one this time?

(That would be the same as knowingly jumping into a pitfall trap.)

Liam: … He will show up for sure.

Liam: Father… that man is hard on himself too. He won’t allow himself to run away with his tail between his legs.

Liam: Moreover, Will’s intuition has never been incorrect.

Despite his smile, Liam was conflicted and filled with anxiety.

Harrison: Well then, I’ll get going now.

Harrison: Oh, right. Join me for some dessert after the play.

Liam: … What?

Harrison: There’s no one else apart from you who will hang out with me. You’ve been so busy lately, I’m deprived of sweet dessert.

Liam: Got it. I’ll eat so many sweet desserts with you that you’ll get sick of them. It’s a promise!

Harrison waved and left, his milk tea coloured hair swaying as he walked.

Kate: Liam, I’ll see Harrison off.

…

Kate: Um, Harrison!

When I called out to him, the aloof man in front of me turned back.

Harrison: Yeah? Do you need something?

Even though there were many things I wanted to say to Harrison, only a simple phrase came out of my mouth.

Kate: Thank you.

(Harrison’s help must've been a great support for Liam.)

Harrison: …

Harrison: Hey, Kate.

Harrison: After the play, it would be a month since you joined Crown, right?

(It’s already been a month…?)

(Ah.)

I had been so preoccupied with Liam that I had completely forgotten about the end of my time as a fairytale writer.

(So much time has passed…)

When I first came to Crown, I badly wanted time to pass by quickly.

Harrison: You’ll be set free if you keep our secret. Victor is a man of his word.

Harrison: What will you do when that time comes?

(... What will I do?)

(What Harrison means by that question is whether I’ll remain by Liam’s side.)

No matter how much I got used to it, Crown’s world was a dark one where the sun never shines.

If I chose to stay there not because I had to, but because I wanted to, there would be no turning back.

I longed for the ordinary yet precious daily life in the sunlight.

Kate: I can’t give you a definite answer yet, but… I have a one-sided promise I’ll fulfil no matter what.

Harrison: A one-sided promise?

The things I said to Liam the night I saw the scars on his back still lived in my heart.

Kate: From tomorrow onwards, I will always be reaching my hand out to Liam. This is a promise I absolutely must never break.

Harrison: …

Harrison: I see.

Harrison: Hey, do you like sweets?

Kate: Huh?

Harrison: I’m asking if you like sweets.

Kate: Um, I guess I do.

Harrison: Then that makes it the “three of us”.

Kate: Huh? Y-Yes… I’d love to!

As I watched him disappear into the distance, his silhouette vanishing into the crimson red light from the setting sun, I thought about the end of my time as a fairytale writer.

…

At around the time the clock tower struck twelve at midnight, the people at The Scala would leave the theatre and get ready for the next day.

(Are they almost done?)

After I had helped clean up, I went to the empty backstage area…

(... Liam’s voice.)

I turned to look at the stage, and I saw someone standing there practising alone.

Liam: “Don’t look at me… I’ve never felt this ugly before.”

Liam: “Don’t be so kind to me. I… I don’t deserve your kindness, Esmeralda.”

(...)

That scene of Quasimodo unable to abandon his love despite being hurt was somewhat similar to Liam.

It was as if Quasimodo’s cries were Liam’s, and Liam’s cries were Quasimodo’s.

I was so absorbed by the scene that I had forgotten to breathe, until his rose coloured eyes caught mine.

Liam: … Kate?

Liam: Haha, you were watching me practise.

We sat side by side on the empty stage, I could smell his sweet vanilla scent from next to him.

Kate: It’s almost time for the curtains to rise, right?

Liam: Yeah, it all thanks to the help of everyone here at The Scala, Victor, Ellis, and Harry.

Liam: Of course, your presence was of great help too. Thank you so much.

There was a hint of remorse in his gentle gaze, it made my emotions overflow.

Kate: It was thanks to everyone’s contributions that the play will start smoothly, but everyone was here for you, Liam.

Liam: … For me?

Kate: Yes.

Kate: Everyone wanted to either help out or see you smiling.

Kate: Those were bonds you’ve built with people way before you met me.

Kate: It’s the same for me.

Liam: …?

Kate: Back when we first met, you knocked on the door of my heart that I had closed off. And that's why I’m where I am today.

Liam: Kate.

Kate: …?

Liam: Don’t you want to turn back time?

Kate: Huh?

Liam: You know exactly what kind of person I am. Don’t you wish you never met me?

I wanted to say something, but I stopped myself when I saw the serious look on his face.

(If I could really turn back time and start all over again…)

(I’d still choose to meet Liam.)

Kate: I’m glad that we met. That’s all.

Liam: …

On the same night I confessed my feelings for him, he told me the real reason why he had been so kind to me. He said that he only wanted to feel needed, he wanted to feel good about himself. It wasn’t out of genuine kindness.

Kate: There can be many reasons why people are kind to others. Sometimes, that kindness may not be genuine.

Kate: However, the effort and consideration someone puts in for others is also a form of kindness to me.

(This is a selfish way of thinking.)

(But I want Liam to hear this.)

Kate: Therefore, all the time you’ve spent creating bonds with others is kindness, Liam.

Liam: …

Kate: I’ve said too much—

Liam held tightly onto my pinky finger and spoke.

(...)

Liam: … Kate, remember when I told you about how I loved being on stage?

Kate: Y-Yeah, it was during “Wuthering Heights”, right? You told me that whenever you fully immerse yourself in the role and act as another person, you feel like you can finally breathe…

Liam: Mm-hmm. The first time Jacob took me to a play when I was a child, I thought “... ahh, this is great. Playing a role in a play means that you can escape from living as yourself for a while”.

(Just as I had expected…)

I always thought that there must've been a reason why Liam was so good at getting into his roles, and now the answer to that was crystal clear.

Liam: That didn't change even when I became an adult and joined The Scala. I felt like it was only when I was acting as a character in a play, that I could finally breathe properly.

Liam: I loved letting myself fully get into character. But the moment the curtains fell, I would get overwhelmed by reality…

Liam: While the audience sang the praises of The Scala, I always felt that I was taking advantage of everything — the plays I acted in, everyone’s emotions… all of it. I felt as if I was exploiting them.

Liam: I thought that it was unforgivable for me to go around boasting about how much I love acting.

Kate: …

Liam: But…

Liam: But was that all it ever was…?

Liam: If I say that I love the things I love… will I be forgiven?

His rose coloured eyes glistened under the spotlight as he looked out at the audience seats.

Those rose coloured eyes had witnessed so much sorrow, and yet they still looked at the world with such a beautiful light in them.

It was heartbreaking yet so precious.

I felt that Liam who burnt his life in a world filled with darkness and uncertainty was so precious to me that I wanted to cry.

I gently stroked the back of his hand that was holding onto my pinky finger.

Kate: … Yes, you will.

The curtains finally rose for the first performance of “The Hunchback of Notre Dame”.

…

— On the day of the performance, the theatre was packed with guests. The tickets were completely sold out.

20 minutes before the curtains rose,

I could sense the people around me being filled with anticipation and excitement.

Curly Hair Lady: Woohoo, I’m looking forward to seeing Liam again tonight. The posters look so good, I want to peel them off and take them home.

Freckles Lady: But isn’t Quasimodo the ugly bell-ringer? He’s the total opposite of Liam…

Newspaper Reporter: I’m here because I received an invitation… I wonder what kind of play it would be.

Magazine Reporter: It’d be marvellous if this would turn out to be a great article, but I’m not getting my hopes up.

As I listened to everyone chatting, I heard the sound of familiar footsteps.

William: Kate.

Kate: Wiliam. … Um, where are the other members of Crown?

William: They’re inside the theatre. Some are in the audience, and the rest are hiding in wait in the shadows.

I glanced around the theatre, but I couldn’t spot them.

All the members of Crown were present, in case “Golden Butterfly” had gotten wind of our plan in advance.

According to William, there was a low chance of “Golden Butterfly” striking tonight.

However, having all members of Crown present meant that we had to be especially cautious about “Golden Butterfly”.

William: Oh, right. Harrison confirmed that Liam’s father is here.

(He really came… . William wasn't lying about his instincts being never wrong.)

William: Looks like the actors have gathered.

Kate: Is Liam aware that his father is here?

William: Yes, stay by that cat’s side and be his support pillar. That’s your role, right, Miss Fairytale Writer?

Kate: … Yes, William.

…

— 10 minutes till the curtains rose.

Everyone at The Scala was frantically making the final preparations for the play, and I desperately squeezed my way through.

I spotted Liam’s rose coloured hair as he waited at the wing of the stage.

(Liam is aware that his father is here.)

(He must be so nervous right now…)

Kate: … Liam.

My thoughts were drowned out the moment I saw him.

Liam: …

There was no hesitation, panic, or shadow in those rose coloured eyes.

Instead, they contained a roaring flame of life that overcame all sorts of hesitation.

— 6 minutes before the curtains rose.

Liam: … Kate?

Liam: Ah, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you.

Liam: Listen, Kate.

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #otome #ikevil main story #liam main story #niki translates

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mikhailwrites · 5 months

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Waiting for Connection 10 / Ghost x Soap NerdAU

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

You didn't think I'd leave you in angst over the Christmas day, did you?

Previous chapter | AO3

The night is cold and damp; the light drizzle doesn’t warrant an umbrella, but it’s not very pleasant in any case. Ghost adjusts the collar of his coat to cover his neck better before shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he starts up the street towards his home. John walks next to him, seemingly unperturbed by the cold. Would stand to reason, Ghost thinks, if he grew up further up north and got through the SAS selection. It’s been years, yet it’s hard to forget—the harrowing trek to a bloody mountain with a time limit and in full gear.

“How’d you get your callsign?” Simon asks out of nowhere. He doesn’t mind the silence but can tell it’s not the same for John, who is probably still beating himself up for fucking up earlier. Simon's not a bastard; yes John hit a nerve back there but he didn't mean to. Simon is resilient, too, shrugging the hurt off as if it's nothing. He has no reason to sulk.

The Scott grabs the question like a lifeline. “At the end of the selection, actually. We were tasked to clean out several buildings to save the hostages. I’ve set the record. The overseeing officer said I’ve been as quick and efficient as a soap, and it kinda stuck.”

“It’s a good callsign,” Simon admits. It sounded ridiculous at first, so much so he was sure there had to be some embarrassing story behind it, as is the case with most callsigns. To earn it with skill is commendable.

“What about you? Ghost is probably the best I’ve ever heard,” Soap asks. Usually, Simon wouldn’t tell, but he supposes it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s no reason to uphold the mystery now.

“I’ve been buried alive,” Simon says, the tone of his voice casual, as if he was commenting on the weather.

John barks out a laugh, probably thinking Ghost’s pulling his leg. Once he realises that’s not the case, he sobers up. “Shit, man… that’s fucked up.”

“Guess it is,” Ghost shrugs. It’s been a long time since he was able to tell what’s fucked up or not. “Alright, we’re here,” Simon takes out keys and lets John inside, clicking the lights on before he leads him to the second floor.

Simon’s flat isn’t much, but it’s his home. As soon as they enter, there’s a blur of tabby fur, and before Simon can say anything, John is crouching and scratching Sgt. Stripey behind the ears. “So you’re Stripey. Nice to meet ye, lad,” John says to the cat with warm affection.

“Careful, or you’ll end up wrapped around his claw,” Ghost warns, hanging his coat and putting his shoes away.

“Too late.” John chuckles, standing up and handing Ghost his jacket to be hanged. “You know, I’d have pegged you for a dog person.”

“I don’t mind dogs; I just like cats better. Always clicked with the little fuckers, ever since I was a kid.” He has no idea why he is imparting so much to John. On the other hand, it’s not like he’s still part of the top secret Task Force. He can have friends now, tell them things about himself, and let them in.

“Guess I can imagine a wee Simon feeding the strays,” John admits as he goes further into the apartment, looking around, obviously compartmentalising everything he sees.

Simon doesn’t say anything because John’s words struck a tad too close to home.

Thankfully, John doesn’t notice. His attention is currently held by something else. “Steamin’ Jesus, what is that?!” Soap exclaims and points at Ghost’s rig, proudly sitting on the desk.

“My computer?” Ghost cocks an eyebrow.

“That?!” Soap almost squeals, which is halfway between ridiculous and adorable, in Ghost’s opinion. Soap comes closer, leaning in to inspect the machine up close. “What are these?” he traces the acrylic tubes with an index finger without actually touching anything.

“Liquid cooling.”

“A…what?” Soap’s eyes widen. “Thought electricity and water don’t mix well.”

“You sure you’re the explosives guy? I said liquid, not water. You could use water technically, but it’s not a very efficient coolant.”

“How do you even… ye ken… keep it in?”

“It’s a closed circuit, look,” Ghost comes closer, shoulder brushing against John’s as he points out the reservoir with a pump, “you have your coolant here, then it’s distributed throughout the system. First, it goes into the CPU because it’s higher up, so I can use gravity to help the pump later. There’s a copper heat plate pressed to the processor; inside it is something like a little maze, so the coolant doesn’t flow through too fast and can actually take away the heat. Once out of the maze, it goes into the intercooler; here,” he touches a big black cooler attached to the top of the rig. “The liquid cools here; it works exactly the same as old radiators and is then used here in the graphics card. The cooling cover works pretty similarly to the one for the CPU, only it’s larger. Once the liquid is out of the GPU, it’s cooled again, here,” he points to another intercooler, “and, lastly, it returns back to the reservoir.”

“But… that’s so complicated! And what if it spills? That can happen, can’t it?” Soap looks at him, and Ghost can’t help but notice the curious shade of blue in his eyes as it catches the warm light. Thankfully, the question asked is interesting enough for him to focus on.

“Sure, but the liquid is safe as long as you don’t drown your power supply in it. And it’s more efficient and much quieter. Let me show you,” without further ado, Ghosts wakes the PC up and fires up a benchmark. “You hear that?”

“Hear what?” Soap asks, confused.

“Exactly,” Ghost’s smile is all smugness, and John finds it kind of endearing.

Soap laughs as soon as he gets Ghost’s point. When he turns to Ghost next, a fond smile plays at his lips, and there are crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes. “Ye really like this stuff, huh?”

It takes Ghost a few seconds to respond, mainly because John’s sheer radiance nearly blinds him. “I do,” he rubs at the back of his neck, a nervous gesture because he feels exposed and a little embarrassed. Usually, that would be a bad thing, but in this instance, it feels different because he knows John wouldn’t laugh at him. They met in a video game. Ghost’s goofiness is safe with him.

“Sorry if that came out wrong. I just wanted tae say I’m impressed. I have no idea about any of this. Maybe you could teach me some stuff?”

“Make you my Padawan, you mean?” Ghost raises an eyebrow.

Soap smirks, unable to hold Ghost’s gaze any longer. “Yer such a nerd, Ghost,” he shakes his head, still smiling. It could’ve easily been read as an insult, yet the way Soap said it sounds more like a compliment. “But aye, make me your Padawan, Master Simon,” Soap says and bows before Ghost. That settles the matter.

Before they can open a new topic, Soap is caught off-guard by a yawn. Glancing at his wrist-watch, he’s both surprised and unsurprised by how late it is. Time flies by when you’re having fun, especially with a good company, but Soap has been on his feet for close to twenty hours now and the past week wasn’t much better. The exhaustion is catching up to him.

“Go take a shower if you want, it’ll take me a few minutes to get the couch ready,” Ghost says and nods to the piece of furniture in question.

Soap thinks for about three seconds. “You don’t need to, I can sleep on it as it is.”

“Nonsense,” Ghost rejects the idea with a finality that bars any further discussion.

Soap holds up his hands in surrender, gathers a few items from his bag and retreats to the bathroom.

Ghost spends several minutes figuring out his own piece of furniture. The thing is, he’s never needed the futon, only the sofa. After multiple failed attempts, he finally finds the right angle and amount of strength to pull and push until the bloody thing unfolds and rearranges itself.

Only now, he is faced with a different problem. Ghost doesn’t have an extra blanket and pillow, which he really should’ve thought about earlier. It’s not a difficult issue to solve. He takes a quilt from the couch and swaps it for his own blanket. The linens were changed two days ago, John should be fine with it. However, the pillow stays in Simon’s bed. If he were to use the small one from the living room, he would have a stiff neck for at least three days. Not worth it. He wouldn’t stand for John to be cold, but the pillow should be just a minor inconvenience for someone as young and fit as Soap.

Ghost quickly gets the futon ready and opens the window to let in some fresh air. It smells of rain and winter, Simon’s favourite combination if anyone ever asked.

John emerges from the bathroom, flushed and slightly damp, dressed in a plain khaki tee and black briefs. Ghost lingers on him, though not for too long. That would be rude and a little creepy, right?

“If you wake up before I do, feel free to check the fridge, make yourself a coffee or tea, everything’s in the kitchen,” Ghost instructs him. “Sergeant usually sleeps in bed with me, but maybe he’ll get curious.”

Soap blinks a few times at the last piece of information before he realises that Ghost is talking about his cat. Right. There was no way he would invite Soap into his bed like this. Not that Soap would want him to, right? They’re friends, and it would be too soon in any case. John realises Ghost is looking at him as if he expects Soap to say something.

“Aye, sure. Thank you again for having me.”

“Sure,” Ghost nods, “sleep well, Soap.”

“You too, Ghost.”

Simon retreats to the bedroom, leaving the doors slightly ajar for the cat.

#Domestic Ghoap is the best Ghoap #Ghost definitely wouldnt have extra set of blanket/pillow #But he would try so hard to be a good host #call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2

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