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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 3 years

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Meeting and Dating Casper McFadden

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- Moving into a new home was never easy. Oftentimes, it meant packing up everything you owned, leaving a bunch of good memories behind, and traveling across the country to a new town where you’d have to make all new friends and renovate old fixtures.

- But there was something about your new house that made it both easier and harder to live in: the fact that it was haunted.

- Obviously your family didn’t find out about the ghosts until after they’d signed the papers and even if they were warned about it, they probably wouldn’t have believed the realtor, but none of that mattered now. Now you were stuck in a old house with a bunch of spirits, stuck until your parents save up enough money to move again.

- So what made the manor easier to live in, you may ask. Well, the fact that it came with a friend….

- You and Casper meet the day you move into the Whipstaff Manor. You’re wandering around, exploring the home and trying to figure out which room you want to live in, unaware that there’s a specter following you.

- The minute Casper sees you, he’s head over tail. You make his undead little heart race and have him second guessing his every action. Which is the main reason it makes him a while to formally introduce himself, he’s too scared that he’ll ruin his first impression.

- Sadly for him, his first impression still doesn’t go over well, regardless of how much he practiced.

- In his defense, it wasn’t anything that he did, it was more the fact that you were suddenly face to face with a phantom. Anyone would have freaked out in response to that, and they would have freaked out to any ghost as well; no matter how friendly.

- So, like the rational young woman that you are, you scream and take off like a rocket, dashing out of the room and down the hall to find a more secure and safe looking room to hide in until your parents get back from the store.

- He follows behind, attempting to calm you down and feeling downright awful for scaring you. Once you’ve locked yourself away into a broom closet, he gives you a minute to breathe before he calls out to you, telling you that he’s sorry and trying to coax you out so that you can talk.

- It takes you another minute to be convinced and to trust him when he says he isn’t gonna hurt you, but eventually, you do brace yourself and open the door.

- Once you do, you find that he really isn’t as scary as you’d originally though he was. In fact, he was actually sort of cute; in a cartoony sort of way, and he’s friendly to boot; so you wind up feeling a bit silly for being so frightened of him. And after you begin to think like that, the two of you begin to develop a close friendship.

- While his uncles might be incredibly obnoxious and annoying, you can’t deny that you enjoy having the ghostly presences in your home; especially when school roles around and you find yourself feeling like an alien with no one to turn to. You might not have any living friends in your town but you at least have a few see through ones at home that ensure you’re not completely alone.

- But, compared to your primarily platonic feelings, Caspers feelings for you were a lot more complicated. He valued your friendship and enjoyed having you as a pal, but he also had more romantic feelings towards you. In simpler terms: he’d had a massive crush on you from the moment you walked in.

- And though he’d have loved to confess his feelings and see if you felt the same, he knew that it was practically impossible for the two of you to be together; at least until you’d died …or until he was alive again!

- The minute he remembers the Lazurus he immediately erupts into a fit of excitement and joy. If you could get it to work, he could be alive again and the two of you could be together for the rest of your lives, either as friends or as something more, he honestly didn’t care which; though he hoped it was the second one.

- So he tells you about the invention and the two of you get to work. You take the wild trip down to his fathers lab, search around until you find what you’re looking for, load the contraption up with it’s necessary elixir, and pull the levers with bated breath.

- You don’t know what you’d expected to walk out of the machine but it certainly wasn’t this. Perfectly done blond hair, shining blue eyes, and a face that made you suddenly flustered to be in your best friends presence. He looked like a Disney prince and you were captivated.

“How do I look?” He asked nervously.

“Perfect,” you responded a little too quickly. “I mean, human, normal …living.”

- His face broke out into a smile and he threw his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. The action caught you off guard and made your heart race but you didn’t mind in the slightest.

- Once you’d finished hugging, he pulled away slowly and you found yourselves locking eyes. His gaze flickered to your lips and before you knew it, the two of you were leaning forward and sharing a kiss.

- His uncles may or may not have interrupted you but the “damage” was already done. You were just as hooked on him as he was on you and neither of you could be happier.

- Casper loves pda. He loves being able to actually touch you and be out in public and show the whole town that the two of you are together; even though half of them are confused as to who he is.

- He touches you and holds you close whenever he can. He’s waited to do it since the moment he met you and now that you’re together; and he isn’t ice cold and only semi-solid, he enjoys every little ounce of affection he can provide and obtain.

- Handholding.

- Cheek kisses.

- Long, soft kisses. They’re sort of a contrast to his usual hyper behavior, which is why, if you ever need him to calm him down and focus, all you have to do is ask for a kiss or make it obvious that that’s what you’re going to do. He skids to a stop and happily complies as he gives you an adorable little smile.

- Pet names aren’t really his thing but he does call you by fun nicknames that he’s come up with; usually a shorter or longer version of your name.

- Cuddling is a must with Casper. He absolutely loves it, no matter how the two of you do it. Sometimes you’ll lay on his chest, other times you’ll spoon, and other times you’ll face each other on the bed and talk until one of you dozes off.

- Speaking of: he definitely watches you sleep every now and again, which sounds far more creepy than it actually is. Like, you’ll be talking late at night and you’ll fall asleep and he’ll just look at your peaceful face for a while.

- If we’re going with the assumption that Casper maintains some of the aspects of being a ghost, I think it’s safe to say that he’s occasionally at least a little cooler than a normal human, which makes him the perfect companion for hot days.

- Being carried and flown around.

- Sometimes; especially prior to him being in the Lazurus, he forgets that you’re not a ghost and gets you into some uncomfortable situations. And after he turns human again, he definitely has to get used to not being able to go through walls and have things go through him when they’re thrown or fall.

- Testing out exactly what he’s still capable of doing and if there’s any limits to his new life. Is he perfectly normal? Does he have ghostly powers? Do the effects occasionally wear off during certain times or seasons? It’s all stuff you have to figure out.

- For a while after he’s brought back to life, he spends all day experiencing everything he missed when he was still alive. All the smells, sights, and touches; he runs around like Jack Skellington while you sit back and watch with a smile.

- Going to the mall. It’s one of his favorite places to visit, he just loves the entire atmosphere of the place; especially since he wasn’t really able to go and enjoy everything about it before he turned human again.

- Tv dates.

- Playing different games with each other. Board games, pirates, video games, you name it, he’ll do it.

- Sitting on top of the lighthouse with him.

- Enjoying the view from outside of the manor. You have the perfect view of the ocean from your garden so the two of you can always throw a blanket down and stare out at the sea together.

- Just goofing off with each other. Running around the house together, sliding down the stairwell, having him push you in a chair down the halls, etc. You’ve got a huge house to mess around in, why not take advantage of it?

- Dancing together. He told you he was a good dancer.

- Late night conversations. You can always talk to him about anything you want or need to.

- Catching him watching you a lot. He always has such a loving gaze when he’s looking at you, just seeing his face when he’s watching you do something or speak is reassurance that he really cares about you.

- Always having a warm and excited greeting when you return home from school. He also probably occasionally goes with you or at least walks you there or visits during lunch.

- He loves making surprises for you. Throwing you little parties or coming up with different ways to make you smile or cheer you up after school or whenever he can see that you’re feeling down is one of his favorite hobbies.

- He wants to be with you like 25/7 so don’t be surprised if he’s constantly bothering you with his presence. It’s a good thing you love him because if you didn’t he’d become very annoying, very quickly.

- Him just appearing at random is commonplace so your parents and you definitely have to take some time to get used to it. I mean he lives in your house and now that he’s human again, it’s definitely a bit easier than when he was a ghost, but still.

- Getting chairs pulled out and doors opened for you. He likes being a gentleman.

- Him cooking for you. He definitely tries to impress you with his skills and all the inventions he uses; and he just likes doing something nice like that for you.

- Discovering all his dads inventions and letting him tell you about them. It’s really quite fascinating to see how they all work and how excited he gets while showing you how to use them.

- I have a feeling that he doesn’t like winter; for obvious reasons, and whenever it comes around, all he wants to do is stay inside with you and do indoor activities. If you were to want to go out, it’d take you a while to persuade him and even if you did; or were only going out by yourself, he’d spend forever bundling you up and making up a bunch of rules to keep you safe.

- Probably dealing with his ghostly self every now and again. I have a feeling that the Lazurus machines effects occasionally wear off for a little while from time to time so while he’s alive most of the time, you do have moments of spooky transparency as well.

- Pranking each other and other people. He might be a sweetheart but he also has a bit of a mischievous streak.

- Him always wanting to show you whatever cool thing he sees, does, finds, or hears about. Just being able to share things with you makes him happy.

- Listening to his stories from when he was alive or the decades he wasn’t.

- Fixing up his room for him and hanging out up there with all his toys.

- Being gifted some of his mothers things. Dresses, jewelry, stuff like that.

- His uncles bothering the two of you. They’re constantly harassing and teasing you; just try to pay them no mind.

- Standing up for him when his uncles are being more awful than usual.

- He might be the only person you can really bond with in your town, considering the fact that whenever you have anybody over, they’re almost always harassed by his uncles and scared away. Which Casper may or may not be sort of happy about.

- Casper gets jealous pretty easily. Anytime another guy takes interest in you, he always feels the need to mock them behind their backs or be passive aggressively not so friendly whenever they approach you when you’re out with him. It’s best to not bring up guys in your class unless it’s obvious that they only like you as a friend; but even then he’d wonder why you need friends (even if they’re girls) other than him.

- He’s sort of overprotective of you. He just got his life back so he certainly doesn’t want anything bad happening and putting yours in danger.

- He absolutely hates fighting so whenever the two of you have an argument, he’s always quick to try and settle it and apologize; even if he doesn’t really think he’s done anything wrong.

- Saying “I love you” isn’t really his forte. He prefers saying and doing other things to show you that he does.

- The two of you sort of just have to go with the flow and see where your relationship takes you. You don’t know how exactly the rest of his “life” will go so you just try to enjoy the present and what you have right now.

#casper mcfadden imagine #casper mcfadden headcanon #casper mcfadden imagines #casper mcfadden headcanons #casper 1995 #casper imagine #casper imagines #casper headcanons #casper headcanon #90s movie imagine #90s movie imagines #90s movie headcanons #90s movie headcanon

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mellowyandere · 3 years

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One Hell of a Logical Ruse Part 2

Reader: F

Characters: Toshinori Yagi (All Might)

Summary: Toshinori's anxiety over your absence quickly gave way to anger as he tired of your attitude. His own version of a punishment was in order.

Length: 6.7k

Warnings: non-con spanking, yandere themes, bathing, non-con, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, size kink.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Based off the pre-established fic You’re Ours to Protect.

Toshinori and Hizashi were pacing the kitchen, phones in hand as they tried to get Shouta to respond. You had been missing for upwards of six hours now and the pros were on the verge of losing it. Their sleepy counterpart had stated he wouldn't need the two blonds help, but try as they might they couldn't help the anxiety clawing away at their minds.

"Fuck Toshi what if she got hurt? I know she's capable 'n all but the woods! There's god knows what out there!" The smaller blond was vibrating he was so wound up, the mental image of bugs crawling all over you and coyotes tearing you to pieces sending him into a panic.

All Might's anxieties were a bit more practical, imagining you finding your way to the road and trying to hitch hike away from them. What if a villain found you and hurt you? Nowhere was safer than home with them.

"Shouta is fully capable of finding her, any minute now and he'll give me a call..." The words were meant to bring Hizashi comfort, but he was struggling to convince himself as well. His phone was clutched in his large hand, its silence on the verge of killing him.

When it finally rang he almost threw it across the room as he fumbled it. Slamming the answer button he brought the phone to his ear.

"Where is she, is she hurt, is she alright?"

"Calm down she's fine. Dirty and upset, but otherwise relatively unharmed."

Hizashi bounded over, ears perked so he could listen in on the conversation. His perfectly aligned teeth worried his bottom lip at his husbands word choice of relatively. So he was a bit rough on recovery.

"I'll send you our coordinates, she managed to get pretty far into the endless forest. Good thing that contact of yours set up this quirk or else she would have reached the main road hours ago."

Toshinori heard your disgruntled yelling in the background at Shouta's newest revelation before the line went dead. His phone pinged and he made a mental note of where the two of you were. Taking a deep breath he puffed up his chest, taking on his more muscular appearance before running out the front door.

-----

An endless forest. Go figures. From what you could tell the further you wandered into the woods the deeper they actually became. You weren't exactly sure how they got in and out the house around the quirk, but the path you took was clearly not it.

You were currently sitting on the ground, back to Shouta as you simmered. Now that he was no longer plastered on top of you your anger was rekindled. You could feel his eyes burning holes into you, but you were far too pissed off to acknowledge him. It was a good thing he seemed to know when to leave you be, not bothering with conversation after fucking you into the forest floor.

The only thing he'd done since violating you was get his capture weapon, dragging you along so he didn't lose sight of you again.

Your head was still pounding from when you had hit the ground earlier. Combining that with how filthy you were and Shouta's cooling cum on your inner thighs, and you feel like absolute shit.

The sound of a loud thud behind you caused you to flinch. You didn't have it in you to turn around and face the number one hero right now, not sure if you would be able to handle whatever expression was on his face.

"Oh goodness, Shouta she's a mess what did you do?"

The dark haired man simply huffed in response, eyes rolling at the number ones concern.

"Just get us home, she needs a bath."

You hated when they talked about you like you weren't there, as if you were just some pet or child instead of your own autonomous person.

All Mights heavy footsteps approached you, stopping just shy of touching you. When you made no move to acknowledge his presence he sighed deeply, tutting at your behavior, before scooping you up bridal style. You closed your eyes to avoid looking at him, turning away from his broad chest.

"Shouta you can just grip around my neck from behind, it will only take a couple minutes to get back."

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes at his words. He had covered what took you six hours in mere minutes.

As soon as Eraserhead had confirmed himself secure All Might took off. Wind rushed passed you as he soared high above the canopy. You peeked your eyes open, trying desperately to see where the forest ended, but much to your dismay the nearest city looked to be hundreds of miles away, and any possible roads were obscured by trees.

"Take a good look Y/N," Toshinori murmured to you, voice rumbling against your ear. He didn't need to say more, you understood him loud and clear. Escape won't be possible, even if you get out you can't outrun me, and even if you hide it's only a matter of time before we find you. Your tears of frustration fell more freely now. Way to rub salt in the wound.

When you landed a minute or so later Shouta wasted no time in dropping off the giant while Toshinori quickly brought you inside. Hizashi greeted you at the front door, a strange mixture of relief, anger and disappointment swirling in his emerald eyes.

"Oh no baby look at yah. I got the water runnin' in the master bath in your room Toshi come on lets get her clean." Toshinori followed Hizashi upstairs, refusing to put you down. You all trailed through his bedroom, simplistic design leaving the space void of personality, until you ended up in his bathroom. The room was large, to accommodate the size of its owner, with white marble tiles on the floor, accompanied by white walls and white appliances, giving the room a sterile feeling.

"Hizashi, Shouta, I'll take care of her for now." You had expected a bit of protest from Hizashi but he merely walked out with a sad nod.

"Take it easy on her okay, it's partially my fault she got out..." Shouta mumbled, following his husband out of the bathroom. The door closed with a soft click and for the first time since coming into this house you found yourself alone with All Might. He was normally so busy you barely ever saw him, but now here he was, gently lowering you to the floor.

He stepped away from you, running his hand under the large free standing tubs faucet to test the water temperature. Hizashi had left everything he'd need to clean you up, towel and spare clothes included.

"Go ahead and strip." His voice was colder than normal, an edge to it that filled you with unease. Turning to finally look at him you sucked in your breath. His eyes were fixated on you, searing you with a look that was equal parts disappointment and wounded. He was still in his muscular form, kneeling impatiently beside the bath.

Heat rushed to your face as you slowly began to peel off your filthy clothes, until you were standing in front of him in your bra and underwear. He quirked an eyebrow at you as his frowned deepened.

"All of it." Anger and fear mixed dangerously in your mind as you glared at him.

"I can clean myself."

"I don't recall asking if you could. Strip, now."

When you made no move to comply he threw his head back in exasperation, heaving a large sigh before standing to his full height.

"I have had enough of your behavior young lady. I understand your frustration with us, but we're doing this for your own good. Would you really rather waste away in prison?"

"I'd rather you assholes just kill me already or something, this whole playing pet thing is really starting to piss me off!" His face dropped, teeth grinding against one another as his mind processed what you said. You had no idea how villains got the nerve to fight him, right now it was taking everything inside you to not back down and apologize.

"Kill you? Are you serious right now!" He stomped up to you, frame looming over you threateningly as his eyes blazed with fury.

Swallowing hard you steeled your nerves, you had nothing left to lose so might as well give him a piece of your mind.

"I was perfectly fine before you fuckers brought me here! I don't need you! The fact that you had to prevent me from using my quirk is proof enough that I don't need you! Sure I might not have had much, but it was mine! My life to own and do whatever the hell I wanted with, not yours to take!"

"The moment you decided killing people was the only way to solve your problems was the moment you lost the rights to your life. As heroes in this world, and enforcers of justice, you are sentenced to our care. Now stop arguing with me and strip."

Puffing out your chest you narrowed your tear stained eyes and fixed him with the nastiest look you could muster. "Fuck. You."

In that moment you saw something inside him snap. Mouth pulled tight in a terrifying scowl, he had you maneuvered faster than you could comprehend. One moment you had been standing in front of him, the next you were strewn over his lap, facing the floor.

You yelled out in anger, clawing at his calves through his cargo pants. You knew what would be coming next, but your brain didn't want to slow down to think about how humiliating it was about to be.

"If you want to act like a child then you'll be punished like one. Count. One for every hour you were gone. Be grateful it's not more."

"Let go of me you fucking assho- aH!"

His large hand made contact with your clothed ass, the slap muffled by the sound of running water.

"Count."

You bit down on your bottom lip hard, tears leaving trails as they washed the dirt down your face. You waited with bated breath, the stinging on your ass for now was bearable enough.

"Y/N, you will count on this next one or I will double your punishment. I'm done playing games with you."

You tensed on the expanse of his massive thighs. You didn't want to count, didn't want to give in, but deep down you knew you'd never win.

His hand came down again with another resounding smack right on top of the first hit. You let out a sob from the impact, choking out a soft "one" as your self preservation instincts kicked your ego to the curb.

"Good, only five more to go."

Your head hung in shame as you waited for your punishment to end, jolting and squeaking out numbers every time he made contact with your burning flesh. To his credit he applied the same level of force with each hit, but every time he made contact the intensity of your burn increased until finally you cried out a broken "six".

You felt so pathetic, strewn across All Mights lap. You used to be so independent, never did you imagine this would be your fate. What happened to your self confidence? The fire inside of you that pushed you to rid the world of villains felt smoldered. Doused by the degrading nature of your stay with the three pro heroes.

It made you want to curl up in a ball and cry until your head pounded from exhaustion. Today was simply getting to be too much for you to mentally handle. From your failed escape attempt, your pathetic attempt at self defense against Shouta, learning running was a pointless waste of your time, to now getting a spanking like a fucking child from All Might himself. The list of losses just kept adding up, and none of them were in your favor.

You were openly sobbing, and the fact that you were crying was pissing you off even more, making for a horrible cycle where you simply cried harder. Toshinori gently moved you around in his hold until he had you clutched to his chest, gently shushing you as you clung to him. Despite how wrong it was you found comfort in Toshinori as he rubbed soft circles into your back, grasping small handfuls of his t-shirt as you stained the white fabric with tears and dirt.

"Everything is going to be okay, I know you've had a bad day and being locked up isn't easy for you. Just give it some time Y/N and you'll see that things here aren't so bad with us. We're here for you, and we're never going to tire of you, even with that stubborn attitude of yours."

Toshinori waited patiently for your sobbing to turn into soft hiccups before peeling you off of him. He removed what little clothes you had left and then lowered you into the tub. The drain was unplugged since you were still filthy, and sitting you in a full tub of water would murky up the clean bath.

Grabbing a large cup Toshinori filled it and poured water over your naked body. You watched with unfocused and puffy eyes as the proof of your failed escape attempt swirled down the drain. Only when the water finally ran clear did Toshinori put the plug in. The lulling warmth progressively crept higher up your body, your head bobbing as you grew sleepy. Toshinori turned the water off once the water had reached your chest, leaving it a good bit from the lip of the tub.

You heard the rustling of clothes but paid the source no mind. You didn't so much as react when the now naked hero stepped into the bath, shimmying down until you were surrounded by him. The water level rose drastically with the addition of the 560 pound man. His thick thighs were splayed on either side of you, solid abdominal muscles pressed into your back.

You heard the pop of a bottle before two large hands gently began to lather your skin in body wash.

"I'm not sure how you like your hair cleaned princess. Whenever women find out I use two in one shampoo they give me a look like I kicked a puppy so I'll just leave that to you for another time." He chuckled softly as he spoke, massaging the tightness out of your shoulders before moving down to your arms.

He spoke so casually, as if all his anger from earlier evaporated with the ending of your punishment. You found yourself grateful that he moved on so quickly instead of lingering on your emotional degradation.

You felt his cock stir a bit as he came back to your chest, cupping them and working the soap onto your skin with more attention than he'd shown your shoulders. You stiffened a bit, but since he made no further move to grind himself against you, you remained in his hold.

"I'm sorry for being rough with you, I'd much rather do something relaxing like this than bring you pain." He pulled you until your head was laying on the expanse of his chest, the deep pounding of his heart mingling with the ringing in your ears. It was almost relaxing, minus the growing erection pressed against your lower back.

Reluctantly his hands left your breast, moving further down your body. He rubbed the soft expanse of your stomach, humming happily at your lack of resistance to him. Only when his hands drifted further did you begin to stir a bit.

"Now young lady I need to make sure all of you is cleaned up okay? You're behaving yourself so well I'd really hate to ruin the moment."

"No, no. Please. Just this one thing.."

His hands paused. He hated how broken you sounded right now. Pulling back he raised his arms outside the tub and rested them along the edges. You relaxed a bit as he retreated.

"Alright Y/N, do you need any soap?"

Sighing softly in relief, you were glad that he was willing to give you this. It almost made you feel human again.

"Nah, it's not healthy to use soap down there."

Toshinori merely hummed in acknowledgement, sliding further into the bath and pushing you along with him as he got comfortable.

You cleaned your core gently, it was still a bit sore from what Shouta had done earlier to you. Only once you deemed yourself spotless did you get soap to lather on the parts of you Toshinori had not gotten to. Speaking of, his breathing had gotten a lot deeper. You peaked back at him noticing his head uncomfortably resting against the tub as he drifted into unconsciousness.

Peering down his naked body you couldn't help but gasp softly as you took note of the large injury covering part of his abdomen. You turned towards him, sending ripples through the water as you cautiously brought your hand to the deep scar. You knew that All Might had been injured enough to force him into a smaller form, but seeing the injury first hand was something else entirely. Who on earth had been able to hurt this titan of a man?

You hadn't realized Toshinori had woken up until his large hand gently covered your own. Meeting his soft gaze you were taken aback by his sad smile.

"The man who did this to me, some say it would be best if I just killed him already. But that's not what heroes do, that's not what Nana would do."

Taking hold of your body Toshinori moved you until he had you straddling the smallest part of his waist. Since you were both completely naked you kept your eyes trained on his injury, heat rushing to your cheeks at the intimacy of the position. His hands rose from the water, gently cupping your face and drawing your gaze to his own.

"When I look at you sometimes I can see her. Your strong will, your intelligence, how beautiful you are... but you're not the same person. Not in a bad way, no you are unique. Your own individual, and someone who I've come to love, even if you don't feel the same way."

His blue orbs were hypnotizing, almost as if he believed if he tried hard enough your own glassy orbs would mirror his loving gaze, or perhaps he'd see it hidden in the depths of your irises.

This moment was far too intimate and personal for your comfort, it was so different than anything any of the men had done before. In a way you almost preferred when they failed to acknowledge you as an equal, it made it easier to hate them. But right now, sitting in the warm bath atop Toshinori, you could feel your resolve slipping.

You didn't want to bring attention to his confession so you decided to try and divert the subject.

"Who's Nana?" You had never heard of her before, not even in tabloids referring to All Might. Toshinori's hands froze on your face, eyes scrunching up as he contemplated on how he wanted to answer.

"Nana... Nana was my mentor. Though calling her that doesn't feel right, she was more like a mother to me. She's the reason I am who I am. Without her I'd be nothing."

Past tense, he was using a lot of past tense. It didn't take a genius to interpret why. His forlorn expression filled in the gaps, so you didn't bother to ask what had become of her. He saw you in the same light he saw this woman?

"Y/N, will you sleep with me tonight?"

Taking note of your hesitation he continued speaking before you could voice any protests.

"Coming home and realizing you were gone.. I was so worried, so afraid I'd never see you again. That you'd be taken away from me, and I don't know if I can handle losing you. I've lost so many people that I cared deeply about, I refuse to lose you too."

How in the ever loving fuck were you supposed to refuse him now. Even though you were still mad at him from his earlier form of punishment you couldn't find it in you to hurt him right now.

"Yeah that's fine, but just tonight. You probably put off a ridiculous amount of heat or snore or something..."

Toshinori flashed you his signature smile before bellowing out a laugh. The water rippled and your body jostled along with his hearty chuckle.

"Me? Snore? No, it'll be the coughing that might get to you haha-ack"

Pain flashed across his face before you felt his body rapidly shrink beneath you with a large puff of smoke. He scrambled upright, causing you to fall against him as he hacked out a lung. You awkwardly placed your hand on his back and rubbed small circles as one of his arms gripped you tightly for balance.

"So-sorry I think I was in my muscular form for too long."

He looked a bit sheepish, using the back of his forearm to wipe off some blood that had dribbled down his chin. You merely sat there, doing your best to look anywhere but him as he collected himself.

"The water's getting cold, come on let's get out princess."

You stood up first, awkwardly stepping over his legs and out of the tub. You were a bit embarrassed that he kept his eyes trained on you the whole time while his hands hovered to ensure your safety. A pile of large fluffy towels were set to the side of the tub on a stool. Grabbing the one on top you began the process of drying off.

You heard the sloshing of water as Toshinori stood up, followed by the sound of the plug being pulled and water draining. Looking over it amazed you that even in his smaller form he was was still intimidating. Wiry muscles clung tight to his frame, the angles of his face casting shadows across his eyes. Stepping out he grabbed a towel and proceeded to dry himself off as well.

"Hizashi left you some clothes it would seem... though they look a bit uncomfortable. You can borrow a spare shirt of mine, I also have a spare toothbrush on the top right hand draw of the counter if you want to hide out in my room tonight."

You very much wanted to avoid Hizashi, not sure if you could handle whatever he'd have in store for you right now. Out of three men here, he made you the most nervous. Even now, as you held the scandalous lingerie up to the light you knew he was still going to want his share of punishment.

"I'll take your shirt offer, as well as the hiding out offer. I don't think I can handle him tonight."

Toshinori hummed in acknowledgement before heading to his bedroom and shuffling about before reappearing with one of his large white t-shirts. He had on boxers now, which he must have bought specifically for his smaller form because they hugged all of him rather snugly. Tossing the shirt your way he meandered about the bathroom, preparing for sleep.

You both finished around the same time, leaving you to awkwardly shuffle towards his gigantic bed. He followed behind you, large hand on the small of your back to encourage you onwards.

You wanted him to sleep on the other side of the bed but weren't sure exactly how to voice your desire, especially when he followed so closely behind you. Pulling back the sheets you slid under the cool covers, and yet again Toshinori somehow found a way to leave you with no space.

After turning off the bedside lamp his long limbs quickly ensnared you, pulling you close and tucking you into his embrace. He was warm, but not unpleasantly hot.

Just for tonight. You'd give him this just for tonight. You were also beyond exhausted, your limbs heavy as you sunk into his ridiculously comfortable mattress. Your mind, which had been drifting off ever since the bath, finally dipped into unconsciousness. Your soft breathing filled the air as Toshinori watched you finally succumb to slumber. Smiling softly he lovingly stroked your cheek, planting a kiss to your forehead before giving in himself.

-----

Waking with a jolt you were thrown off by limbs harshly clutching your body. It took you a moment to remember that you weren't in your own bedroom, meaning Toshinori was currently holding you like his life depended on it.

The room was pitch black so you had no idea what time it was, but figured it was still way to early to be awake. His grip on your body was borderline painful causing you to groan out in sleepy annoyance.

"Toshinori, damnit, wake up. You're squeezing me too tight," you grumbled, wiggling a bit to try and jostle him awake. He was murmuring in his sleep, deep voice grumbling against you with the way he had you pressed against his chest.

"D-don't go... no no. I am here... please."

His body was trembling, caught in a nightmare that you couldn't see.

You raised your voice a bit, trying harder to wake him up but he still wouldn't release his grip on you. Only when you accidentally elbowed him did he finally react to you.

With a harsh gasp he threw himself on top of you, pushing you into the mattress. His blue eyes were a wild blaze, messy blond hair framing his angular face. His long bangs were plastered to his forehead from sweat, lungs heaving to swallow air.

"Y/N?"

He looked so lost, eyes clouded with tears as his brain finally registered he was no longer trapped in his own personal hell. Groaning out in discomfort he lowered his body on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He wrapped his arms around you, trying to ground himself.

"Ah, I'm- I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up... fuck." Moving down he rested his head against your chest, as if he needed to hear your heart beating beneath him in order to assure himself you were really here.

All you could find it in yourself to do was sigh in exhaustion, body going limp as you relaxed beneath him. It was a good thing he was in his smaller form, since he wasn't attempting to keep any of his weight off of you. You closed your eyes, not quite ready to ask him what his nightmare had been about.

He sniffled softly into your chest, arms unwinding from your waist to gently rub against your exposed flesh. His shirt had drifted up your body, leaving your stomach and lower half exposed.

"May I, may I touch you please?"

"You already are..."

"Oh, uh- yeah it would seem I am. Could I touch you, um down here?" His hand trailed down, knuckles softly brushing against your bare thighs.

You cracked your eyes open to look down at him, his own glowing orbs pleading up to you.

"Toshinori can we just go back to sleep? Please?"

Biting his bottom lip his hand continued to drift closer to your naked core, eyes averting from your own as he thought about what he was going to do next.

"I know I'm not around as much as Hizashi and Shouta but gosh I just- I need to feel you right now. The way they talk about you, how perfect you feel, I need you."

"I-I'd rather we just sleep, Hizashi is still mad at me an-"

Toshinori slid up your body, silencing your protests with a kiss. His hand slid up all the way, using his own thigh as leverage to keep you from closing yours.

His tongue delved into your mouth, fingers finally meeting your outer folds. You struggled beneath him, breaking the kiss.

"Toshinori please, I just want to sleep." In reality you were scared. You had seen his length before, and you'd be a liar if you said it didn't intimidate you. That coupled with the fact that tonight had been going semi-well with the pro, him finally having his share of you would cement your fate in this house even further. His fingers had paused, body still as he took you in below him.

"You don't have to do a thing then princess, I'll take care of everything. Just lay back and relax I promise I'll make you feel good."

"To-Toshinori please, I just want to sleep," you looked deep into his eyes as you pleaded with him, hoping somehow you could find the part of him that knew this was wrong. He gave you a sad smile, his eyes still a bit glassy from his nightmare.

"Just think of this as the last of your punishment then. I still don't think you realize just how terrified I was when I came home to an empty house."

You shook your head, sniffling a bit as tears formed. You tried to push him off but he merely took one large hand and easily secured both of your wrists above your head. His other hand resumed ever so gently teasing you, working on getting you aroused.

"Just lay back and relax alright, then we can go back to sleep. I just-I just need to feel you right now. Need to make sure you're really here."

You worked your bottom lip with you teeth, eyes closed so you no longer had to look at him. His thumb trailed up to press light circles against your clit while his middle finger began to delve a bit deeper, teasing your sore hole. Your body had gone slack, tired of the fact that this was just another situation in which your powerlessness was painfully on display. You didn't have it in you mentally to put up a fight.

Toshinori moved his slim hips until his clothed cock was pressed against your right thigh, rutting against you while he worked you open. He gave a gentle peck to your forehead before trailing kisses down your face to your mouth. He captured your lips with his own, freeing your bottom lip from your teeth and moaning into your unwilling mouth.

You didn't work with him, not giving him the satisfaction of your consent, but he wasn't deterred. He simply moved down, back arching as he made his way to your chest. His erection left your thigh as he finally settled on his stomach between your legs, allowing him to comfortably take your right nipple into his hot mouth.

He nipped at the sensitive bud, long finger pushing into you at the same time while he continued to work your clit. His movements were slow as he savored every moment, sleepy mind basking in the warmth of your body.

You tried to drift back to sleep, thinking that perhaps in the emptiness of unconsciousness you could avoid your punishment, but Toshinori was surprisingly very skilled when it came to manipulating your body. You shuddered beneath him when he gave a particularly hard suck to your breast, his lean digit rubbing against the spongy spot on your inner walls that had you clamping down on him in return.

His pace was torture, just on the cusp of bringing you satisfaction, but he seemed plenty content with dragging this out. You wiggled below him in annoyance, attempting to grind down against his hand in anger and desperation. If he was going to force himself on you then the least he could do was not torment you about it.

With a soft sigh Toshinori released your nipple from his mouth, a small trail of spit connected to his lips. Opening your eyes you glared down at him, while his eyelids were hooded in an amorous gaze.

"Tell me what you need me to do for you princess."

"Let me sleep."

Toshinori gave a sleepy chuckle before peppering your chest with lazy kisses.

"You're more than welcome to try."

Resting his head against your chest he continued to pump his finger excruciatingly slow, easily pushing all the way in to his knuckle, thanks to how wet you had become, before dragging out with a languid come hither motion against your sensitive walls.

You could feel your heart accelerate as he lazily stroked pleasure into your slack body. The way in which you velvety walls clamped down on him far too telling of his skill. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn't so damn good at this. In some sick and twisted way though, his loving movements quelled the rage inside you.

Did you want this? Tears slipped down your face as you realized that some fucked up part of you just might. Toshinori hummed softly into your flesh while he lazily worked you closer to your climax, the endorphins flooding your brain working to wash away your inner turmoil. His thumb rubbed gentle circles on your clit while he nipped and sucked on whatever flesh he could reach.

Once he realized you were close to finishing he simply added another finger, stretching and wiggling the two digits to help open you up. You moaned softly at the intrusion, hips bucking as you gave in to him. It didn't take him much longer to finally push you over the edge, but he didn't stop like you had hoped. Adding a third digit you inhaled sharply at the burning sensation, stretched walls still spasming from your orgasm.

"I'll make sure you're ready, don't worry about a thing. Just a little bit more, you're tight but I'll fit."

"It- you won't fit, please you know you won't."

As if to prove you wrong he pushed a bit harder then you were prepared for, burying three of his fingers knuckle deep and forcing a pained whine from your throat. He began to move, getting on his knees and arching his body over your own while continuing to stroke your now sensitive and stinging cunt.

"As I said earlier, just think of this as the ending to your punishment."

"But Hizashi hasn't-" Toshinori cut you off with a pointed look.

"That's not my fault now is it?" You cringed away from him, his cold tone from earlier in the night caused your chest to tighten in fear.

He sighed lowly at your frightened expression, before giving you a small smile and another gentle peck to your forehead.

"Just lay back and relax alright?" He gave your captured wrists a light squeeze as he spoke, large frame hovering over you as he continued to scissor his fingers inside you. The burning sensation from being stretched out began to subside as the familiar warmth of pleasure took hold of you once more.

"There we go, just like that. The more you relax the easier this will be I promise."

Finally pulling his devilish hand away from your soaked pussy he made quick work of shimmying out of his underwear, long cock springing free. The tip was red with a good bit of pre-cum dripping down his intimidating length, some getting lost in his neatly trimmed curly blond pubic hair.

You had flashbacks to the first time you saw it, a bit relieved that in his smaller form he lost a bit of girth. But holy shit if this 7 foot 2 inch giant of a man wasn't packing heat.

Heat flushed Toshinori's face as he watched you take him in. He knew his size could be a bit alarming, which is why he was well versed in the art of foreplay.

Bringing himself down on top of you he lined his tip up with your entrance, free hand helping to guide himself in. You could feel him, gently rubbing himself on your outer lips to gather your slick. His raspy breaths ghosted across the hot expanse of your face, while he closed his eyes, letting out a low groan as he began to push in.

"Sh-shit yes, just like that, ah fuck it'll be a tight fit."

You whined as he began to work on sinking into you, his hand leaving his cock in favor of gently wrapping around your throat.

Despite his best efforts his fingers hadn't been enough preparation when compared to his cock. Gasping in pain you thrashed beneath him. He shushed you gently, fingers stroking your throat delicately as he speared you open. Little by little he rocked his hips into you, holding you down while you cried out in pain.

"So good, you're doing so good. The worst is over okay princess hold out for me."

You hardly knew what he meant by worst part when it felt like he was never going to bottom out. He brought his face down beside yours, huffing and groaning into your ear until finally he was flush with you, cock buried to the hilt. You were breathing hard, small whines and whimpers slipping past your lips at how he stretched you.

"Oh shit. You- you're fucking perfect."

"Too much, it's too much plea-" much to your frustration his mouth met your own again in order to cut off your protests. He pressed your head into the pillow to try and prevent you from pulling away from him again, hungrily following your escape attempts. The hand he had around your throat receded, only to snake its way between the two of you so he could continue teasing your sensitive clit.

His hips began to move again, assuming he had given you plenty of time to adjust based off the way your pussy clenched around him as if begging for more.

He starting off with the same tempo he had been doing for the majority of the night, so slow it was as if he was teasing you. But as the burning sensation in your poor cunt eased you realized he was doing it for your benefit. He wanted you to enjoy this, needed you to find pleasure and comfort in him. After all this was your first time with him, he wanted to make sure you weren't afraid when he came back for more.

As your whimpers subsided, replaced with hushed moans, only then did Toshinori begin to pick up the pace. Finally he released your mouth from his kiss, both of you gasping for air. He showered you with praise as he fucked into you, deep gravely voice never letting you forget just how much he cared for you.

For your part all you could do was submit to him, letting his deft finger and cock bring you back to the brink of orgasm. Your warm walls fluttered around him as he took you closer and closer, the resounding slap of flesh on flesh filling the room as he lost himself in his own pleasure. He was grounded only long enough to see you through, but as soon as you began to convulse around him, hips bucking and pretty mouth moaning obscenely, his mind blanked out.

He abandoned your clit, hand coming up to join the other and thread his fingers through your own. He hammered into you, painfully drawing out your orgasm as he chased his own climax. The juxtapose of him lovingly holding your hands to his feral thrusts was giving you mental whiplash.

"Yes, yes fuck. So good for me, don't ever leave me again. Shit - fuck I can't lose anyone else."

His thrusts were erratic, your whole body forced to move against his. You had assumed he would cum in you, just as Hizashi and Shouta had already done, but right before he finished he pulled out quickly. Pressing the head of his cock into your skin, hot thick surges of cum covered your stomach. The excess quickly began to drip down the side of your body, mingling with your sweat on the sheets below.

Coming down from his high, his hands were still intertwined with your own, skinny body heaving from exertion. For your part your heart rate had mostly settled after your second orgasm, leaving you effectively spent under him.

You had managed to keep your eyes closed while he had fucked you, only now opening them to find him observing you fondly. Releasing his hold on you he leaned over to his bedside table and grabbed a spare handkerchief, using it to wipe off his cooling cum.

Only when he deemed you properly spotless did he toss the cloth to the floor and flop down in the bed beside you. Drawing your weary body against him he folded around you, capturing you once more in his unrelenting grip.

"I know you haven't been here very long, but I can't help but love you so much it hurts. I'll be good to you if you're good to me okay?"

A meager "m-kay" was all you had it in you to respond with, but it was all the man wanted to hear. With a satisfied hum Toshinori pecked your forehead with one last kiss before you both succumbed to sleep.

#tw: noncon #yandere toshinori yagi #yandere all might #yandere x reader #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia

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night-unfurls-its-splendour · 3 years

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Every Emma Woodhouse Ranked and Rated

With all my reviews of all the period-set adaptations now finished, I'm beginning my series in which I rate and rank each interpretation of all the principle characters, starting with our girl Emma!

Now I wanna be clear--I am not rating the actresses that played Emma. I am rating how the character was handled in general in each adaptation. The actresses are a factor, but they're not the sole factor, since the writer and director have as much, if not more, to do with how the character ends up in the finished product. So without futher ado, let's rank...

“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her….

“The real evils indeed of Emma’s situation were the power of having rather too much of her own way, and a disposition to think a little too well of herself; these were the disadvantages that threatened alloy to her many enjoyments.”

NUMBER 5: 1972

Portrayed by: Doran Godwin

Age at time of filming: 28

Clocking in as the oldest actress to play Austen’s famously TWENTY-ONE year old heroine (at the ripe age of 28), Doran Godwin also snags the coveted position as inhabiting the worst portrayal of the character (in my personal estimation) to date.

Just about everything about this interpretation of Emma Woodhouse is bad, from her seemingly automated recital of her lines to her all-too-intense, wide-eyed, hypnotic stare. The 1972 portrayal of Emma highlights all the character’s worst qualities while also failing to convincingly communicate her good qualities, such as her caring nature. The script is equally to blame for the awfulness of this interpretation, adding unnecessarily cruel and condescending lines, including one where she negs Harriet for being sad after Elton’s marriage, and then forces Harriet to come with her to meet the new Mrs. Elton, when Emma in the book did her best to shield Harriet from exactly that kind of situation.

Godwin couldn’t pass for 21 if her life had depended on it, and the worst part is that the script actually states Emma’s age, so she seems like a bit of a crazy spinster, preying on the naïve Harriet. Whether it’s her intent to bathe in Harriet’s blood to keep herself young, or to bake her into a pie is up for debate.

Rating: 1/5 Half-finished portraits

NUMBER 4: 2020

Portrayed by: Anya Taylor Joy

Age at time of filming: 23

I thought long and hard about this. This movie is a modern period drama phenomenon. It’s gotten so many people into Jane Austen and satisfied long-time Austen fans by giving them an interpretation they never dared hope to see. It’s a gorgeous film.

But I don’t like this interpretation of Emma Woodhouse. Though Anya Taylor Joy is one of the youngest actresses to play Emma (only two years older than the character) she’s played with a careful stiffness that perhaps shows us a glimpse of the Lady Catherine she might turn into without swift intervention. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, and this isn’t a commentary on Anya Taylor Joy either—her appearance or her acting ability—but I just don’t like her as Emma. And she’s not the sole problem, she turns in a solid performance, she’s a good actress, but something about this characterization is just off-color to me. Anya Taylor Joy plays a great mean-girl; but I think that’s one of the reasons why they thought she’d be a good choice for this role, and it’s one of the prime reasons I don’t think she wasright for it. Emma is a deeply flawed character and, of course, the biggest turning point in her story comes as a result of a thoughtlessly mean remark to someone who has only ever shown her deference, hospitality and gratitude.

All that said, Emma is not, at her core, a cruel person. Emma has gone all her life thinking condescending things about Miss Bates but it’s only when Frank comes along and validates her less kind commentaries that she actually starts to voice them in search of validation from a peer.

The problem with this in the context of 2020’s Emma Woodhouse is that Frank hardly gets a look-in in this adaptation. Emma’s relationship with him is severely underdeveloped and the actors don’t have enough chemistry to pull it off in the limited time they’re given. The result is that Emma appears to cross a line just to cross it, and it pushes Emma’s character from thoughtless to out-and-out frigid.

Still better than Doran Godwin, since she's identifiably human.

Rating: 2 1/2 / 5 Half-finished portraits

NUMBER 3: 1996 (MIRAMAX)

Portrayed by: Gwyneth Paltrow

Age at time of filming: 24

Despite the fact that Gwyneth Paltrow was an appalling casing choice for Emma Woodhouse (I will be forever salty that they passed over Joely Richardson), and I know there are some who will think me, at best, crazy (sacrilegious, at worst) for ranking 1996’s interpretation of Emma higher than 2020, I actually feel that solidly in the middle is right where this version of the character belongs.

There’s so much wrong with this Emma: she swings from mature to bizarrely infantile at the drop of a hat, much of her script is genuinely tragic, Gwyneth can’t convincingly portray Emma's social naiveté, her accent is overwhelmingly nasal and impossible to listen to, just for starters.

And yet… I don’t hate her. I don’t like her particularly either, but even though much of the dialogue re-working butchered Austen’s prose, there are a lot of things McGrath seems to have gotten right about Emma’s character. Her relationship with Knightley feels comfortable and playful, and, while Emma of the book probably doesn’t really care for Harriet Smith in the spirit of true bosom friendship, I believe she does care about her and wishes to spare her (further) pain. She shows exasperation with Harriet while still being patient with her, which is very much in the spirit of the book. Her concern for Harriet at the ball feels real, and her contrition at Box Hill following Knightley’s rebuke, while not profound, at least feels like contrition and not self-pity.

Perhaps, given the soft-take that the Miramax version is, it shouldn’t be surprising that the biggest faults in characterization rest on awkward writing and the biggest triumphs highlight Emma’s better side. It’s not a very in-depth take on the character, but it at least, is an adequate one.

Rating: 3/5 Half-finished portraits

NUMBER 2: 1996/97 (ITV)

Portrayed by: Kate Beckinsale

Age at time of filming: 23

Those who’ve read my reviews of each adaptation of Emma might be surprised to see ITV’s portrayal of the title character sitting so high on my list. To be frank, it’s a distant second, and she may have stolen the number two spot only because she’s played by Kate Beckinsale and not Gwyneth Paltrow.

In truth, I see a lot of parallels between 1997’s Emma and 2020’s. Both actresses were 23 (or thereabouts) when they played the role, both have extremely childish moments, and both crumple down and burst into tears that don’t feel entirely genuine after Box Hill.

So why is 1997 on the good side of the number 3 spot and 2020 isn’t? I’m not precisely sure. I think it may be because Andrew Davies (and/or Diarmuid Lawrence) at least understood the scale of Emma Woodhouse’s wealth and status. This Emma feels sufficiently self-important, a bit haughty, sure—but she’s also believably naïve. You feel her isolation, you understand her caring relationship with her father, and she’s not as patently rude to Robert Martin compared to the 2020 version (she at least acknowledges his presence when he meets Emma and Harriet in the lane).

Grudging though this favorable placement may be, I can at least acknowledge that Emma herself is the least of my problems with this version, and even though Beckinsale’s acting is a bit sketchy at certain points, she also has some truly great moments, especially her interaction with Robert Martin at the end of the film. This portrayal is consistent, and Emma’s better qualities aren’t overpowered by her negative ones.

Rating: 4/5 Half-finished portraits

Number 1: 2009

Portrayed by: Romola Garai

Age at time of filming: 26

And in a shocking twist—I’m kidding this is neither shocking nor unexpected to anyone who knows me or has read my blog/reviews of the Emma adaptations. Am I totally biased? Probably. I don’t care, this is a completely subjective list. Here, finally—my first and true love as Emma Woodhouse—is Romola Garai. I suppose it’s also not surprising that the first actress I ever saw in the role would still be my favorite a decade on. I just love everything about this interpretation of the character. She rides the very difficult line of being bright, caring and intelligent, while also being completely naïve and lacking in social savvy (in her own age-group at least), coddled, and painfully sure of her own self-importance.

Even though Garai was 25 or 26 at the time (far too old for the character—almost as old as Doran Godwin) her energy and charisma are enough that she’s able to carry it off convincingly. Everything about this Emma screams youth, and when Emma’s child-like social ignorance is her most prominent characteristic, it feels authentic and natural. Equally authentic are her emotions—her love for her family, her dynamic with Knightley, he exasperation, patience, and concern with Harriet. Most of all though, this Emma seems to experience the most maturation in the last quarter of the story. Box Hill really feels like a turning point—not just a chastened young woman, but a true coming-of-age moment. Emma faces a reckoning here that begins a chain reaction culminating in her realization of her feelings for Knightley, and everything from the writing to Garai’s performance conveys the magnitude of this shift in Emma’s life.

This version of the character seems the most… complete to me. Somehow, between Romola Garai’s vibrancy, Sandy Welch’s screenplay and Jim O’Hanlon’s direction, this interpretation takes an extremely divisive character and helps the viewer understand just why everyone in Highbury loves Emma Woodhouse.

Rating: 5/5 Half-finished portraits

~~~~

If you liked this, check out my rankings of Mr. and Mrs. Weston

#emma woodhouse #jane austen emma #jane austen #period drama #emma 2020 #emma 2009 #emma 1996 #emma 1972 #romola garai #kate beckinsale #anya taylor joy #gwyneth paltrow

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queridopascal · 3 years

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The new job (Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Part 1 of the “Ad Astra” series

Summary: as your eyes scanned the page, the words “spatial coordinates” and the phrase “writings and symbols no one has been able to decipher” made your eyes widen and your interest spike... (word count: 1.7k)

Warning: mention of food and drinks

A/N: my first ever Mando fic/series (even though we don't get to meet him in this first chapter)! Huge thanks to @hnt-escape for beta reading, and I hope you guys enjoy it ✨

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated ❤️

NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

Sitting alone in your home office with a mug of coffee in your hand, you shuffled through the heap of unopened mail you found upon your return from your last expedition: advertising brochures, leaflets, bills and, at the bottom of the stack, a cream-coloured paper envelope with slightly torn edges.

Prompted by curiosity, you put down the mug and opened the letter with an old knife you kept in the first drawer: it was typewritten, dated 25th of September and signed at the bottom by a certain Elizabeth Williams.

As your eyes scanned the page, the words “spatial coordinates” and the phrase “writings and symbols no one has been able to decipher” made your eyes widen and your interest spike. Your work as an archaeologist had given you the opportunity to travel the world, discover different types of artifacts and ruins, get closer to cultures and their ancient origins; but something inside of you, a feeling in your gut, was telling you that what was described in the letter was unique and, possibly, something you had never seen before.

Without giving it a second thought, you dialed the phone number scribbled underneath the signature and waited with bated breath as you began fidgeting with a pen, clicking it open with every beeping sound coming from the other side.

“Hello?” a calm tone greeted you.

“Mrs. Williams?” you asked, clearing your throat.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Hi, I’m-”

��I know who you are, I’ve been waiting for your call.” the woman said with a smile in her voice.

“Oh,” you gasped, “I... received your letter and I would love to hear more about this artifact you mention.”

“Great. I’ll have someone pick you up tomorrow morning at 9 sharp.”

“Thanks, Mrs Williams,” you nodded, “do I… have to bring anything?”

“Your knowledge will be sufficient, my dear.”

Once you both ended the call, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, feeling anxious and impatient for what was about to come and reliving the exact same sensations you had experienced the day of your very first excavation.

After a sleepless night, you were awakened by the furious pitter patter of heavy rain against the windows. The dark grey of the sky made every room of your house incredibly cold and humid, and you put on your favorite cardigan as you dragged your feet into the kitchen to prepare something for breakfast.

When you finished eating, you took a quick shower and got dressed in your favorite black pencil skirt and a white blouse, a matching blazer and a pair of heels completed the look. You took a seat on the couch in your living room and waited for the driver.

At 9AM there was a knock at your front door, and you immediately grabbed your blazer and your purse and walked over to it.

“Good morning, Miss,” the driver bowed his head a little and extended his gloved hand to you while opening a black umbrella with the other. “Please, follow me. Mrs. Williams and her colleagues are waiting for you.”

You put your hand in his as he walked you over to the sedan; he opened the car door and waited for you to get in, shutting it swiftly once you got comfortable in the cream leather back seat.

After a two hours drive, the car stopped in front of a wired mesh and barbed wire fence, lined with several “Military Zone” signs. A couple of seconds later, the guarded gates opened with a screech, letting the car enter what looked like a tunnel carved inside of a mountain.

The driver pulled up in front of a large white door with soldiers on either side, where an elderly woman waited with crossed arms.

“Goodmorning my dear,” the woman stepped towards you. “I’m Elizabeth. Welcome to the Falls Hill military installation.”

She hugged you tightly and you stiffened at first, looking at the two soldiers, whose eyes were fixed on a point in front of them.

“Come, I’ll show you around.”

One of the guards stepped to the side and held the door open for you and Mrs. Williams. The large corridor that extended in front of you reminded you of a war bunker: it was grey and cold, illuminated by pale neon lights, and it had the same distinctive smell you would find in the subway.

You followed her obediently, and when she reached the end of the corridor, she slowly opened a set of double doors bearing an "Authorized Personnel Only" sign; taking a step forward, your mouth dropped open in wonder as soon as you laid eyes on what looked like a giant stone ring covered with strange inscriptions.

“I've never seen anything like this,” you gulped, keeping your eyes fixed on the object.

Mrs. Williams chuckled, pleased at your reaction. “No one has, my dear.”

“Can I…?” you asked in a trembling voice as you pointed at the artifact.

Elizabeth nodded and you walked over to it, placing your hand on the rough surface of the stone to feel the engraved characters under your fingers.

“These inscriptions,” you started, turning to her, “might be hieratic or maybe cuneiform, I think I've seen some of those symbols before.”

“Perhaps you could help us with the interpretation?” she moved to stand beside you and tilted her head to the side, looking at you expectantly.

“Yeah, of course. I'll get to work right away.”

The hours passed quickly, and between one cup of coffee and another, it was already evening. The succession of symbols and characters engraved in the stone kept repeating in your mind, a mix of infinite combinations and interpretations, from the most logical to the least plausible.

Wrinkling your eyes for tiredness, you looked up from all your papers and notes, finding a new possible interpretation of the second row that made your heart race.

“Mrs. Williams, was anything else found in the proximity of this object?”

“I was hoping you'd ask me,” she smiled and motioned you to follow her.

Elizabeth led you through a hallway and stopped in front of another door, resting both hands on the opening handle.

“You are not to speak of this to anyone, understand?”

You simply nodded, your breath catching in your throat at her request.

“Mrs. Williams, I haven't issued any new authorization papers for this lady.” a baritone voice captured your attention, and you turned around only to find a soldier in uniform staring back at you.

“Colonel Shaw, it's nice to see you again,” Elizabeth greeted him with a gentle smile, but the man looked at her with a serious and impenetrable gaze.

“Mrs. Williams, I don't think I'll have to remind you that what's inside this room is classified.” he walked over to the both of you, his expression unfazed.

“She's the new addition to my team, Colonel,” she said, looking him straight into his icy blue eyes, “a world-renowned archaeologist who is going to help us decipher the inscriptions on the stone ring.”

“Exactly. Then why are you here?” he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Because,” you cleared your throat “the second row of inscriptions refers to another object, described as the portal.”

The Colonel raised an eyebrow at you and sighed, then looked at Elizabeth.

“Permission denied.”

“Excuse me, Colonel Shaw. I was told you would have given me carte blanche, especially since the government authorized this project,” she stepped towards him with her usual calm tone.

“Not for long,” he retorted, “you have one more week Mrs. Williams, the clock is ticking. And since she doesn't have any authorization at the moment, I won't grant her access into this room.”

“Then I guess I'll have to ask Captain Gallo,” she crossed her arms. “See, he was the one who helped us get started with this project and I'm sure he would authorize this young lady in a heartbeat.”

The Colonel exhaled angrily, his jaw was clenched in frustration and you smiled to yourself.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth “You have my permission.”

6 days later

Staring at the portal, the inscripted characters on dark metal and stone looked so similar to something you had seen before, but also so different. You felt intimidated by that object, almost in awe, it was as if it gave off vibrations within the room, as if it wanted to give you clues to solve that riddle that had been keeping you and the rest of the team awake for days.

“Morning guys,” Elizabeth walked into the research lab with a box of donuts, “I brought something to eat.”

“Thanks,” you beamed at her as you took a glazed donut from the container. “I really needed something with sugar.”

“How is the research going?”

“Bad,” Linda, one of the members of the team, shook her head, “no matches whatsoever.”

“Is that so?” Elizabeth turned to you, her expression somber.

“Yeah,” you sighed, “even if the inscriptions look familiar to us, when comparing them to all the material we have available, we found no similarities. We’re missing something and tomorrow is the last day.”

“I’m gonna ask for a permit extension, I'm sure they'll grant it to me,” she stroked your back, comforting you.

“I found another reference!” Linda squealed with excitement “Shall we start with the comparison?”

“Absolutely,” you rushed to her side and took a seat on the corner of her desk, looking at the monitor of her computer.

The documents she had just found showed incredible similarities, and referred to an engraved metal fragment found a few months earlier in the Atacama Desert.

“These three symbols are exactly the same ones of the central row!” you exclaimed, not believing your eyes.

Linda nodded, then gulped, “They also say here that they found out some symbols represent a stylized version of constellations, and that this type of metal is not…”

“Terrestrial,” you added as you kept on reading the description under one of the pictures.

Mrs. Williams looked at the both of you with a proud smile, then she walked over to the other desk and dialed a number on the phone.

“Captain, we finally found a match for the inscriptions.”

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bjy-on-ao3 · 3 years

Text

Kinktober 2021, Day 6

As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

This is my first ever Genshin Impact fic (prompt or not), so I was excited and nervous! I haven’t played a ton lately, but I’ve had several of the handsome husbandos from it on my mind off and on, planned for this series!

Summary Some nights aren’t about seeing who can give who the best orgasm or quick romps between the sheets. Some nights are just for showing your lover how much you enjoy them.

Tags/Warnings Begging, Cock Worship, Kinktober, Kinktober 2021, Oneshot, Oral Sex, Praise, Prompt, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut

Kinktober 2021, 06: Cock Worship (Reader x Diluc Ragnvindr | Genshin Impact)

You slid to your knees at the end of the bed, settling between Diluc’s legs carefully. You cast a slow look up through half-lidded eyes, peeking almost shy at him from your place. The demure demeanor, though, was shattered by the growing look of longing, piercing even through the affection plain upon your face.

Lifting your hands from your sides, you placed them gently on the tops of his thighs and dragged them lightly to his knees. The fabric of his pants was soft and cool against your fingertips, and you resisted the urge to grab him more firmly. Shifting one hand back up, you moved inward, onto Diluc’s thigh, and let it linger there, feeling the heat of his skin radiating through the cloth.

Diluc’s attention on you had been rapt even before you had knelt before him, and remained so. His pupils were blown round and wide already, obscuring much of the color of his eyes. A pleasant, light rosy tint spread across his cheeks, subtle enough you might have missed it at first glance. Leaning back on his palms for support, he was at ease, a bare smile turning his lips up as he dared not tear his eyes from you.

His gaze flitted over you, following the wandering path of your hands, particularly the one that had sunk down his thigh. The ardent expression on your face had only bloomed greater the closer you came to touching him more intimately, and the sight by itself set him aflame in a way very much the same. Though the look in your eyes told him you were waiting for something.

“Is there something you want?” he asked, almost innocently, the curve of his small smile growing wider.

You moved your hand closer to the rising tent in his pants, giving his knee a brief squeeze beneath your other palm. “I want you, of course,” you tried at first, ensuring your eyes stayed glued to his while you spoke. “I want your cock. Please, won’t you let me touch you? Let me show you how much I love it,” you plead in a hush. Your eyes broke away finally to eye the bulge in his trousers and lick your lips subtly.

Diluc shifted his weight off one hand, moving it to touch your cheek, brushing his thumb tenderly over your skin. He grabbed your chin gently, lifting your eyes back to his. “What was that?” he asked as if he hadn’t clearly caught every word.

“Please, I need your cock,” you whined. “I miss the feel of it, the taste of it, all of it .”

His smile grew a little more, the barest sliver of teeth peeking out from his lips with a soft, pleased chuckle. He stroked your cheek again, feigning thought for a moment. You waited with bated breath for his answer, his permission.

“Well then, if you insist so much. Go on,” he granted you, pulling his hand from your face.

He sat up straight, his attention shifting to undoing his belt and pants to pull them down. His underwear came swiftly after, freeing his half-erect cock. You wet your lips again, more hungrily than before. You inhaled lightly, Diluc’s natural scent hitting you hard and making your desire surge wildly. You nearly dove forward, but held onto your control, reaching out and ghosting your fingers over his waiting cock.

You teased his length for a tine, not abandoning the featherlight touch as your fingers rolled over his skin. The hand resting on his knee joined its twin, adding the same gentle touch to his balls and teasing his still covered thighs. Above you, Diluc’s breathing caught sharply, coming out in an appreciative sigh, despite how soft your touch remained.

You closed your fingers more securely around his erection, near the head of him. You encircled it with the lop of your fingers and thumb, rubbing and twisting your hand gently. To match the hand on his cock, the other abandoned his thighs completely, cupping his balls and massaging them slowly. Diluc’s breath hitched again, stalling in his throat until broke free in a soft, deep hum that made you squeeze your thighs together.

“You feel so soft, so hot, so perfect ,” you purred among your attentions, moving to stroke up and down his shaft lazily. “Every bit of you,” you added, giving his cock a quick squeeze. His hips flinched, and you couldn’t help by match the grin he had worn earlier.

You worked his balls more thoroughly, rolling them carefully between your fingers in time with the languid caress of your hand. When a groan tore from Diluc’s lips, and a fat bead of pre-cum leaked from the tip, you lessened your pace. Diluc needed to understand just how much you enjoyed him, even just touching him, and that meant not rushing things.

“I’ll never get enough,” you breathed, affection lingering in your tone and bleeding into the husky tone of lust.

The sound of your voice, your praise, was just as much of a rush as your fingers wrapped around him, and Diluc drew in a deep breath to reign in his own control. His eyes, already growing hazy as he relished the pleasure of your words and touch, never left you. He doubted he could have torn them from you even if he had wanted to.

He melted back again, once more resting on his palms flat on the sheets, view remaining uninterrupted. His hips twitched into your grasp again, and his cock along with them, and a bit more pre-cum dribbled from his head.

“More,” he groaned, and you weren’t sure if he was requesting more praise or a more thorough touch.

Suppressing a shudder of delight, you drew a shaking breath, steeling yourself to focus on him and only him. You were more than glad to indulge him, in both aspects. A dull throbbing had taken fierce hold between your thighs, but you resolved to ignore it for Diluc’s sake.

Without abandoning the attention you had already lavished on his cock, you tipped your head down. You shifted the stroke of your hand further down, the rhythm shortening and leaving room for you to work. Your mouth opened, and your tongue lolled out before you his weeping head a single, slow lick. Relishing the salty taste of his skin and the bitterness of his pre-cum, you had to restrain yourself yet again, giving only another short, languid lick to satisfy your yearning for the rest of his cock.

Your eyes closed blissfully, and it was your turn to hum in satisfaction, savoring the taste of him. “Mm, you taste even better than I remember,” you told him, eliciting another reflexive half-buck of his hips.

You feel into a comfortable silence, not daring to allow yourself more than delicate little licks as you continued to massage and stroke him, fearful of your control shattering. At times you pulled away, caressing the full length of him and then moving back. Now and then, you adjusted your hand to firmly grip the base of his cock, nuzzling it and smearing cheeks with saliva and pre-cum with a satisfied hum.

“You drive me crazy, Diluc,” you murmured before wrapping your lips around the head of his cock more fully, only to pull away again.

Diluc’s breathing above you sounded half-ragged, broken by groans and even a whisper of something you couldn’t quite make out here and there. Glancing up as you pulled your mouth from him again, you noticed he, too, was resisting the urge to give in completely. His eyes were hooded and unfocused as if he was torn between wanting to let them fall closed in pleasure and watching you worship him so reverently.

“I just can’t help myself. I need more of your cock,” you insisted, and a pleasant chill raced down Diluc’s spine.

You secured your fingers around the base of his length again, the sure stroke of your hand on his balls slowing to an absentminded kneading. Letting your mouth drop open wide, you moved forward, taking the head of him into your mouth completely. You groaned around the hot, heavy weight of him on your tongue, slowly taking in more. The vibrations only complemented the wet heat of your mouth enveloping him, and Diluc struggled the most fiercely so far not to roll his hips and sheath himself inside more quickly.

You might have laughed if you weren’t so engaged in the task at hand. You surely still relished in the delight Diluc was swept up in as you eased him further into your mouth. Inch by inch, his breath hitching again as you went. At last, your lips met your fingers, his cock taken in completely. You moaned again, and Diluc matched the muffled, lewd sound. Another dribble of pre-cum dripped onto the back of your tongue, and you swallowed around him reflexively.

You stay that way for some time, wriggling your tongue slowly against the underside of his cock, drinking in any more pre-cum he had to offer until you needed to pull away. You repeated the action several times, still in no rush, each repetition have a more intense effect on Diluc.

One gloved hand buried itself in your hair and finally dragged you away from his cock, his breathing tattered, his chest heaving. You looked up happily from where Diluc held you steady, the touch of your fingers lessening until they return the light touch from the beginning. The sight of him on the edge of his control was maddeningly arousing, but if he wanted, you would carry on demonstrating just how much you craved his cock, your own needs be damned.

“I-That’s enough,” he said, speech breaking for a moment as he tried to put back together the scattered pieces of his coherency.

“Are you sure? I could taste and touch and kiss you all night and never get tired of it,” you assured him, letting your eyes flicker from the throbbing length of him to his crimson eyes.

The soft, pleased smile from before returned to Diluc’s lips, the even deeper flush of red staining his cheeks a ravishing accent to the expression. “Later,” he decided, leaning forwarding and reaching with both hands to grab you around the waist,

He pulled you up from your knees, standing smoothly, long enough to spin you around and push you back down onto the bed. You lay sprawled out where he had left you, watching as he exchanged places with you and knelt at the foot of the bed.

“For now, let me show you how I feel. What I want now.”

#kinktober #kinktober 2021 #diluc #genshin impact #fanfiction #writing #ao3 #nsft #n/s/f/w #reader-insert

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honeytea8 · 4 years

Text

La Dolce Vita • Risotto Nero/fem!Reader

A/N: I had the pleasure of doing an art trade with my sweet @string-bean-requiem and here it is!!! 💗💗 (it’s written with them in mind, but y’all can enjoy it too)

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: A fun night on the town offers the rare chance of falling for a handsome stranger...though to be fair, is he really even a stranger?

Warnings: Some kissing💀 and implied spice, nothing explicit.

Italian nightlife had never been something you had the chance to enjoy. The reason being that Passione had taken up so much of your time and each day was spent completely on work-related things. While some of your teammates, namely Formaggio and Melone made it a point to enjoy their weekends off the best they could, you did not. In fact, you seldom had the opportunity to join Napoli’s party-going masses, let alone step foot into a nightclub or bar.

So, naturally, when a wind of change had come to sweep you onto a different course, you were very much inclined to let it. Despite the inkling of trepidation growing in the pit of your stomach, you were also filled with excitement for the night that awaited you. You knew better than to squander this rare moment.

Tonight, you were out of town, miles across the Tyrrhenian sea, on the largest island south of the Italian peninsula—a place called Sicily known for its long history and traditions.

After a successfully completed mission, you choose to reward yourself, on the final night of your trip, by stepping out and enjoying whatever intrigues such a place had to offer. Who knew when you’d ever get the chance again?

A club called Bona Furtuna came highly recommended to you by a certain Sicilian native. It was a simple but newly renovated warehouse on the coast near Palermo. According to the locals, it was the place to be on a night like this.

Although a bit stuffy and filled with smoke swirling in the air like dry ice, bodies continued to fill up the dance floor, moving in tandem with the music. Girls in leotards and heels provided bottle service and cigars—all of which were somewhat of a shock to you. Initially, your carefully honed instincts kept you from enjoying yourself to the fullest, but by your third mojito, you felt yourself loosening up. Following a shot of tequila after that, you could feel the baseline thrumming against your teeth as the bright strobe lights bounced off your skin and hair.

Your hips whirled to the beat, a sheen of sweat on your neck and back. The dress you wore clung to you like second skin. It became easier for you to feed off the atmosphere; your body moved on impulse, responding to the silent cues that played off the swarm of people around you. It was spellbinding. However, the alcohol in your system did little to negate some of your more ingrained senses. The feeling of eyes trained on your back was something like an alarm in your conscience, but you were not in danger, far from it actually.

You kept dancing, swinging along with the beat, bating your silent observer. If he wanted to spectate, he could do just that. But it would be even more fun if he just cut loose and joined you on the dance floor.

In due time, the music shifted to something with a slower tempo; it was then that you felt a warm hand on your waist.

Body to body, you moved against him with practiced ease, rolling against his hips in a way that was titillating, slow, and steady as a river. He guided your movements in time with his own, like he knew your body better than you did. In a way, it didn’t surprise you. You could tell he was getting into it. Feeling impish, you skirted away from him with a spin, tossing a wink over your shoulder and strutting your way to the bar for a little reprieve.

“Water, please.” You called out to the bartender. “Light on the ice.”

Not a moment later, a glass of water was placed in front of you, but before you could reach for it, you caught sight of a mop of violet hair in your peripheral.

Your dance partner had joined you at the bar and with him came the familiar scent of Boucheron cologne and the perfect blend of citrus and spice. Finally able to see him in better light, you considered some of his most notable features. His beautiful aquiline nose; his red irises ringed in black sclera, which was unusual by nature. But held an equally intense and honest quality that made you smile a little. He was lovely to look at, dressed sharply in a crisp button up shirt with a few of them unfastened that gave a nice little peek at his chest.

He leaned against the bar, managing to tower over you still, though you remained undaunted. “Can I buy you a drink?” He asked.

“I’m okay with this.” was your simple but quick-witted reply, all the while, you eyed him sharply over the rim of your glass.

He looked amused, maybe even a little surprised by your quick denial, but not at all discouraged. That was a good sign, maybe he’d prove to be interesting company tonight. You couldn’t deny that he was attractive; the kind of sexy one didn’t have to try for. You decided introductions were in order so you offered him your name and hand, smiling when he took it and kissed it.

“My name is Risotto.” He said with a dimpled half-smile.

“A pleasure to meet you, Risotto.” And although he left you to do most of the talking, your conversation continued without a hitch. Eventually, when you asked what he was doing back in his hometown, Risotto revealed he was just here for business.

“What kind of business?”

He smirked. “Not the kind of thing I can share so easily with you.”

After that admission, you finally allowed him to buy you another drink before you both made your way back to the dance floor. You weren’t as coherent as you were prior. Inhibitions fell to the wayside and you swayed on your feet a bit, but thankfully Risotto held you firm, like an anchor in the sea of alcohol in your system.

You moved like an uncoiled rope, eyes alight with mischief, and a smile on your orange painted lips.

“Come now, Risotto.” You called over the music. “I’m sure you can dance better than that!”

“You’re really gonna keep up this act, cara?” He asked.

You looped an arm around his neck, and guided his hand onto your waist like before. In a golden moment of genuine amusement, Risotto laughed, showing off a row of perfect teeth.

“Yes, I am, even if you keep breaking character!” You carded your fingers through the hair at his nape, smiling as you leaned forward to peck his lips. “Now remember, we have never met!”

Risotto nodded, still smirking. You should’ve known he had something up his sleeve. He took one of your hands and twirled you around, then dipped you low enough that your cleavage was on display for half a second at most before he lifted you and pulled you close to his chest. It was minutes later that you noticed he was doing the tarantella, or a modernized version of this dance. It seemed the warm atmosphere brought out of the Sicilian boy that lived deep within the ever-stoic Risotto.

You and he danced all night until your feet were tender and he was left to carry your heels in one hand while holding you close with the other. His brawny arm was slung over your shoulder, and yours was looped around his waist for support.

“I love you,” you murmured into his armpit; it’s where you had managed to shove your head as he half-carried you back to your shared motel. When he didn’t immediately respond you chanced a peek at him. “Did you hear what I said?” You pouted a little, but all Risotto did was blink at you.

It was around two in the morning and the streets were empty save for the occasional civilian. Risotto pressed your back against the brick wall of a neighboring building. He guided one of your long legs around his waist just as you snaked both arms around his neck. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against your lips, the only warning you received before his mouth was on yours and kissing you deeply. The world and everything with it fell away in that single moment. One of your hands slipped down to fist his shirt. It was odd to feel him wearing one, especially with you being so accustomed to feeling his bare skin.

When he finally released you, Risotto murmured a quiet, “I love you too, always,” against the seam of your mouth before finally scooping you up and carrying you all the way home—where he could truly show you his love privately.

By morning, you were greeted with the heavy weight of an arm slung around your waist and warm breaths ghosting your neck. The sky was still blue, almost black but sounds of birds chirping was enough to confirm that it was indeed early. Groaning, you shifted in bed, feeling the muggy heat in the room and only the stifled breeze filtering in through an open window. Sicily was incredibly hot in the mornings; it was enough to make you sweat even as you slept.

Next to you Risotto’s eyes slowly fluttered open, and he was given a full view of your naked back. He pressed a feather light kiss to your bare shoulder before sitting up from the bed. It never took him long to fully wake up. When it came to vigor and strength, he was seemingly unmatched.

“We should head back in about an hour.” Risotto said, voice slightly hoarse, as he picked up his phone from where it was still charging near his suitcase. “We have a text from Prosciutto and several missed calls from Ghiaccio.” He raked a hand through his dyed hair as he spoke. You couldn’t help but notice that the purple color suited him nicely.

“Hm, that’s fine by me.” You yawned, dragging the sheets over your body, and tucking the excess under your arms.

Whatever meager strength you had was only enough to keep you barely coherent. You were tired from all the drinking and dancing, though you had fun, the morning after was one thing you could do without.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” You watched as your boyfriend scrolled through his phone, likely giving the squad a status update.

Risotto looked up from the device, lips parted and eyes wide like a scandalized old man.

“I meant the clubbing,” you corrected. “Did you enjoy our little game?”

He finally shrugged and gave a noncommittal hum; Capo Risotto was back in full effect, it seemed. You gazed at his bare chest, silently admiring the way his muscles flexed underneath his skin. You nearly missed his belated response.

“You were...a bit difficult in the beginning.”

“Oh? I didn’t notice.” You laughed.

Risotto watched as you milled about the hotel room, tossing random articles of clothes into your suitcase. You’d found a clean pair of panties and slipped them on quickly, while discarding the bedsheets in favor of an old t-shirt. When you came over to where he was standing, you held his leather coat in hand.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

He snorted lightly, before leaning in and capturing your lips in a soft kiss as thanks. Together you both dressed, forgoing breakfast so you wouldn't miss your ferry trip back to Naples.

As you gripped Risotto’s hand upon reentering the base, you leaned into him and bumped him tenderly with your hip. You toed off your shoes, suddenly greeted by the telltale sound of several arguing voices. And it was coming straight from the main room. You looked to Risotto with a heavy sigh.

“Will we ever get another night off?”

Risotto glanced down at you, understanding your pain. “We’ll try, tesoro.”

#risotto nero #risotto nero x reader #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jojo #jojo’s bizarre adventure #la squadra esecuzioni #la squadra #shay.writes

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tangledstarlight · 3 years

Photo

julie’s ready for a year away from home, studying and trying to refind the magic in music. luke’s about to start on a summer tour around europe opening for a band. they meet one night, sparks fly and emotions run hight. now they’ve just got to try and see if they can maintain a long distance friendship.

DAYS GO BY AND SEASONS CHANGE (LETS TRY AGAIN NEXT WINTER)

trigger warnings!! swearing and mentions of death (julies mum)

also on ao3 –– [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | extras 1 & 2 ]

autumn

There was a parcel waiting for her at the school's little post office building. It wasn’t a very big box, about the size of a shoe box, if she had to guess. It was just a little too big to fit in her bag at least. The handwriting on the label was hard to read, the ‘j’ in her name looking more like a ‘t’ and her last name practically blurring together. Julie suddenly understands why the girl working behind the desk had taken so long to find it and looked so unsure when handing it over.

Julie thinks back to her last call with her dad, tries to remember if he’d mentioned sending her anything. But it’s definitely not her dads writing or Victorias, and Carlos’ is messy but never this bad. It’s only when she puts it down on her desk when she’s back in her dorm room that she notices the postmark from France.

Which explains the who of it all, but not the what or the why.

With a frown, Julie tears the brown paper away and unfolds the flaps of the plain cardboard box that’s waiting for her. There’s a folded sheet of paper on top of something wrapped in grey tissue paper and she picks it up, carefully unfolding it.

Julie,

You gotta get back into music when you’re ready to, not before and not for anyone else. But, for whenever you do, I thought you might like these. And if you never do, you can always use them for school notes or something.

See you soon.

Luke x

She holds the note for a moment, staring at the words as if they’ll stop her heart from racing the way it is, because she’s pretty sure she knows what’s hiding under that tissue paper now. Biting her bottom lip Julie puts the note to the side and picks up the gift, gently peeling away the sellotape until she’s faced with two soft notebooks.

The first one is dark purple, soft faux leather with a cluster of stars embossed in the top right corner and the words ‘shine bright’ in silver lettering in the opposite bottom corner. Slowly, as if in a trance, Julie runs her fingers over the cover, opens to a random page to see the clean lined pages made of the thick sort of paper that you know won’t tear easily.

The second notebook is a dark blue, but this one has little music notes stamped in the corner. There’s no words or phrases written on this cover and for that she’s thankful because anymore words of encouragement might push her to the edge. She puts the two notebooks down on her desk, side by side.

Sitting back in her chair, Julie simply looks at them for a moment. Let’s herself think about how she feels about them. Because this is more than just some pretty notebooks and a kind message. She wonders if Luke knows, if he realises what that they might mean. But he must. She’s told him all about her struggles with music, how she’s lost that spark that wanted nothing more than to sing and play and write.

And he’d understood it. He’d got it. He’d also told her she was magical when she played, something she tried not to think too much about, but still remembered.

And he clearly remembered her mentioning once, in passing, how her favourite type of notebook are the ones that are slightly flexible, but feel solid when you hold them. She’s going to try not to think too much about what that means too.

Her fingers slowly trace over the lettering on the purple notebook as she thinks over his note.

‘When you’re ready’, which is part of the problem really. Because Julie doesn’t know if she’ll ever be ready to play or write properly again without her mom.

But, she’d written with him.

The thought hits her suddenly and out of nowhere, a breath leaving her lips in a rush as she lets it settle within her. She’d been writing with him. She’d been sending him melodies over voice notes. She’d been scribbling lyric ideas in the margins of her work for weeks now.

Over facetime at 3am and on phone calls while she made herself lunch and silly little texts throughout the day. She’d been writing with him. She’d helped him finish songs without that all too familiar sense of missingmissingmissingmissing creeping in.

Tapping her fingers along the arm of her chair for a moment, she bites her lip, before shaking her head once and carefully wraps the notebooks back up in their tissue paper and puts them back in their box and pushes the whole thing to the back of her desk. Out of sight, out of mind. Sort of.

It’s one thing to suddenly realise she’s been slowly edging her way back into music, it’s another to dive head first when she’s not sure if anyone will be there to save her if she goes too deep, too soon.

(It’s two days later and after a facetime call with her dad that she pulls the purple notebook out of the box, picks up a pen, crawls onto her bed and writes something that feels real for the first time in nearly five years.

She calls Luke at 2am her time and 3am his, tears on her cheeks and rasp in her voice from lack of use and asks if she can play him a song. It’s a little rough and the second verse feels unfinished and she rushes through the last chorus too quickly, but when she’s finished the last note she feels more centred then she has in years.

“That was-” Luke trails off, and she can hear him breathing and suddenly wishes she’d done this as a facetime call instead, so she could see his face right now. See what he was thinking, feeling. Instead she’s left with bated breath and chewing on her bottom lip.

“Fuck Julie, that was amazing,” he lets out a short laugh, light and breathy like he can’t believe something, “You’re amazing. And talented and beautiful and a goddamn star.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, with so much conviction and surety in his words that for a moment, Julie believes him wholeheartedly.

“I think the second verse needs something, can you help me figure it out?” She asks after clearing her throat and brushing tears off her face. The simple ‘yeah’ she gets in answer makes her smile enough to think about the old notebooks carefully hidden in her suitcase and maybe finally looking at the songs she's avoided. )

It wasn’t until she’d started living in a different country, alone, that Julie realised how many different types of bread there were. Which was a weird thing to realise, she knew, but there were just so many to choose from. So many options. Too many options. She really hated having too many options. Decision making really wasn’t one of her special skills. And the longer she stood in front of the bread without Luke talking, the faster her thoughts seemed to loose all sense of focus.

Holding her phone against her ear Julie picked up the closest loaf of whole wheat bread she saw, it was seeded and while she was sure Victoria would have had something to say about it, she didn’t. Seeded bread it was. Maybe next week she’d branch out and try the weird half and half down on the bottom shelf. God, she needed to get out of the bread aisle.

Putting the bread in her trolley she pauses for a moment, head tilting to the side to try and hear if Luke had returned to his phone or if she was still on ‘hold’. His version of hold at least, which consisted of him saying ‘give me a minute’ and putting his phone down for much longer than a minute while he answered a skype call with his parents.

All she can hear is faint talking in the background, tone of voices but none of the words. Holding the phone with one hand and pushing the trolley with the other, Julie makes her way out of the bread aisle and mentally checks her shopping list in comparison to where she is in the store. She’s half way down the coffee and tea aisle, grabbing for the cheapest jar of coffee she can see, when a huff of air in her ear makes her jump. Clutching the jar close to her chest as she pulls the phone away for a moment and blowing out a breath. Luke’s already started talking when she puts it back, her mind filling in the blanks for what she’s missed.

“– that. Shit timing on their part. What were we talking about again?” There’s something off about his voice. She wouldn’t have noticed it a few months ago, but she can tell now, can hear the forced cheerfulness behind his words. And, if he wasn’t obviously forcing himself to sound happy, Julie would probably take a moment to appreciate she knows him well enough to know his different tones.

But there’s something wrong, and she wants to help him. So far, Luke’s been pretty quiet about his parents, so quite in fact that all Julie really knows about them is their names are Emily and Mitch, that they love him, they don’t get him and that the best way to describe their relationship is ‘strained’. All that she’d picked up from vague mentions and what Reggie had accidentally let slip.

Luke had helped her understand some of her feelings about her mom, listening to her cry at three in the morning, listened to her talk about her dad. She wants to do the same for him. She wants to make sure he knows she'll listen too. So she puts the coffee jar down and slowly starts walking out of the tea and coffee aisle while she talks.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks, the call, the ‘strained’ relationship, all the unsaid emotions clearly at war in his head. It’s quite on the other end of the phone, all she can hear is his breathing and Julie starts to worry that maybe she’s wrong. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it, or maybe he does, but not with her. Not sure which option is worse, she’s just opening her mouth to take it back when Luke blows out a breath and a flat laugh that sounds loud in her ear.

“They just- they don’t get it. What music means. What I’m trying to do with it. They don’t get me,” there’s a pause where Luke laughs again, flat and hollow and so, so wrong, and Julie thinks that’s all he’s going to say, but then he starts talking again. It’s like he’s been shoving plates into a cupboard without stacking them and now he’s opened the door and they’re all crashing to the ground.

“And it’s like, they don’t even seem to try. Not really. They listen to me talk about all these shows we’re playing and how we’re making all these awesome connections all over the world and how we’ve started recording a fucking album. And they’ve gotta be able to tell I’m excited, because Alex is always saying I’ve got no subtlety, and I’m pretty sure I’ve even said in those exact words. That I’m excited. That this is a huge deal for us. And they just - they listen to all that and then they-” he huffs out a breath, and Julie can almost see him shaking his head, at his next words, “And then they ask about what I’m going to do when I get back home. If I’ve given college anymore thought.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, because well. It is obvious how excited Luke is about the band, about the album they’re making, about music in general. You’d have to be blind not to see it, blind or just deliberately ignoring the obvious. And that’s even without ever having actually seen him play on a stage. If Julie could tell how good he is over staticy and unreliable voice notes and facetime calls, then anyone who’s seen him play live should know for sure.

“You know they’ve never seen us play?” He sounds small, and Julie wishes she was with him right now to give him a hug.

That explained that, at least. They'd never seen them play. She’s standing in the fucking cereal aisle of a supermarket on a Wednesday afternoon, one hand gripping tightly to the handle of her trolley, and she can hear Luke sniff, wipe at his face and let out a wet laugh and it hurts. Julie thinks it’s almost worse than the hollow one and she feels tears spring into her eyes.

“Never?” She asks, because what else can she say? Her parents had never once missed an opportunity to see her play, she can’t even imagine standing on a stage again and her dad or Victoria not being in the audience for the first time.

“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’ and blows out a breath. “And I mean, I guess I could understand them not supporting the band and trying to push college on me if they’d ever actually fucking seen us. But they haven’t. It’s like they’ve just - they’ve decided we’re not good and that it’s all a waste of time. Without any evidence for it. Because, I- I don’t wanna sound egotistical here but fuck, we are good. We’re fucking awesome. And they won’t even consider that as a possibility. That this could work.”

“That’s their loss then,” is the first thing that comes out of Julie’s mouth, “Because I’ve only ever seen people's shaky phone videos of you guys playing and that was enough for me to know that you’re good. That you guys are amazing.”

They were more than good really, Luke was right, they were pretty fucking awesome, and if his parents couldn’t see that. Well that was on them.

“Yeah?” he sounds unsure for the first time, and Julie’s reminded that Luke might be a pretty confident guy but even confident people need a little reassurance sometimes. She relaxes her grip on the trolley’s handle and smiles a little.

“Yeah. And if they can’t see that Luke, if they don’t even want to try to see that, that’s on them. And they’ll either realise it soon enough and sort their shit out. Or they’ll try to deny it forever and end up regretting it.” She really hopes they sort their shit out, that his parents wake up and see that their son is gonna be a star, one way or another. And that they’ll want to be there for it, that he wants them there for it, to smile and clap and cheer for him.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen us play,” his laugh this time is lighter, not quite up to his usual infectious quality, but maybe warmer. Softer. Julie doesn’t know how to describe it, but she wants to be able to hear it every day.

“I know, I’m a fake fan clearly.” Julie smiles, blows out a shallow breath as she blinks back the sudden tears that had found her eyes and lets him change the subject. She didn’t come to do her weekly shop expecting an emotional spiral in the cereal aisle of all places. The freezers with the ice cream might have been more appropriate.

“We’ll have to fix that when we’re back on the same stretch of land. Personal concert, just for you.”

The teasing tone is enough to make her roll her eyes and start moving again.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“So we’re back in the UK on December 10th.”

The statement almost makes Julie choke on her drink. And she’s glad that she’d put her phone down while she’d reached for it so Luke couldn’t see her reaction. Theoretically, she’d known they were approaching the end of November, that the band had finished their tour last week and had been using their free time to do some exploring, that they’d be back in the same country soon.

That, despite all her worst thoughts and assumptions, they were still talking. They were friends.

Wiping her chin with her sleeve, Julie picks up her phone again, trying her best to keep her face neutral. There’s a chance Luke doesn’t even remember the sort of deal they’d made. It had been nearly twelve months ago and it had been late at night and they’d both been pretty drunk.

“Really?”

He just looks at her, an eyebrow slightly raised and she can see the way he’s biting down on his lower lip. He almost looks – Julie blinks, brow furrowing, he looks worried. Which she doesn't understand.

“Are you okay?” She asks, leaning forward to peer closer at her phone like it will be able to give her answers.

“Yeah, yeah I just –” Luke pauses and Julie watches as his eyes seem to circle around his screen (which is technically her face, her mind oh so helpfully supplies) in search of something, and whatever he finds seems to be enough because he blows out a breath and nods once, more to himself she thinks. “We’ll be in the same country again and you’re going home soon and I– I was wondering if you still wanted to try that um night again. Maybe just you and me this time.”

Julie isn’t sure she’s breathing. Her mind has gone blank and all she can hear is her heart beating and Luke is just looking at her. All wide worried eyes and bitten lips and curls escaping from his beanie.

He’d remembered.

And he was asking her – out?

That thought knocks her mind into action again. She opens her mouth to reply, to say something, anything, but all she can get out is a slightly strangled,

“I–” Because Julie had been so sure that if they’d made it to this point and were still friends that Luke wouldn’t want anything more then that from her. She’d cried on the phone to him, at least twice.

“I mean we don’t have to I was – it was just an idea y’know? But I mean it’s fine, we–” Luke starts, taking her silence for her trying to let him down gently and not just an internal freak out.

“No!” She doesn’t mean to shout it, but it comes out as a shout anyway, startling them both. Luke just looks at her, mouth still half open and looking confused. Julie has a flashback to seeing him look exactly the same way when she’d said she couldn’t kiss him and it almost makes her giggle. “I mean yes, yes, I want to – to – to see you. To try that night again.”

“You do?” She watches as his confusion morphs into relief and into a smile, lips tugging up and eyes brightening.

“Yeah,” she smiles back, it would be hard not to smile back at him. “So, December 10th. I’m free the weekend after?”

It takes them a while to make a plan, mostly because Luke keeps having to ask Alex or Bobby where they’re staying or when they’re in the studio or what day they’re flying home. And then they bicker over where to meet because ‘London is so cliche Julie! We’re not cliche.’ which she’s pretty sure their friends would disagree with, but Julie pulls up google on her laptop and they look through different cities and towns until they find one they both like the sound of.

Two hours later after they’ve said goodnight and shared giddy smiles, Julie lies on her bed staring at the ceiling and for the first time since that first night they’d met, she lets herself feel excited for what might happen between them.

#julie and the phantoms #julie molina #luke patterson #julie molina x luke patterson #jatp fics #once again. i dont know what tags to use lmoa #god im so tired and i lowkey hate this whole last section but it's done #andnow i can write the part ive been most excited for #rosie vs writing #*#jukebox #*fics

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dreamingofscully · 4 years

Text

Bated Breath

Rating: G Length: 2198 words Classification: M/S UST

Summary: Mulder drives Scully home from the hospital after the events of “Milagro”

Thank you to my wonderful betas @suitablyaggrieved, @starbuckthirteen, J_A_Hunnings/AO3, and Princess 20-Sided Die. This is my first fic and I’m so nervous.

Read this on AO3.

*****

On the short drive from the hospital to Scully's apartment, Mulder feels like the air between them is almost tangible, heavy with their unspoken words. He glances over at Scully every few minutes and he can't help but notice the small imperfections that tell the story of what she's been through - the smudged makeup, the spot of dried blood she missed below her ear.

His hands tremble. He tightly grips the steering wheel when he thinks about how he almost lost her. He takes a deep breath, and reaches his hand out between them, touching the side of her leg with the backs of his fingers. Her fingers grasp his wrist - briefly, gently - and she leaves them there, skin against skin. Barely a handhold, but enough to know he's not unwelcome.

When they arrive, Mulder walks her up to her apartment and unlocks the door for her. He's reluctant to let her out of his sight but he's not sure how much she'll let him hover. She isn’t pulling away from him - her usual strategy after experiencing any sort of trauma. He keeps silent, afraid that if he said something wrong, she’d snap back into the Scully he knew and that she’d insist she was fine and tell him to leave.

She enters in front of him, the space barely big enough for her to fit but she slips through effortlessly, like she takes up no space. Her hand reaches towards him, inviting him in.

Mulder shuts the door behind them and stands there awkwardly. He's not sure what she's thinking, not sure how long he’ll be wanted or needed.

He thinks back to that moment he found her in his apartment, covered in her own blood and so quiet and still on the floor. His relief upon her awakening shattered by her fear and desperation. Her desperate need to be reassured and held. Images flash through his head of her hand seeking his when the police questioned her, her shoulder leaning towards him when he insisted on taking her to the hospital, her forehead pressing against his chest while they waited for a doctor to check her over.

It’s just a lingering need for comfort, he concludes, she just needs to know she's alive. Soon she'll go back to keeping her distance. He hopes that this uncharacteristic mood will stick around for awhile though, because he doesn't want to stop being close to her. He offers to make them tea, a hopeful waver in his voice.

Scully smiles warmly, her eyes finally connecting with his. He sees a strange calmness there.

"I'm just going to have a quick shower and get changed. Make the chamomile." Her first words are soft and scratchy, just barely loud enough in her silent apartment. She places her hand on his arm, brushes it down to his hand, where she squeezes their fingers together briefly before walking towards her bedroom.

He doesn't know if she needs him, but he needs her.

Mulder heads to the kitchen, fills the kettle and places it on the stove. There are three boxes of chamomile, and he can't tell which one he should use. He walks to her bedroom, thinking he'll just tap on her door to ask which one she'd prefer; instead, he finds the door wide open and Scully's pale, slim back visible just inside, the dim light from her bathroom illuminating her from behind. She's pulling on her robe and for a moment Mulder swears that time slows down. He watches the glow of her skin disappear under the blue silk of her robe, and as his gaze travels upwards he sees her watching him over her shoulder. The fan of her hair covers half of her face, but he can see her mouth turned up faintly in another smile.

She ties the sash on her robe, walks over and taps one of the boxes of tea in his hands. “This one,” she says, still smiling. He tries to respond, but finds himself unable to come up with just the right sort of joke to hide behind and regain some measure of control. He’s floundering, frozen in place, unsure and speechless. Her smile widens and she walks towards her bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.

Normally, Mulder would have felt like an intruder after having witnessed such an intimate moment, but her warm expression seemed to welcome him, or was that simply wishful thinking? Either way, he takes a few minutes to recover before heading back to the kitchen.

On the way, he absentmindedly picks up something hard and smooth from a table in her living room - a shell. He pauses, rotates it in his hands, wondering what this item means to her. Is it something that represents a significant memory, that she smiles at every time she notices it? Or was it a gift, equally precious because of its reminder of a special person? Maybe it caught her eye in a shop, and she simply admired its appearance.

He is suddenly and desperately filled with the desire to know, and saddened by the fact that he has never bothered to simply ask her these things. So much of her past is shrouded in mystery, only because he’s been so selfish and obsessed with his damn quest. He demands so much, and she gives of herself always and without hesitation. If something were to happen to her or she finally decided to leave, what memories would he have to hold onto? How much of her would he actually have?

Mulder’s depressing, rambling thoughts are broken by the tell-tale rattling of pipes that signals the end of Scully’s shower - he hadn’t realized how long he’d been standing there beating himself up. He places the shell back on the table and rushes to finish the preparations for the tea. His fingers tap restlessly on the countertop as he waits for the kettle and he shakes his head to try to clear his thoughts, not wanting to bring any more darkness into their time together tonight.

The kettle whistles and he pours the hot water into two mugs - an elegant cup for her that he knows she favors and the “Albert Einstein was an alien'' mug for him, a gift he got her several years ago that he always uses when he’s here. Just as he's carefully fishing out the label that dropped inside, he feels a small hand on his lower back.

Scully.

She inserts herself beside him and underneath his arm, her small form surprising him with its graceful agility. Her hand grazes from his back to his waist, wrapping around him with ease and strange familiarity. She looks up at him and smiles, her face scrubbed clean and hair curled and towel-dried from her shower. Her glance moves from his eyes to his mouth, where he's sucking on his burned finger.

"Thank you." she murmurs. She tugs on his shirt and pulls him towards her living room, grasping her cup of tea in the other hand. He follows, feeling oafish and gangly compared to her sudden transformation into some sort of ethereal sylph.

They sit close together on her couch, sipping their tea. It's not something he would normally drink, but he sips slowly, tolerating the smooth, slightly bitter flavor for as long as it lets him stay. He fidgets and can't quite figure out how to sit next to her, discomforted by his awareness of her physicality and his inability to define this shift that has taken place within her.

Scully rests one of her hands, warm from the tea, on his thigh. Her calm seeps into him and he feels content to just sit and be. A few minutes pass, and Mulder finds his voice. He begins to tell a rambling tale of a dryad who loved a mortal, trailing off when he nears the inevitable tragic ending. She finishes the story for him, a dimple forming in her cheek, that she should finish his tale for him.

“Keep talking.” she urges. He obliges, talking of nothing and everything, until their tea cools and they seem to relax into each other.

He turns to look at her, shifting away slightly so he can study her face. Such a contrast to her panic and fear from earlier today - she seems to have recovered remarkably quickly. Maybe it's not the quickness he's noticing but the distance she's come, the complete turnaround from before. He's not sure what it is but she's... still touching him. Smiling frequently. It's definitely good - great, even - but he feels like he’s in a dream. This version of Scully leaves him disoriented and self-conscious.

She turns to face him as well, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a half-smile. The mug of tea makes a muffled click as she sets it on a coaster.

"Like what you see?" her voice is amused, teasing. He realises he's been staring.

Mulder continues to look at her. Impulsively, he reaches out a hand and runs his knuckles delicately over her cheek.

"Very much." His voice is tender and sweet, and he’s not sure what possessed him to diverge from their usual playful banter.

Scully's eyes flicker, her pupils dilate slightly, and they lower briefly to his lips. Her tongue slides out and wets her upper lip and she seems, somehow, to be closer without moving an inch. Mulder feels a spark travel from his chest to his groin. An overwhelming feeling of intense anticipation rises within him - like he's at the top of a roller coaster about to take the first fall.

The silence stretches between them for too long. Scully's eyes shift away and sudden shyness and insecurity seems to take hold of her. Him too - what is he thinking?

They both turn away with a sigh, chuckling at their synchronized stumbling. The moment lost, they lean back against the couch, still joined from shoulder to thigh.

Mulder breaks the silence by clearing his throat. "You seem really OK - more than me, Scully." Mulder tilts his head in her direction. Scully seems to be watching the ceiling; her damp, wavy hair fanning out around her, the ends tickling his arm.

"Yeah. I'm... OK." Scully's mouth lifts slightly, but doesn't quite reach a smile this time. "I don't think I've ever been that scared before but... after my, uh, outburst I felt..." her hands wave as she searches for the right words. "I don't know, I felt peaceful. Like some sort of darkness I've been holding on to for a long, long time just melted away." Her eyebrows are slightly knitted together, the way they do when she's deep in thought.

"This case made me realize something, Mulder, something we've been trying to avoid for a very long time." She turns her head to look at him, still lying back on the couch. They’re sitting even closer than usual, and Mulder can feel the warm puffs of each breath as she thinks about what she’s trying to say.

"I... " She drops her gaze. He can see the war within her, the arguments taking place, a decision being made. She meets his eyes with a steely determination, and utters a single word.

"Us." Staring at him directly. There is no mistaking her meaning. There is no room to hide from the implications. Mulder is knocked sideways, his mouth dry. It's not strange that Scully is the one confounding him, but he's definitely unaccustomed to feeling like she has all the answers and he's left behind, trying to catch up.

And with that she pats his leg, smiles again and rises from the couch, taking their cups to the kitchen.

"You can sleep on the couch. I know you probably want to stay and make sure I'm alright." She returns with a pillow and blankets, all business and common sense now, a familiar Scully that comforts him but makes him feel as if he's squandered something special.

"I know you're really tired. Please don't leave. I don't want to worry about you driving." She ruffles his hair as she passes behind him, not waiting for an answer. "Good night, Mulder."

With that, she's gone, her slippered feet making only the barest of whispers on the carpet as she shuffles towards her bedroom.

He needs to think, to finally allow himself to contemplate what happened between them tonight. It’s something he’s pushed aside and didn’t allow himself to seriously consider because he always paired relationships with their painful and inevitable end, and that absolutely couldn’t happen with him and Scully. She seemed so sure though, and if there was one thing he learned over these years, it was that she never made a decision without weighing all of the possible consequences. Maybe he should trust her with this as well.

Not knowing what else to do, Mulder makes his bed on the couch, strips to his t-shirt and boxers and lies down. Exhaustion pulls at him as the last pulses of adrenaline fade from his bloodstream.

As he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend she’s still here beside him, her scent lingering on the cushions. He smiles and thinks, Soon.

#xf fanfic #my fic #post-Milagro #UST #almost there #important fluff #this is what I see in my head #msr #msrheadcanon #mulder and scully #xfiles #x-files #mulder x scully

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anhed-nia · 4 years

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BLOGTOBER 10/7/2020

I missed THE GOLDEN GLOVE at Fantastic Fest last year. It was one of my only regrets of the whole experience, but it was basically mandatory since the available screenings were opposite the much-hyped PARASITE. As annoying as that sounds, it was actually a major compliment, since what could possibly serve as a consolation prize for the most hotly anticipated movie of the year? Needless to say, I heard great things, but I could never have imagined what it was actually like. I'm still wrapping my mind around it.

Between 1970 and 1975, an exceptionally depraved serial killer named Fritz Honka murdered at least four prostitutes in Hamburg's red light district. Today, we tend to think of the archetypal serial killer in terms of ironic contradictions: The public is attracted by Ted Bundy's dashing looks and suave manner, and John Wayne Gayce's dual careers as politician and party clown. Lacking anything so remarkable, we associate psychopathy with Norman Bates' boy-next-door charm, and repeat "It's always the quiet ones" with a smirk whenever a new Jeffrey Dahmer or Dennis Nilsen is exposed to the public. The popular conception of a bloodthirsty maniac is not the fairytale monster of yore, but a wolf in sheep's clothing, whose hygienic appearance and lifestyle belie his twisted desires. In our post-everything world, the ironic surprise has become the rule. In this light, THE GOLDEN GLOVE represents a refreshing return to naked truth.

To say that writer-director Fatih Akin's version of the Fritz Honka story is shocking, repulsive, and utterly degenerated would be a gross understatement. We first meet the killer frantically trying to dispose of a corpse in his filthy flat, wallpapered with porno pinups, strewn with broken toys, and virtually projecting smell lines off of the screen. One's sense of embodiment is oppressive, even claustrophobic, as the petite Honka tries and fails to collapse the full dead weight of a human corpse into a garbage bag, before giving up and dismembering it, with nearly equal difficulty. The scene is appalling, utterly debased, and yet nothing is as shocking as the killer's visage. When he finally turns to look into the camera, it's hard to believe he's even human: the rolling glass eye, the smashed and inflated nose, the tombstone teeth and cratered skin, are almost too extreme to bear. Actually, suffering from a touch of facial blindness, I had to stare intently at Honka's face for nearly half the movie before I could fully convince myself that I was, in fact, looking at an elaborate prosthetic operation used to transform 23 year old boy band candidate Jonas Dassler into the disfigured 35 year old serial murderer.

Though West Germany remained on a steady economic upturn beginning in the 1950s and throughout the 1970s, you wouldn't know it from THE GOLDEN GLOVE. If Honka's outsides match his insides, they are further matched by his stomping grounds in the Reeperbahn, a dirty, violent, booze-soaked repository for the dregs of humanity. Though its denizens may come from different walks of life, one thing is certain: Whoever winds up there, belongs there. Honka was the child of a communist and grew up in a concentration camp, yet he swills vodka side by side with an ex-SS officer, among other societal rejects, in a crumbling dive called The Golden Glove. The scene is an excellent source of hopeless prostitutes at the end of their career, who are Honka's prime victims, as he is too frightful-looking to ensnare an attractive young girl. These pitiful women all display a peculiarly hypnotic willingness to go along with Honka, no matter how sadistic he becomes; this seems to have less to do with money, which rarely comes up, and more to do with their shared awareness that for them, and for Honka too, it's been all over, for a long time.

Not to reduce someone’s performance to their physical appearance, but ???

To call Dassler's portrayal of Honka "sympathetic" would be a bridge too far, but it is undeniably compelling. He supports the startling impact of his facial prostheses with a performance of rare intensity, a full-body transformation into a person in so much pain that a normal life will never become an option. His physical vocabulary reminded me of the stage version of The Elephant Man, in which the lead actor wears no makeup, but conveys John Merrick's deformities using his body alone. Although there is an abundance of makeup in THE GOLDEN GLOVE, Dassler's silhouette and agonized movements would be recognizable from a mile away. In spite of his near-constant screaming rage, the actor manages to craft a rich and convincing persona. During a chapter in which Honka experiments with sobriety, we find a stunning image of him hunched in the corner of his ordinarily chaotic flat, now deathly still, his eyes gazing at nothing as cigarette smoke seeps from his pores, having no idea what to do with himself when he isn't in a rolling alcoholic rampage. The moment is brief but haunting in its contrast to the rest of the film, having everything to do with Dassler's quietly vibrating anxiety.

Performances are roundly excellent here, not that least of which are from Honka's victims. The cast of middle-aged actresses looking their most disastrous is hugely responsible for the film's impact. These are the kinds of performances people call "brave", which is a euphemism for making audiences uncomfortable with an uncompromising presentation of one's own self, unvarnished by any masturbatory solicitation. Among these women is Margarete Tiesel, herself no stranger to difficult cinema: She was the star of 2012's PARADISE: LOVE, a harrowing drama about a woman who copes with her midlife crisis by pursuing sex tourism in Kenya. Her brilliant, instinctive performance as one of Honka's only survivors--though she nearly meets a fate worse than death--makes her the leading lady of a movie that was never meant to have one.

So, what does all this unpleasantness add up to, you might be asking? It's hard to say. THE GOLDEN GLOVE is a film of enormous power, but it can be difficult to explain what the point of it is, in a world where most people feel that the purpose of art is to produce some form of pleasure. This is the challenge faced by difficult movies throughout history, like THE GOLDEN GLOVE's obvious ancestors, HENRY: PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER, MANIAC and THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE. Describing unremitting cruelty with relentless realism is not considered a worthy endeavor by many, even if there is real artistry in your execution; some people will even mistake you for advocating and enjoying violence and despair, as we live in a world where huge amount of movie and TV production is devoted to aspirational subjects. (The fact that people won't turn away from the Marvel Cinematic Universe movies, no matter how monotonous and condescending they become, should tell you something) How do you justify to such people, that you want to make or see work that portrays ugliness and evil with as much commitment as other movies seek to portray love, beauty, and family values? Why isn't it enough to say that these things exist, and their existence alone makes them worth contemplation?

A rare, perhaps exclusive “beautiful image” in THE GOLDEN GLOVE, from Fritz Honka’s absurd fantasies.

You may detect that I have attempted to have this frustrating conversation with many people, strangers, enemies, and friends I love and respect. I find that for some, it is simply too hard to divorce themselves from the pleasure principle. I don't say this to demean them; some hold the philosophy that art be reserved for beauty, and others have a more literary feeling that it's ok to show characters in grim circumstances, as long as the ultimate goal is to uplift the human spirit. Even I draw the line somewhere; I appreciate the punk rebellion of Troma movies as a cultural force, but I do not enjoy watching them, because I dislike what I perceive as contempt for the audience and the aestheticization of laziness--making something shitty more or less on purpose. A step or three up from that, you land in Todd Solondz territory, where you find materially gorgeous movies whose explicit statement is that our collective reverence for a quality called "humanity" is based on nothing. I like some of those movies, and sometimes I even like them when I don't like them, because I'm entranced by Solondz's technical proficiency...and maybe, deep down, I'm not completely convinced about "humanity", either. However, I don't fight very hard in arguments about him; I understand the objections. Still, I've been surprised by peers who I think of as bright and tasteful, who absolutely hated movies I thought were unassailable, like OLDBOY and WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN. In both cases, the ultimate objection was that they accuse humans of being pretentious and self-deceptive, aspiring to heroism or bemoaning their victimhood while wallowing in their own cowardice and perversity. Ok, I get it...but, not really. Why isn't it ever wholly acceptable to discuss, honestly, what we do not like about ourselves?

The beguiling thing about THE GOLDEN GLOVE is that, although it is instantly horrifying, is it also an impeccable production. The director can't help showing you crime scene photos during the ending credits, and I can't really blame him, when his crew worked so hard to bring us a vision of Fritz Honka's world that approaches virtual reality. But it isn't just slavishly realistic; it is vivid, immersive, an experience of total sensory overload. Not a square inch of this movie has been left to chance, and the product of all this graceful control is totally spellbinding. I started to think to myself that, when you've achieved this level of artifice, what really differentiates a movie like THE GOLDEN GLOVE from something like THE RED SHOES? I mean, aside from their obvious narrative differences. Both films plunge the viewer into a world that is complete beyond imagination, crafted with a rigor and sincerity that is rarely paralleled. And, I will dare to say, both films penetrate to the depths of the human soul. What Fatih Akin finds there is not the same as what Powell and Pressburger found, of course, but I don't think that makes it any less real. Akin's film is adapted from a novel by Heinz Strunk, and apparently, some critics have accused Akin of leaving behind the depth and nuance of the book, to focus instead on all that is gruesome about it. This may be true, on some level; I wouldn't know. For now, I can only insist that on watching THE GOLDEN GLOVE, for all its grotesquerie, I still got the message.

#blogtober #2020 #the golden glove #fatih akın #heinz stronk #jonas dassler #margarete tiesel #difficult cinema #horror #slasher #serial killer #period piece #adaptation #historical #biopic #fritz honka #i may have been watching a lot of powell and pressburger movies recently #sorry...

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

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Beetlejuice Squared 2: You Asked For It (1/3)

Yinz are thirsty for this and I absolutely love it. As requested, this features the same characters from Beetlejuice Squared (read here), heavy on the Blumjuice. Also, just to remind, this one will feature your (you, the audience’s) choice of ending. I’ll provide more details to that when we get closer to it. Word count is ~7000, not including the endings. (Much and many thanks to @beejiesbitch! Reading through this, catching my typos, making suggestions that in turn made me cackle: every second you helped was much appreciated! 💖) @beetlebitchywitch @beetlejuicebeadoll @sapphic-florals @turtlepated @realmonsterboyhours @monsterlovinghours @witchyrem-ains @beebeyjuice NSFW. Beetlejuice/f!reader. Adult language and hardcore, heavy smut. Enjoy!

You wiped your eyes and nose. You were so sick of crying! At first you couldn’t stop because you felt like you were in the bottom of a hole, where it was dark, and sadness crushed you. But recently, something shifted inside you. Sadness was still there, the pathetic animal that it was, but a new beast reared its head. You were so angry about crying this much!

You didn’t need to feel sorry for yourself! It wasn’t your fault! It was his. You shouldn’t be crying over him. You weren’t crying over him any more! Besides, you didn’t need him. He left, but you didn’t need to be alone. As a matter of fact--

With a shake, you pushed yourself off your bed. You stripped the dirty sheets that you’d been crying into for so long, that still held a faint whiff of him. Earlier you hadn’t wanted to change them so you could still pretend that he was still around, but now? Fuck it. You balled up the sheets tightly, took great pleasure in punching them for a second, and dropped them down the laundry chute imagining the entire time it was him. After the bed was tidied with fresh sheets you cleaned yourself, using so much hot water you were surprised it didn’t run out. Leisurely you blew dry your hair. You went through your closet and scrutinized each bit of lingerie you owned, before settling on a black bra and panty set with white lace trim, a matching garter belt, and some black and white striped stockings. Over all that, you slipped into a black dress designed for clubbing and applied some light makeup. Finally looking presentable and feeling human again, you smiled to yourself. You didn’t need him. With your mouth still stretched into a grin, you called, “Bheteljuz, Bheteljuz, Bheteljuz!”

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

With the same flash that had burnt out your retinas before, he appeared in front of you. “Oh my god! Babydoll!” he exclaimed, excitement lilting his voice and lighting his face.

He held his arms out for a hug and you stepped into him, wrapping your arms where they were comfortable, around his waist, pressing your cheek against the tie on his chest. Beetlejuice 2.0--not that you would ever say that nickname aloud--hugged you tightly back, resting the side of his chin on your head. “Hi Beej,” you muttered into his shirt.

After standing in the embrace for an amount of time that would’ve been awkward if you both hadn’t already been naked together, it naturally paused. Not moving away, you looked up at him, dislodging his chin. “I’m glad you came.” “Of course I came, babydoll! You whistle and I come running! My name from your lips--it just makes me gooey on the inside and I can’t get here fast enough,” he said with a wink, then glanced up and around the room. “Where’s the short asshole version of me?” You wiggled your arm out from under his to take his jaw so he’d look down at you again. “He’s not here,” you said, and were pretty damn proud this time tears didn’t fill your eyes. “And he’s not coming back. His is an asshole, and after I found out--” You cut yourself off before explaining more by pinching your lips together; the wound was still fresh. “--doesn’t matter,” you finished instead, with a shrug. “I told him to fuck off and kicked him out, and decided I’d rather get to know you better.”

Beetlejuice’s eyes were bright. “Am I a rebound for you, babydoll? Is this rebound sex? Are you getting back at him? Because--” Immediately you protested, no, no it wasn’t, you hadn’t stopped thinking about him since the last time, you really did want to get to know him better, it didn’t have anything to do with him, he wasn’t coming back--

Beetlejuice leaned down and put his mouth right next to your ear as you babbled.

“--because I’m totally cool with that,” he finished in a husky whisper. He pulled back enough that you could see the smirk on his face, and then his mouth covered yours and his tongue was between your lips.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

There was desire and glee in that kiss, all flavored with a base note of desperation. This Beetlejuice took great pleasure in keeping you held tightly against him. You didn’t fight him on it; you’d missed the taste of him, and he was taller, so it was like something new but familiar at the same time.

This time, however, not being stoned made everything sharper. You’d never noticed his teeth were just a smidge less pointed as he nipped greedily at your neck, or his hands so much larger as they roamed your body. You were steadier on your feet, too, so standing tip toe wasn’t as taxing as it’d been before. Your hands returned the favor over his body, petting from shoulders to lower back to ass to crotch, squeezing him and groaning in anticipation.

It was obvious what you’d wanted, so he didn’t hesitate to flick away your scrap of a dress. His eyes widened at what you’d chosen to wear underneath, however. “You dressed up for me, babydoll?” he murmured, his black-nailed fingers following the edge of your garter belt, around your hip to where it hugged you at the small of your back.

“I wanted to look nice,” you agreed. “Something special.”

Beetlejuice smirked again, muttering something about how even that much clothing was going to get in the way. You grabbed him by the tie and yanked him downward, kissing his open mouth as he gasped. Then you took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom.

Once there, when you turned around again, you couldn’t help but laugh in surprise: he’d shed his suit without your knowledge and was wearing only striped boxer briefs. “Something special,” he announced, gesturing theatrically to himself.

You had to agree with his earlier assessment that even that one piece of clothing was too much.

Falling onto the bed, you ravished him.

You spent an inordinate amount of time sucking and playing with his nipples. You discovered you could just barely fit the tip of your tongue under the ouroboros shields and strum them lightly. Beetlejuice mewled with each tug on them and occasionally, when you took a larger chunk of his flesh around his nipple between your teeth but still continued to flick at his piercings, he grabbed the back of your head and held you in place, crying out more loudly.

When you finally left off his chest, both nipples were deeply colored, stiff, and shiny from spit. Your chin on his sternum, you grinned up at him before continuing down his belly.

You left a wide path of wet suction marks though the hair on his abdomen, winding your way down to his groin with no set pattern. Like the time before, he seemed a little sensitive, like this attention was just shy of being overwhelming. You could feel the tension in his thighs as you settled further between his legs.

There was a damp patch on his underwear and his erection strained the fabric. You stroked him through the barrier of his underwear for a second, before looking back up at him. Beetlejuice watched you with dark, lust-blown eyes. He’d hiked himself up on his elbows for a better view. “What’ll it be, Beej? Mouth or tits?” you asked him, although you didn’t exactly give him a fair chance to answer when you mouthed his shaft through the fabric.

He jerked a little at such a minor touch, and reached down to brush some of your hair out of your face. He followed that gesture with cupping your jaw, so you couldn’t drop your head to tease him again. “If I say both is that going to make me sound too much like a slut?” he asked in return.

You laughed and replied, “Not at all. I like that you know what you want,” and stripped him of his underwear before he could just snap it away. He returned the favor by making your bra disappear. You settled back between his thighs. His cock rested stiffly against his belly. A small bead of pre-come was already re-forming at the tip, and the line of hair that led from his belly button to his groin had taken on a decidedly pink hue. After taking all that in, you glanced up at him to find him still watching you with bated breath. His tongue touched the corner of his lip, but he was frozen besides that.

Keeping eye contact with him, you raised an eyebrow to him and smirked, then dipped your head and dragged your tongue up the underside of his cock. He gave a breathy, almost silent moan. When you reached the head, you lapped the pre-come from the slit delicately. He repeated the sound. Then, still watching him watch you, you opened your mouth, licked your lips, and swallowed him.

Because his cock was dry, you didn’t make it all the way to the base, but Beetlejuice didn’t restrain himself and jerked, driving it to your throat. As he was slightly lengthier than him, the Beetlejuice you’d kicked out of your life, it made you retch just a little before you could control the reaction.

When you had yourself under control, you glanced up at him but didn’t wipe the tears that had come to your eyes away. “Sorry not sorry, babydoll,” Beetlejuice told you. You rolled your eyes and sucked him, hard, as a response. He jerked again, involuntarily, but you were ready for it this time and chuckled around his cock.

Then you blew him in earnest, sucking and licking and occasionally keeping him so deep in your throat that your nose was crushed into his now vibrantly pink pubic hair. You liked holding him there until you had to pull off with a gasp because your lungs demanded air. You stroked him by hand too, for variety; holding the base of his cock while your mouth worked the head, twisting and pulling when you gave your jaw a break. In short order, his entire groin was dripping with spit. The lower part of your face was too. Through it all, Beetlejuice groaned and gasped. He trembled and once, when you glanced up, you saw that he didn’t know what to do with his hands: they clenched the air, then his outer thighs. With your free hand you grabbed one of his and directed it to the back of your head. Immediately his fingers tightened in your hair, pulling it a little. You gave him an appreciative little groan to encourage him more, and he took the hint. He pulled and released, and you followed his non-verbal directions, moving up and down his cock in time with his hand, at the pace he dictated. When his fingers became too tight and his hand immobile during another deep moment and his moans ratcheted upward, you fought against his quickly approaching, inevitable end by shaking your head minutely to dislodge his grip and dragging your mouth off him. A thin string of saliva bridged between his cock and your lower lip.

Beetlejuice cried out at the sudden lack of stimulation and opened his eyes, staring at you for a moment in a mixture of disbelief and relief.

“Shit, babydoll, your mouth is fucking amazing--” he started to say, but you didn’t give him much time recover. You hiked yourself up to kneel over him, pushed his cock between the valley of your tits, and rocked to fuck him that way too.

There was so much wetness on his cock it lubed your skin. He curled a little, at his core, and grabbed you over your own hands, pinching them and your skin too hard, crying out as his cock plowed between your tits. Looking up at him you saw his hair was deep magenta, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth open; his moan undulated as pleasure wracked him. You dropped your chin to swirl your tongue around the head of his cock and he stilled abruptly--

--with no warning you threw yourself backwards away from him. His moan choked into almost a sob as once again he was left hanging on the cusp of coming. This time had been closer; his cock, deeply flushed, bobbed against his lower belly ominously.

One of his hands went towards it. It was an involuntary reaction, you knew, but you grabbed his wrist and kept it away from his cock nonetheless.

Beetlejuice’s eyes opened, looking slightly vacant. “Fucking hell,” he croaked.

“Are you sorry I stopped?”

His gaze dropped to yours and sharpened. “Not at fucking all, babydoll. I needed a break. I want to return the favor--”

And in the next blink, you found your positions reversed: you flat on your back and Beetlejuice between your legs. Your panties had disappeared too, leaving you with just your garter belt and stockings. He shoved his hands under your ass to lift your hips a bit, and grinned up at you, keeping eye contact while he kissed the skin above your stocking on your inner thigh. You recognized that smirk; you’d given the same to him before you’d gone down on him. It made your breath catch in your throat.

“Your pussy smells so sweet, babydoll,” he murmured, and dropped his mouth onto you.

Just as he had, you gave an involuntary jerk and gasp. Beetlejuice ate you out like this was a competition and he was vying for the championship title. No dainty, perfunctory licks like was shown in some porn before the real action started. He was sloppy, using his entire mouth to engulf you while shoving his tongue deep inside your pussy. He dragged his tongue in a wide solid line through your folds. He nuzzled in and found your clit; when he sucked a bit too hard on it, you cried out more sharply in borderline pain and yanked roughly on his hair. He immediately backed off to blow gently on the sensitive nub instead. You writhed at that treatment, and, having learned your boundary, the tip of his tongue lapped at your clit instead.

Between the waves of pleasure that were threatening to drag you under, you somehow managed to pick up your head and look down at him. Although back to being tongue deep in your pussy, Beetlejuice glanced up and caught your eyes.

“You taste so fucking good,” his voice said, in your ear. It was smoother, more like raw silk than the gravel you were so used to with him, and you shivered. His thrown voice continued. “I could eat your pussy for hours, babydoll. Would you like that? Would you like my tongue to fuck you, would you like my lips to tease your clit till you were crying? I wouldn’t edge you. I’d make you come over and over until you lost your voice--”

You felt you were on the verge of that already, having moaned and gasped the entire time he’d been at your groin.

“--that’s be so delicious, babydoll, I’d like to lick up all your wet, I’d drink it all down if you squirted on my face--”

His wicked tongue--both physically and metaphorically--sent you over the edge. You did lose your voice for a moment, wheezing as you ran out of breath because the orgasm he drew out of you started as an explosion but stretched long and thin.

When you were finally able to focus on the real world again, Beetlejuice hadn’t moved from between your legs. He still glanced up at you, and his tongue was more gentle, slipping along your pussy now, but he continued to whisper in your ear.

“That was fucking beautiful, babydoll. You taste so good. Some people think it’s not fair that women can come multiple times in a row, but I like it, because I like being able to give them to you. Ready for another, babydoll? Want my fingers in you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, which was good because you wouldn’t have been able to reply anyway. You felt his fingers delve through your pussy, collecting the mixture of his spit and your juices before dipping inside your cunt. You arched your back and cried out as he opened you up, and when he began finger fucking you in earnest while using the tip of his tongue to make circles around your clit, you couldn’t control yourself as another orgasm rushed you.

Your legs snapped as shut as they could around his head and your hand once again tightened in his hair as you came once again. You also couldn’t prevent yourself from canting your pelvis to grind down on him at the same time, and over the blood pounding in your ears you heard his disembodied voice chuckle.

This time as you gradually relaxed and drifted back to reality, your limbs shook.

Beetlejuice was still stationed between your legs, ready to dive back in, but you needed a break. Gently, you pushed his head away. Your hand came off his head with strands of pink hair caught between your fingers; you’d yanked some of it out during the force of your orgasm, and you hadn’t even realized it.

“Sorry, Beej!” you apologized in horror.

“Don’t worry, babydoll, it’s nothing,” he replied with a grin to assure you. “I fucking loved that you couldn’t control yourself. Losing a bit of hair is a price I’m willing to pay for you coming on my mouth.”

He grinned at you, then crawled his way back up your torso. Laying belly to belly as he supported himself on his elbows, you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer. His mouth tasted like your pussy and you sucked the flavor of yourself off his tongue like you were sucking his cock. While he was distracted, you dropped your hands from his back to his front, slipping them gently between your chests to tweak his nipple shields again. Beetlejuice gasped and jerked, then groaned. He looked down his chest to watch your fingers play. He dragged his eyes away from what you were doing to say, “I wanna fuck you, babydoll. Is that . . . is that all right?”

He sounded so concerned. Like there was the possibility you were going to say no. You cupped his cheek. “Beej,” you told him, trying to convey sheer sincerity, “I want you to fuck me.”

He lit up then, as if he had seriously thought you were going to banish him back to the Netherworld with blue balls. Still, he fretted, “It’s just . . . just . . . I don’t get called on often, people call on the short asshole version of me because they want him more, and--”

You shushed him with a kiss before saying, “Haven’t you been paying attention? I called you here because I want you. Okay?”

He nodded quickly, like he was worried you’d get upset if he didn’t agree. He was such an odd mix of dirty and sweet. You decided you liked it. “So then . . .” you prompted, rocking your hips as best you could under him. The movement made his cock shift a little from where it pressed against your pubic bone. When he didn’t adjust himself quickly enough, you slipped your hand between your belly and his to give him a suggestive shove on his hip to move him lower. He lifted himself and complied, but seemed content to watch your hand do all the work positioning him correctly. He gave a soft moan as you ran your hand down his cock, then followed your hand with his eyes as you brought it back to your mouth to coat your palm in saliva before grasping and stroking him again. His moan was louder with that and you grinned. You wanted to hear it even louder.

Taking the base of his cock and holding him steady, you urged him forward with a gentle tug. The head of his cock slipped inside you then and, once started, he continued smoothly until he was sheathed deep in your cunt. You got your wish: Beetlejuice moaned the loudest at that. So did you.

He hesitated for a moment. You couldn’t tell why; he didn’t need to catch his breath because he didn’t have any. Then it dawned on you he paused for you, you were panting. His length inside you felt delicious, fucking divine, and you told him so. “Fuck, Beej, your cock--it’s so good, so good, please, please fucking fuck me--!” Maybe it wasn’t the most poetic, articulate sentence in the world, but it got your point across.

Beetlejuice grinned and started. His smile faded almost immediately, replaced by a slack jaw and a tongue that occasionally dragged itself over his lower lip. His moans were deep, reverberating in his chest. He thrust into you with single-minded determination, like once again he was afraid you were going to send him away mid-fuck. You’d have slowed him down, tried to make him realize there wasn’t any danger being banished. You’d learned from the other one to curtail your natural tendency to call out his name during sex. But feeling his cock so deep inside you, the friction he created as he thrust, him burying his face in the side of your neck and taking a hunk of skin between his teeth like that was grounding him--all of that increased your pleasure. He’d made you come twice already, which always primed you for more. You found yourself begging for his cock, pleading with him to fuck you harder, please Beej, harder, fuck me harder--

As little as you’d done, and even with the break he’d gotten, you’d teased and edged him too long. He accommodated your requests as best he could, but not long after he started he shoved himself as deeply as he could into your pussy. A sudden stillness came over him. You grabbed him at his waist and ass, squeezing, continuing to try and rock up onto him. He gave a small, involuntary judder of his hips, and gave the deepest moan yet as he came inside you. He was motionless for a moment as euphoria dragged him under, then he collapsed atop you. His weight, now fully pressing his pubic bone against your clit while his cock still throbbed the last stage of his ejaculation inside your pussy, was enough to make you tumble off the edge too. You came hard, holding him tightly as your pussy clenched around him. Beetlejuice felt it too, and gasped next to your ear. Then you were both trembling messes, in the afterglow. You made no move to push him off you. You held him in place and combed your fingers through his hair while you tried to catch your breath. Beetlejuice kissed the spot on your neck he’d grabbed with his teeth, and sighed contentedly. When he finally did unstick himself from your chest, he groaned as he pulled out of you. You did too. Even dripping with his come, you felt empty without his cock inside you. Beetlejuice lay down beside you and stared at the ceiling. You groped for his hand and laced your fingers between his, happy this evening had been so good. “So what did happen between you and him, babydoll?” he finally asked, breaking the silence. “I’m not complaining you called me up, but for everyone else, he’s their main squeeze.” If you hadn’t been in such a blissed out state, or if he hadn’t hit the nail on the head, you might not have answered. But as it was . . . “That was the problem. He’s their ‘main squeeze’,” you spat, using finger quotes around the last two words. “I found out he was fucking around on me!” Beetlejuice picked up his head and cocked an eyebrow at you. You continued. “He’s been fucking all these other people! Men, women, whoever! He’d just go and fuck them however they wanted, and, and didn’t think anything of it--”

“You know that’s what I--we--do, right, babydoll?” Beetlejuice asked. “People summon me--us--and we go. It’s part of the whole ‘say my name three times’ thing. Did you think you were exclusive?” You glared at him, a little. “Yeah. Yeah, kind of,” you admitted. “He always came back here. I assumed I was the one he wanted to stay with--” “Assumed?” Beetlejuice interrupted quietly. “You can’t assume anything when you’re dealing with a ghost or a demon. We like things--and it’s in your best interest to make things--very clear.”

You sighed at his damn logic. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. I kicked him out. I don’t want to be some notch on a bedpost, just some random lay. Or worse than that, just some place holder till something better comes along.” “Am I some random lay to you, babydoll? Am I a place holder?” he asked, his voice even more quiet. You looked over at him. He looked a combination of resigned of his lot in life but with the faintest air of hopefully eager that maybe, just maybe, he’d gotten luckier this time. His hair was shot through with purple. He was so similar to but different than the Beetlejuice you’d told to fuck off, and you realized you really did like him, minor insecurity and all.

“I’d like to think it’s not,” you admitted to him. “I liked tonight. Would you like to stay?” A smile broke over his face. “I’d like that a lot, babydoll! I think we’d make a great pair--”

He leaned in to kiss you sweetly on the mouth. Your hand automatically came up to his jaw, and your tongues explored each other. You were still mostly naked but felt flushed. Realizing that you couldn’t handle the other Beetlejuice’s popularity and reputation had turned out to be fortuitous. You’d enjoyed what you’d done tonight. You enjoyed summoning and having a good time with this Beetlejuice and, selfishly, you hoped he did too and would want to stick around. You were just about to say something more, something sappy, but from the other room a familiar voice that sounded like sandpaper in your ears called out, “Hey honey, I’m home!”

tbc . . .

#beetlejuice #betelgeuse #writing #fanfiction #musical Beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader

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imagine-loki · 5 years

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Pride and Prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 15 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths. RATING: Mature NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

Tags - @skulliebythesea @asimovethroughthisworld @blackcherry26-blog

Loki stood in front of his father, his advisors and the Allfather. He waited with bated breathe to see what the Allfather said. He knew of Ella’s pleas to her father. He had heard her beg for the Casket to remain, her fight was entirely for the betterment of the people of Jotunheim, they were her concern. He had been so wrong. He thought her to be her father’s spy, his eyes and ears on the Ice Realm, that the agreement to have her wed him was solely to have his children on two thrones, to have them both rule, not simply to have his son rule on Asgard, but he was wrong. He was entirely wrong. About the Ella, about the Aesir way of life, even in some manners about the Allfather and he ruined everything with his error. He never considered that perhaps they were not as he had thought, that the daughter of the tyrant he always loathed was not her father’s daughter, that she could possibly care for the people of Jotunheim, that she was willing to suffer for Jotunheim.

“I have deliberated with my daughter, who has argued valiantly against removing the Casket from Jotunheim. Even after everything she has endured, she wishes to protect the realm from the actions of a few on it.” Odin glared at Loki as he spoke. “She will return to Asgard with me this evening, the pact will be nulled, the marriage will be deemed void, this farce will be like it never happened and my daughter will be deemed to have attempted to fulfil her duties as a wife, so not to besmirch her honour. She should not be deemed unfit to be well wed as a result of this farce.”

Loki bit the inside of his cheeks. He was not yet deemed to no longer be wed to her yet there was talk of another marriage. He could not comprehend such a manner of living. He felt guilty, all he felt was guilt when he thought of the Aesir he was forced to wed. He thought of the attempts to create a child, her lack of experience, her virtue. It clearly meant something to her to keep it until she was wed, and even now, it’s maintenance seemed to be of more importance than anything. According to Arden, the reference to the marriage as void had to be proven with more difficulty due to her virtue being taken, it could not simply be annulled.

“Yes, Allfather.” Loki could not look at his father as he spoke to the Aesir king. “We will not contest such. I only ask one thing.”

“You have no right asking anything.” Odin snarled.

“I merely wish to show her those flowers I referenced, if it is permitted,” Laufey explained.

Odin deliberated for a moment. “I will see if she is willing.”

“Thank you, Allfather.”

“Have you anything to say?”

Loki looked at Odin. “Would you listen if I did?”

“Not likely.”

“Then, I have nothing to say, I only have an apology.”

“Your apology means nothing to me.” Odin scoffed.

“It is not to you that I apologise, Allfather, so your opinion on it matters little.”

“You will not go near her again, you have done enough damage.”

Loki gave a slight smirk and looked to Arden before nodding slightly. “I gathered you would say such, so instead, I have written something to her.” Arden gave the folded piece of paper to the Allfather.

Odin looked at Loki for a moment before unfolding it and scanning the few words and huffing a small laugh. “It took you long enough to realise it. If you had spent even the briefest of times trying to get to know her, you would have realised that.”

“I learnt the hard way, but I learned.” Loki looked him in the eye as he spoke.

Odin nodded slightly. “You may not send this realm to ruin yet if you do so quicker with the next woman you take. Try not to have her suffer as you did my daughter.”

Loki said nothing. He did not trust himself to speak for fear he would make things worse. He bowed slightly and left the room.

Though she was still tired, Ella asked to be allowed to see the flowers that Laufey had referenced. Her progress was slow through the deep snow, but she made her way to the area they were in, looking sadly around her as she did.

“You appear as though you will miss it here, Princess?” Laufey commented.

“I will. I feel very much like this is more to my nature.” She stated, looking at the ice columns around her. “Asgard can get very warm.”

Laufey chuckled. “Aye, it can.”

“I prefer wearing furs and being warm here in the crisp air, and I will deeply miss many of the foods, especially since the fauna has grown once more.”

“It has become far more interesting to eat these past weeks.” He agreed.

When he showed her the flowers in question, Ella smiled brightly. “Oh, my Gods.” She walked over to them and knelt down, looking at them closely. “I...they are the most beautiful things I have ever seen.”

“They are as delicate as thin ice,” Laufey explained. “They crumble if touched by any but the coldest of beings.”

“So I do not get the honour of their touch. A pity.” Ella looked at the flowers. “Thank you, My King, for showing me this.”

“I am no longer your king, Princess.”

Ella looked down sadly. “I tried.”

“I know, we all know.” He placated.

“If I had been stronger, if my seidr had not…”

“Princess, this was not your doing.”

“But I was not strong enough, I failed.”

“You failed no one.”

“Loki…”

“My son is the one to have failed. He failed to see that the prejudices he held…”

“Valid enough prejudices,” Ella pointed out.

“Even if they held validity to begin with, Princess, he did not see fit to see if they were accurate,” Laufey interjected. “He failed to accept that he was wrong, he failed to acknowledge that the differences in culture required both of you to learn and make sacrifices, he merely expected you to mould to us and him to have to do nothing in return.”

“Does it worry you that he will do such when he is King also?” She asked curiously.

“No, for in that role, he accepts that change is required, he does not respect that marriage is similar.”

“Marriage is not a concept here though, perhaps it was too foreign for him.”

“Even with our version of such, with our manner of mates instead of wives, we need to create a bond with them, to work together to create a pair, a solid unit in which to raise our young. We need to learn our mates, and when you are of higher standing, you often have more and you must learn to work with them, to be able to manoeuvre the relationships between themselves and your own self. It has no ribbon tying, no ceremony, but it is the same living, a mate is the same as a wife and she requires the same care. Even if nothing else, he knows how to treat a mate, he could simply have applied such practise to you.”

“But mates are a meeting of some aspect of a being, mind, body or other, we never had such.” Ella felt a painful pang at that. “I was never who he wished for.”

Laufey looked at her studiously. “‘Who he wished for’, not what?”

“That too.” She felt a presence close by and looked around, unsurprised to see her father’s most powerful and decorated Einherjar mere meters away. “I take it that this is my call to return.” She rose to her feet again. “It has been an honour to be on your realm, My King. I thank you for your wise counsel, your great company and for the welcome that you bestowed on me. So many would not have shown such grace or kindness, especially when my father was the man to put you and your realm into such a position. I can never express my gratitude enough to you. I hope that Jotunheim continues to flourish.”

“I thank you, Princess, for your grace, your open mind, your respect and your sense of duty to do what you could for our realm, so many would have shown us contempt. Your kindness and valiant fight for us to have our Casket remain when so many would so easily have demanded it be removed again in retaliation for how you suffered here.”

“I could never do such a thing.”

“You are a better being than most any I have ever met. I had hoped my grandchildren would have shared your good nature. I thought you would be more actively involved in the future of Jotunheim. Your contribution will never be matched, but I had hoped you would have been here for it.”

“I wish I was. Know that though I leave today, I wish I did not have to.” She bowed slightly. “Thank you, My King.”

“I am not your King, Princess.” He reminded her.

“Not officially.” She smiled in return, walking to her father’s guards.

Laufey, unable to watch her leave when he had grown fond of her, stayed looking at the flowers, Nal’s favourites when she lived. She only ever could touch them without breaking them whilst she carried Loki. It had made them all the more special to her while she did. Where once he looked at them in happiness, now all they brought the old king were painful reminders of what happiness had been possible.

Ella walked towards the area where the Bifrost would collect them. She noticed Loki standing in a doorway with Helbindi by his side, both watching her. With an order to her father’s guards to remain and knowing that her father could not see her, she walked over to the Jotnar princes. “Prince Helbindi, if I may be so bold as to ask for a moment of privacy with Prince Loki?”

Helbindi looked at Loki for a moment before looking at her again. “And were I to decline?”

“Then that is your given right. I can only make the request in hope of a favourable answer.” She smiled politely.

Helbindi nodded slightly before jumping down from the doorway and walking off, Ella giving her thanks as he did. Loki, however, remained in the doorway, looking down at her.

“Thank you for your note.”

“Thank you for speaking to the Allfather and convincing him to allow the Casket to remain.”

“I could not allow for Jotunheim to suffer, not for this.” She looked around slightly. “I wish I could have seen it return to its former manner. I have little doubt that it will be anything other than glorious.”

“It will be.”

“Rule it well.” He frowned at her. “In court, you were fair and just, it would do well for you to remain such. It will make you a good king.”

“You think this?”

“I have six-hundred years of court experience, I like to think I have a slight knowledge of such things.”

“I thought it was only five and a half centuries you were there.”

“That my father knows of, I snuck in long before I was caught.” She smiled proudly. “I only was ever caught because Bjorr found me whilst looking to covet Tyr’s wife.” Loki’s brow raised at that. “I wish you every good fortune going forward, Prince Loki.”

“I thought you would not be so kind worded, considering.”

“I hold no ill against you, you never pretended to like me or wish to be stuck with me. You never lied and declared to care for me or other such things.” She shrugged. “I was not in the vision you had of how you wished for your life to be, hopefully now you will be able to have the one you yearned for.”

“How…?”

“Do I know of her? Put simply, the second-ever time we attempted for a child, you groaned her name in my ear as you entered me. Her father is of your father’s court. She glared at me every time she looked at me. You stared longingly at her the few times she was present. It was not too difficult to place the being to the name.” She explained.

“I…”

“You need say nothing, I understand.” She smiled sadly. “I am sorry I was not what you wished for. I had thought to try and be a better wife but hearing you say her name caused me to realise no matter if I simply just continued to lay there or make an effort, you would not care. I am sorry I made it unpleasant for you. I cannot imagine it to be appealing to attempt to feel interested in one like a corpse, as you put it, but I just...it felt wrong to do anything, knowing you were thinking of her. There was no point trying to build something with someone who was not available to build it with.”

Loki felt his throat feel tight, as well as pulsing in it. He had not realised that she knew, both of Angrboða and his thoughts of her abilities. “How…?”

“You told me the night we consummated the marriage that we needed to go to breakfast, I returned to the rooms but you were with your brothers when I entered your rooms speaking of it.”

Loki felt terrible. The guilt from before magnified exponentially as a result of everything. The look in her eyes, the hurt he saw when he entered her company, the manner in which she simply lay there expectantly was all because she was aware of her duty, but also of his severe lack of interest in even trying to make a marriage with her. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” She turned to leave. “Thank you, for what knowledge you have bestowed on me, for showing me my faults, know that I will endeavour to work on them moving forward.”

“Your only fault was bestowing fate in those unworthy of it.” They both turned to see Laufey standing closeby. “Come, your father is waiting for you, Princess.”

Ella walked towards away from Loki and past his father, Laufey glaring angrily at Loki as she did, telling him that he had heard some, if not all, of their interaction, and of how he had failed his duties in even more manners than he had previously been aware of.

#loki #others #Submitted fic #submission #chapter 15 #pride and prejudice #wolfpawn

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