#it could have been a better piece of their characters if it was acknowledged or if they faced any consequences for it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

strawb3rry-acid · 2 months

Text

A lover's devine devotion

No warnings, just König's admiration for his lover, and a bit of a dive into him as a character. Like always, this is fairly long lol. I try to keep things short, but can never seem to stop once I get going.

This is my second time writing something other than headcanons, so I apologize if it's not the best thing in the world. Like always, this is all gender neutral! ♡

◂ ◌༺𓃠༻◌ ▸

The message that König had been meant too wander through life alone was something he came to understand long ago, the lesson sticking to him like thorn shrouded hands that had kept his eye's covered as they so callously hid the beauty of companionship from him. He had come to believe that he was meant to experience the sights of peachy colored morning sky's, and the sights of star's that covered nightfall with no other presence besides his own. It was a lonely life, yet he had become acquired with the bittersweet taste of loneliness as it made itself at home in him.

Overtime he stopped trying to pick out the thorns that had kept his eye's pierced shut. His heart was simply unable to withstand anymore harsh reminders that he was "different" from peers, and others alike. One can only find so many ways to piece their heart back together before they find themselves growing tired after all. As much as he loathed to admit it too himself, the torturous years of being ostracized, and teased by those around him had left him scarred in ways that couldn't be fixed like the healed wounds on his body he had collected like badges, and wore with pride throughout his time in war. Unlike those wounds, the others couldn't be fixed with some stitches, gauze, and bandages.

Then, you came around, and just like most charming things in life, you seemed to come out of nowhere. For once, he felt grateful that he hasn't seen this coming as it made it all the more meaningful too him. For once, he was couldn't have been more grateful too be proven wrong about something. It was almost as if some form of divine intervention he'd lost faith in long ago had sent an angel that was made just for him. An angel that would guide him on the path to heaven, and help him travel through the abandoned graveyard in his heart that kept many hidden secrets, and pains that he'd left too rott rather than look them in the eye because it felt easier to do so. For the first time in his life, he had company that wouldn't him bleed alone.

The term that seemed to stick best when it came to his feelings towards your affections would be greedy. Greedy too finally taste what he'd been craving all his life. It was a flavor that he'd been cruelly deprived of, and he was more starved for it than he was willing to admit. It was the taste of acceptance, and it was near shameful for him really, to be a grown man desperate for acceptance, and love so much so that it never failed to leave him awestruck. He wouldn't have to keep searching for something he never could seem to find anymore, as he'd finally found it by your side, and had anchored himself down next to you.

Like most thing's with König, his greed swam silently under the surface he put on display for the rest of the world's eye's. It was the kind of greed that would be expressed through his lingering presence, gentle touches, kind gestures, and gifts. Actions, and behaviours that screamed not necessarily "look at me", but more so "acknowledge me." It was a silent confession of his desires for your attention, and affection that you'd accepted, and nourished long ago, yet even after so long he never stopped adoring you just as much as he did the moment he realized he was in love with you.

There were times where he wished desperately that he was better with words. That he could speak all that he had too say when it came to his adoration, devotion, and affection towards you, yet they never seemed too come to him as naturally as he'd like them too. However, words held no value when compared to all he showed. He didn't need to say a damn thing because the way he looked at you with gentle eye's that held nothing but warmth, and the way he always seemed to remember every little about you, said it all. From the way you tap your finger's on the table when excitement was coursing through your veins while you anxiously waited to speak, down to that single hair that never cooperates, it was something he all took note of even if he never expressed it in words.

He'd seen life through newborn eye's once you came along, and he became a king who no longer watched over his barren kingdom alone. The once lonely streets suddenly felt much brighter, and near angelic in a manner that left him captivated for he knew that even when he had to walk through them alone, there would always be someone waiting for him with a lantern in hand too show him back home. His day's of coming back to an unforgiving silence which had collected layers of dust in his absence that only served too prick him like a dull needle as it echoed his loneliness back to him had been long replaced. Now, the sound of your voice singing so terribly along with whatever tune you'd put on served as his greeting home.

He'd ever tell you just how terrible it sounded of course. He knew that, if he had, then he wouldn't be able to experience the joy of hearing it anymore. It felt beautifully human too hear the unmistakable cracks, and random changes in pitches of your voice. It was breathtaking, and proved too be one of the many reminders as too why his heart had your name etched into it, with it being so full of you that he couldn't tell where his heart started, and you ended.

The agonizingly lonely night's he'd spent that had gnawed at his soul all the while to he stayed up trying to convince himself that he was fine with being alone as all the opportunities for companionship he'd let slip through his finger's due to losing the ongoing battle with his fear played on repeat had now come to a rest. Now, he had the warmth of your body curled up in his arm's to keep him company, the same body that he'd undoubtedly wake up to see sprawled out on the other side of the bed no matter how tightly he held you close in his loving grasp that served too keep you out of harm's way. Just like he got to see this morning.

It healed a part of him that he'd long forgotten too see such an enchanting sight, and he soaked it at any chance he could selfishly take. His soft eye's slowly roamed your figure, the tenderness in them unmissable while they took in every detail down too that small freckle behind your ear that not even you knew about with a soft sigh, and a light smile tugging at the corners of his chapped, torn lips that he could never seem to stop picking at no matter how much effort he put into it. He layed in a peaceful silence, his eye's travelling up to your hair that remained every which way on the pillows below your head as you slept blissfully aware of his attentive gaze just like most mornings.

They stopped in their journey too meet your's as they slowly fluttered open to stare into his own, and his smile grew just that bit wider as a sleepy, faint grunt rumbled from your throat. Mornings had rarely been a favorite thing of yours. Despite his playful nagging for you to get out of bed, it was never something he truthfully minded as he enjoyed seeing you so comfortable, and at ease. It soothed him too know that you were safe, and sleeping by his side, so he always gave into your pleas for five more minutes.

His hand reached out towards you, gently pushing a strand of stray hair behind your ear, then he placed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head while his arm slide too your shoulder. He pulled you closer to him till there were no remaining gaps between the too of you, and you mindlessly wrapped yourself around him just like you always had. It had become a precious routine that only the two of you know about, and he angled his head down to place a tender kiss on your lips.

Calm moments like this where it felt as though only the two of you exsisted are moments that made his life make sense. These moments are what made him love life so much. Just like usual he kissed the tip of your ear, his warm breath hitting the cartilage, and skin as he moved to whisper softly in your ear. "Good morning sweetheart. How did you sleep?"

155 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

Dirty Work 12

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I'm having too much fun with this.

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

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

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you enter, you hear Leslie. It's an unusual homecoming as you're used to only the blare of the television and swaths of cigarette smoke. Both are missing as you peek into the living room.

“Now, Charles, you heard me,” the nurse chides.

“Yeah, I got it,” your dad says with less spite than usual, “this one.”

Dread curdles in your stomach. The call you got at lunchtime was short and Leslie assured you all was well but you couldn’t tell if she was only being polite. You could hear your father yelling in the background.

You look around the door frame and find your father sitting forward on the couch, one hand on the handle of his oxygen tank as his shoulders obscure his other. You tiptoe closer as Leslie sits in one of the wooden chairs from the dining room. You spot the half-finished jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table as you come forward.

“Well, give it a try,” she encourages and he pushes the piece into another. He grunts, a noise with some pride. “Looking good, Charles.”

You've never heard anyone talk to your dad like that. Not without being told to cut the shit. And no one ever calls your dad anything but ‘Chuck’.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sounds almost bashful.

“Ah, hello,” Leslie sees you first, “come on in.”

You put your bag down and cautiously inch forward. Your dad doesn’t acknowledge you but that’s not too unusual. You stop behind the couch as he puts another piece in place.

“And how was your day?” The nurse asks in a sunny tone.

“Um… good,” you answer. You don’t usually get that question.

“You look tired. Must have been a long one,” she remarks.

“Mhmm,” you stare at the puzzle as your dad continues to piece it together. You’ve never seen him do anything but watch television or doze on the couch. And rarely without a cigarette between his lips.

“Been a good day for us, too. Me and Charles are just getting to know each other,” she grins.

Still, your dad is silent.

“Charles, come on, say hi, your daughter’s home,” she scolds.

“Hi,” he grunts. She sighs.

“You’re a funny man,” she tuts and stands up, “I got another hour,” she faces you, “why don’t we have a chat?”

“Sure,” you accept and she takes the lead, waving you into the kitchen. Your father mutters to himself as he holds a handful of pieces and picks through them. You give him one last look before you follow the nurse.

Leslie turns to you as she stops just by the counter, “no more cigarettes. We got in a row about the things but I tossed ‘em.”

“Huh?” You can’t help the shock bulging behind your eyes.

“Yep, and he ate all his vegetables,” she smirks proudly, “I know it’s hard to say no to our loved ones but I don’t wanna come back to a fresh pack tomorrow.”

“Uh, yeah, I…” you don’t try to excuse yourself. You don’t buy him smokes, he finds a way, but you still gave up arguing about them.

“I also have some information for you. Some stuff about diet and all that. The meals you made are lovely but there are some recommended staples for his condition that would be better,” she explains, “and an exercise plan. Light duty but he can’t be on that couch all day.”

“Thanks so much,” you say, “I really appreciate it. I… I’m so sorry it’s such a mess-”

“Are ya kidding me? I’ve walked into much worse. He’s a bit crotchety but no skin off my back,” she scoffs, “don’t worry, hon, I got it.”

You could cry. You feel the weight slowly lifting from your shoulders; still there but less. It’s not just having help, it’s having someone to guide you, someone you can speak your concerns to. Someone who can tell you you’re doing the right things.

🧹

It’s eerie entering the house knowing that you’re completely alone. The leash is no slacker without its holder near. You still feel the oppression of the empty house, curtains drawn and shadows pooling.

It won’t be for long. The carpenter will be there soon to inspect the gazebo and the landscapers are due for their scheduled work in the garden. There’s enough to keep you busy and unaware of your employer’s absence.

Still, it’s a strange feeling to walk those empty halls. You half-expected Mr. Laufeyson to appear and berate you, as if he is a wraith who does not abide time or space. He doesn’t and you press on, holing up in the library for the morning.

There’s another mystery in the folder. A riddle you can’t solve. A page taken from a notebook, with little flowers framed around the lines. It’s a list but it’s not for this place. It can’t be. As far as you know, there isn’t a fire pit around here or a lake… both are mentioned among the clustered bullet points.

You earmark it but don’t know if you’ll ever get to it. You want to ask Mr. Laufeyson but then, you’re not sure he would even know. It could be something only his wife would be privy to. You wouldn’t want to reopen old wounds.

You go down to the kitchen to eat your lunch. A plain peanut butter sandwich on whole wheat, the same thing you have every day. It isn’t much but it’s enough to keep you going. You wipe up stray crumbs and put the container back in your bag.

The doorbell rings just as you come back to the staircase. You descend and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is your home. That you are the lady of the estate. That all these fine ornaments and the sprawling gardens belong to you. The fantasy dissolves as you reach the last step.

You go out to meet the new arrival at the gate. It must be the carpenter as the landscapers can let themselves in. You recall his name is Ronan from your brief phone call. You remember because it seemed so unique.

He’s a tall man, hunching slightly as he sees you approach between the slats of iron. You pull the gate open from within and muster a smile to welcome him. You’re at a loss as you can eke out only a mousish ‘hi’.

He says your name, tenuously, as if he isn’t sure.

“That’s me, sir,” you close the gate gently behind him. As he steps past you, his height becomes even more obvious. In his hand, he has a brown leather bag, squarish and bulky. “You’re the carpenter, Ronan?”

“Yes,” he answers as he looks around, “this is a nice place.”

“Erm, thanks,” you utter, “well, er, I suppose I should show you…”

You trail off and scurry around him. You hear him following as the contents of his bag shifts noisily with each step. You take him around the back and divert away from your usual route. You lead him into the thick brush that overgrows the path to the gazebo. You stop before the derelict structure as he comes up beside you.

“There’s a hole in the floor and one of the pillars is cracked,” you explain, pointing, “just wondering if it can be repaired.”

“Ah,” he takes a breath and lets out a thoughtful hum.

You peek over as his pale blue eyes examine the steps and front columns. He steps forwards and sets his bag on the lowest step before climbing up. His footsteps sound hollow as he traverses the wood, walking the perimeter, stopping to check the broken post and then the boards across the floor. He squats to get a closer look as you remain where you are, rubbing your sweaty palms together.

“I’ve seen worse,” he declares as he stands, his voice booming as he rolls into the open air. He comes back to the archway and rests his hand on the top of the railing, “definitely not a lost cause. Did you have anything in mind for the restoration?”

You shake your head, “I’d have to ask my boss.”

“Your boss?” He wonders as he comes down the stairs and bends to unbuckle his bag.

“Uh, yes, I just… I’m… the house manager?” You say uncertainly. “He’s out of town so I’m seeing to the property.”

“Oh,” he takes out a measuring tape and a level. “I thought it was yours.”

You almost laugh. It's flattering that he would assume that. You just smile sheepishly.

“Well, I’ll have to do a proper inspection, check the integrity for sure, but I’ll leave you my notes. What needs to be tended to, my suggestions…” he says, “when it’s ready, where would I find you?”

“Oh, well… I’ll… I’ll be working on the patio,” you point back to the house as the idea flashes through your mind. Without Mr. Laufeyson, you can enjoy the sunlight. “I’ll be there.”

“Right, thank you miss,” he faces the gazebo and squares his shoulders. You feel as if you’re missing something.

“Um, sir,” you begin, “would you like some water?”

You think that’s right. You should be polite. It’s what Frigga would you think and she seems to know everything.

“That’s very kind of you but no thanks,” he says as he begins up the stairs again.

You twiddle your fingers as you stay there for a moment and watch him. That wasn’t as bad as you expected. It’s always difficult meeting new people. While he’s not overly friendly, he’s not rude or scary or anything like that. He’s just there to do his work, much like you.

You turn on your heel and leave him. Your excitement builds as you trace your way to the backdoor. You can’t wait to bring your things out and sit on the patio. It will be a nice breath of fresh air. Literally.

🧹

Your first day alone proves to be the calmest since you began working for Mr. Laufeyson. You can’t help but bask in the peace of his absence. Even so, you are mindful to stay within his lines. You haven’t forgotten the camera on the mantle.

You leave the house after double-checking that the security is enabled and the doors are all locked. The gate clunks loudly into place and you shake it just to be sure. You exhale and turn off down the street, eager to get home and relieve Leslie of her duties.

The bus comes on time and you find a seat, staring out at the city as it passes. You hug your bag in your lap as you recognize that moment. That rare occasion where you’re not bound up in knots. There is no Mr. Laufeyson to shadow and rebuke you. And your father is taken care of and seemingly content.

As you get off at your stop, you take your time as the sky sets slowly above. You are met by a similar scene as the previous night. Your father is at the coffee table, bent over as he pushes pieces into each other. Leslie is singing in the kitchen as she tidies and looks up as you enter.

“Ah, hello hon,” she beams cheerily, “dinner’s in the oven for ya.”

“Um, oh, thanks, you didn’t have to…”

“More than enough,” she smiles, “long day?”

“Not too bad,” you glance back over your shoulder into the living room, “how was he?”

You turn back and she cackles, “I’m sure you know how he can be. He’s calming down a bit. We got in a right tiff over the cigarettes again but he ran out of air to bluster.”

“Oh…” you scratch your neck, “I’m sorry, I hope he’s not too much.”

“Like I said, nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” she shrugs.

You nod and return to the living room. You near your father as he rubs his chin. He’s almost done the puzzle.

“Wow, you got a lot done,” you comment.

“Eh, cause I don’t got you to distract me,” he flicks his fingers at you derisively.

You wince and back away. A sigh escapes you. You’re too tired to try. As you retreat, you can’t help but stumble in realisation. There’s something happening to you. Some sort of indifference. Apathy, maybe?

You look back at your father. You love him and you desperately want to make him happy and healthy. You want him to be proud of you. You want him to tell you that you’re good enough and yet you just don’t have the energy to keep fighting him.

When you see how he is with Leslie, it feels as if he’s taunting you. He can be nice to her, he will listen to her, he will talk to her, but you, you’ll never earn that. Thirty years and you just aren’t worthy.

Well, he is happier and healthier than he was. It doesn’t matter that it has nothing to do with you. It only matters that he’s okay. It’s all you ever wanted for him.

You take your bag up to your room and trade it for a paperback. You come back down and sit on the porch until she’s gone. You go inside and lock up, your father still sitting vigil at the puzzle. You notice his grey hair is tidy and clean. He wears a shirt that isn’t wrinkled and he looks more lively.

You ask him if he needs anything before you go to bed. He doesn’t answer. You leave him to the puzzle and pack away the dinner Leslie left for you. You’re not very hungry.

You put both your phones on the night table beneath the lamp. You keep the light on as you finish the chapter, or try to. You doze off, awaking only as a buzzing rattles the wooden table against the side of your bed.

You move the book off your chest and mark the page. You reach for the phone as you sit up. It unlocks with the tap of your thumb and the alert covers the screen. ‘Movement detected’. Oh!

Mr. Laufeyson enabled the app for the lock system while he’s away. The abrupt swipe of the phone from your hands was startling but it wasn't exactly yours to begin with. The memory plucks at you as if you should have seen this coming.

You rub your eyes as you press the alert and check the time in the corner. It’s nearly two in the morning! You jolt out of bed and stagger on your feet. Oh no!

Did you leave something unlocked? Maybe it’s just a squirrel or the wind? No, it says it was the front door. Shoot! Should you call him? Would he get the alert too?

You scramble to find some clothes. You pull on a pair of greyish blue sweatpants and a hoodie. You don’t have time to worry about how you look. You have to get to the house.

You snatch up your work bag, too frantic to fish out your change purse, and barrel down the stairs. Mindless of the noise or disturbing the silence, you race out the door, slamming it and locking it shakily behind you. You run up to the curb as you dial a taxi service.

Was the gate really locked when you left? Did you put the security code in right? A thousand doubts crowd your head and churn your stomach. It doesn’t matter, all you know is you messed up again.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #dirty work #maid au #au #marvel #thor #avengers #mcu

237 notes · View notes

mimble-sparklepudding · 3 months

Text

Symbolism of Metals OC Questions.

A little list of OC questions based on the symbolism of various metals throughout history. This is not intended to be an exhaustive list of all symbolic meanings, but rather just a small selection for entertainment, rather than educational, purposes.

Iron - Inner Power, Rage and Primal Urges.

Has your OC ever regretted something they have said or done in anger? Perhaps this has happened more than once?

Has your OC mellowed as they have got older? Or are they just as quick to anger, or as easily irritated, as they ever were?

Upon what does your OC draw to get them through situations of great adversity? Their sense of purpose? The thought of their loved ones? Sheer overwhelming rage? Or perhaps something else entirely?

Does your OC struggle to contain their baser emotions, such as lust, aggression or greed? What helps to keep these feelings in check (if anything actually does)?

Are others ever surprised by your OC's steely resolve or ability to endure hardship? Or are they generally regarded as someone with great inner reserves of willpower?

Gold - Wisdom, Wealth and Nobility.

If your OC was called upon to arbitrate between the nobility (or an equivalent social elite) and the common people, on which side of the table would they be sitting during negotiations?

Do those that know your OC consider them to be wise? Is this quality seen as distinct from intellectulism or book-learning in their case? Or do they posess both academic knowledge and the wisdom of experience?

Does your OC struggle to believe anyone is truly smart unless they are also rich?

Does your OC hold that some social groups have an inherent nobility unavailable to others? Do they perhaps believe in the idea of a "ruling class", with qualities that the lower orders could never hope to evince? Or, conversely, do they believe in the unsullied nobility of the poor, in contrast to the decadent and corrupt upper classes?

If your OC could pass on a piece of wisdom to others starting out on a similar path to their own, what would it be and where does it come from?

Lead - Sin, Death, Transformation and Toxicity.

Which experience of loss or bereavement has most affected your OC?

What is your OC's most anti-social trait? Do they acknowledge it as such? Are they even aware of it themselves?

Which sin is your OC most likely to be accused of by others? Would this be fair criticism? Or are their actions often somewhat misunderstood?

What has been the most transformative experience your OC has been through? Was it an experience of loss? The first time they ever felt loved? A traumatic or violent event? Or something else entirely?

How does your OC believe they will die? Peacefully in bed surrounded by friends and family? Or alone in the wilderness? Or fighting against overwhelming odds? Or perhaps they have a different notion altogether?

Silver - Intuition, Honesty and Wisdom.

Does your OC ever base their decisions on a "gut feeling"? Or do they always weigh up the pros and cons carefully and dispassionately?

How tactful is your OC? Are they able to frame criticism constructively and give feedback in a way that protects against potential hurt feelings? Or are they blunt, or even callous, in their attitude to the failings of others?

Does your OC believe they can assess someone's character upon first meeting them? Or are they inclined to give everyone the benefit of the doubt until they get to know them better? Or even to assume the absolute worst of people until it is conclusively proved that they are not an enemy?

Does your OC ever deliberately make themselves appear less wise or astute than they actually are? Perhaps in order to ensure that others underestimate them?

What is something that your OC would find incredibly hard to lie about? Even if they really wanted to do so...

Copper - Love, Beauty and Creativity.

Does your OC believe that they are beautiful? Is their beauty, or lack of beauty, something to which they ever give much consideration?

Does your OC enjoy creating things? Are they particularly artistic? Or do they prefer to focus upon creating things with a practical use?

Was your OC loved as a child? What difference has the experience of love and nuture during their early years made to their character as an adult?

Of all the places your OC has seen, which do they consider the most beautiful?

If your OC were to be immortalised in art, what would be their preferred medium? An epic poem? An exquisite statue? A flattering painting? Or something else entirely?

Tin - Life, Breath and Flexibility.

How quick is your OC to adjust to changing circumstances? Are they more likely to keep going with an existing approach or strategy, even though the situation has changed?

Does your OC work well with others? Even if their approach or attitude is markedly different to their own?

Does your OC believe that all life is sacred on some level? Or are some types of person more valuable than others? Can someone's deeds ever make them deserving of death? Or would your OC never consider that an appropriate sanction, no matter the circumstances?

What does your OC believe makes life worth living? Assuming that they do, in fact, believe that it is?

Has your OC's life turned out how they were expecting when they first began their journey? How well have they adjusted to any differences in this regard?

#oc ask list #oc questions #oc ask meme #OC ask #oc asks #oc meme #oc prompts #oc development #ffxiv #ffxiv ocs #OC development #ffxiv OC #ffxiv wol #final fantasy xiv #ff14 ffxiv

202 notes · View notes

lowkeyerror · 1 year

Text

Falling Fast

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Notes: Hellhound reader

Summary: Y/n couldn't help but to bring out her violin once she heard the cello playing in the night. The new girl on campus intrigued her, but little did she know the interest was mutual. That doesn't get revealed until the two girls find themselves in the forest one night.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Masterlist

Though everyone would deny it, Wednesday was intriguing. Not in the normal way, the new student was intriguing. Nothing about Wednesday was normal, but for some reason her abnormality was viewed with hostility at Nevermore.

Y/n thought that was quite curious. She never truly understood how even amongst a whole group of outcasts, there could be lines of divisions as such.

Before Y/n spoke to Wednesday, they played a song together. Wednesday had started late one night with her cello. It rang out across the entire school grounds. It was brilliant.

Y/n's body had a mind of its own upon listening to the cello. She found herself just outside of her room with her violin perched under her neck. She waited for the right timing and jumped into Wednesday's symphony.

It was an intense piece and without a sheet in front of her, following along should've been harder. However, she let intuition guide her as she played. She followed Wednesday's lead, and by the time they were done, she felt like she knew something about the girl.

Y/n's eyes traveled up to the balcony Wednesday had been playing on. She found that the Addams girl was already looking down at her. The violinist almost waved, but she didn't. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Both girls held a certain curiosity in their respective glances.

It's Wednesday who turns away first. It's an abrupt movement as she takes her cello and re-enters her room. Y/n stares at the spot where Wednesday stood, for a moment longer.

" Goodnight, Wednesday," the words leave her lips, and then she slips into her room.

Enid is the one to set up a proper introduction between Y/n and Wednesday.

" Y/n this is Wednesday, Wednesday this is Y/n the girl you've been asking me about."

Y/n’s eyes land on the dark haired girl, who seems to be sizing her up. The taller girl sticks her handout for Wednesday to shake, " Nice to finally meet you."

There is a long hesitation in her movements, but Wednesday does eventually return the handshake," You were the one on the violin the other night?"

Y/n gave a curt nod," I was. Sorry if I interrupted, but I could hear it from my room, and got a little carried away."

Enid interjects," I thought the two of you sounded really good together."

The violinist scratches the back of her neck," The cello was definitely better than the violin that night."

" It was, but I suppose you did well, considering you played it all by ear."

Y/n smiled a bit at the compliment," Thanks."

Y/n and Wednesday seemed to be locked into a staring contest. Neither girl was able to take her gaze off of the other. Enid's gaze shifted between the two, sensing some underlying chemistry.

" Well… Wednesday and I have to go, but we'll catch up with you some other time," the blonde tries to drag Wednesday away.

The Addams girl untangles herself from Enid's grasp, but still follows the cheery blonde.

Y/n watches the pair leave before returning to her previous activities.

Enid hounded Wednesday as soon as Y/n was no longer in sight. A lot of the talking went into one ear and out of the other. That was until Enid insinuated that Wednesday liked Y/n.

" Why would you assume something so… trivial of me?"

Enid scoffs," It's totally normal to like someone, Wednesday, even for us."

" I don't like her," Wednesday deadpans.

" You gave her a compliment. You don't compliment anyone, ever. It's a part of your character," Enid rambles on.

Wednesday almost struggles to find a rebuttal," I did not compliment her. I simply acknowledged how complex it was to follow along with my music."

" So you're saying you found it impressive?" Enid questions.

" Precisely."

Enid smirks," And is that not a compliment?"

Wednesday stares down Enid," It would be quite curious if you went to sleep with a head full of hair, but woke up with a buzzcut, don't you agree? Thing knows his way around a good pair of clippers."

" I trust Thing to make sure I look my best," Enid shrugs.

Wednesday groans," Are friends always so insufferable?"

Enid gushes," Awe, you called us, friends."

Wednesday groans once more before the girls reach their class, effectively ending the conversation.

Throughout the day, Y/n's wandering thoughts all seemed to lead her back to Wednesday. There was something about the girl that was infectious. Or in other words, something about Wednesday felt like an infection.

Though the encounters were brief, Y/n found herself showing all the signs of having feelings for Wednesday. The girl was unapologetically herself, and there was something that Y/n admired in her. She wanted to curse herself for being so enchanted so quickly, but she knew that she wasn't the only one.

Y/n had seen Wednesday with both Tyler and Xavier. It might've been hard for Wednesday to decipher, but it was clear to anyone with eyes that they were both interested in the girl. Y/n couldn't blame them, maybe it was some sort of Wednesday effect.

A tapping on her window pulled Y/n out of her thoughts. Her eyes narrowed, but she hadn't seen anyone in the darkness. Y/n stood and cautiously edged towards the window.

" Hello?"

Her nerves stilled when the window opened. Y/n panicked seeing a hand crawl into her room, but her panic was quickly replaced by confusion. The palm opened and there was some writing on it.

Follow Thing- Wednesday

" I presume you're Thing."

Thing gives Y/n a thumbs up before pointing at her violin.

" She wants me to bring the violin?"

Thing confirms this. Y/n packs up her violin, then follows Thing. The final destination was Enid and Wednesday's room. Y/n didn't get a chance to knock as the door swung open.

" What're you doing here?" There was a slight confusion in Wednesday's voice.

Y/n furrowed her brow as her gaze dropped to Thing. The hand tried to scurry away, but Wednesday snatched him up. Thing tried to stay balled up, but a scary glare from Wednesday had the hand unclenching.

" Enid wrote this," Wednesday looked at the woman through her eyelashes.

" Oh, I can go if you-"

Wednesday cut her off," I'm going out, you're welcome to come, but you might die."

" Don't threaten me with a good time," Y/n joked, but Wednesday didn't laugh," Can I leave my violin in your room?"

That's how Y/n found herself walking through the woods with Wednesday Addams. The woods put Y/n on edge, mostly because people kept getting murdered. Whatever monster was out there spiked a fear into the girl.

" So, what are we doing in the woods?"

" Looking for evidence," Wednesday said bluntly.

" Evidence of what?" You pushed on.

The girl let out a huff," The monster or Rowan."

Y/n pauses," I thought Rowan was expelled."

This causes Wednesday to stop walking," If you think I'm crazy, at least have the courage to tell me to my face."

Y/n's hands shot up in defense," I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."

The girl cocks her head to the side," You mean to tell me that you missed all the rumors and heckling surrounding my claim that Rowan was murdered by the monster."

"If he was murdered, how did he get expelled?"

Wednesday shrugged slightly," That's what I'm trying to figure out."

Y/n nodded to herself a few times," Ok, so what counts as evidence?"

" You don't think I'm crazy? Or lying? Or both?"

Y/n stares at the girl," What would you gain from lying about that?"

Wednesday stares back at her with a blank expression on her face. With the way everyone was treating at the school, it was hard to believe that someone wasn’t questioning her. She had made a reputation for herself (that she didn’t care about, but she was acutely aware of). So to her, it didn’t make any sense for Y/n to believe her without any scrutiny.

“ What’s wrong with you?”

The question takes Y/n aback. Wednesday sees the shock on the girl’s face and decides to elaborate, “ I mean, what makes you qualify as a Nevermore student?”

Wednesday sees the girl’s body tense. The silence engulfs them as she watches Y/n struggle to find the words that she wants to say.

“ I’m a hellhound.”

“ You don’t seem proud of it.”

Y/n kicks up some dirt at her feet,” It takes everything I have to control the monster inside of me. The werewolves change every full moon, as a hellhound I can change every night if I’m not careful. Once I’m there, it’s game over. Sometimes I remember and sometimes I don’t.”

“ Have you ever killed anyone?”

The question brings a mask of dread on Y/n’s face. Before she can elaborate, they hear something. The noise alerts the two girls. Y/n is the one to grab onto Wednesday’s wrist, but it’s then that the dark haired girl has a vision. Her body goes limp in Y/n’s arms.

“ Wednesday? Wednesday! Shit.”

Y/n tries to wake the girl, but then the noise from before returns. It sounds closer than before. Y/n begins to look around frantically, and that’s when she sees it. The two large eyes watching them from behind the tree. Her body goes rigid. Everything is still for a moment. Neither her nor the monster move.

She’s frozen in her spot, her mind is racing. With Wednesday in her arms, she doesn’t know what to do. The choice becomes clear as the monster finally charges at her. She drops Wednesday's limp body on the ground, then plants her feet.

The shift hurts as she can’t remember the last time it happened. All she feels is heat, and the only thing her mind is telling her to do is attack.

The hellhound charges the unknown creature. They meet in the middle. The creature takes a swipe at Y/n missing wildly. The fire burns brightly on the hound's skin as it pounces on the monster. Y/n snips at the monster's neck, going for the kill. However, the monster uses its long limbs to its advantage, kicking the hound away.

Then it turns its attention to Wednesday, who has started to gain her consciousness. As it stalks towards her, the hound gets between the two. The flames in its eyes fierce, almost daring the monster to touch the girl.

The monster stares Y/n down, but the hound shows no fear. It seems to assess the situation. It stalks away from the pair. The hound doesn’t take its eyes off the monster, waiting for it to disappear out of the forest.

When the hound knows it is gone, it drops its defensive stance.

“ Y/n?”

The hound turns around to come face to face with Wednesday Addams. The hound lightly nudges the girl’s hand. It wants her to follow it out of the forest. Wednesday follows the giant dog. Her hand can’t help itself as it trails down the back of the animal.

The black skin feels like ash, the heat radiating off of it warms her in the cold of the night. Wednesday is mesmerized by Y/n in this form. Once they are out of the forest, the hound knows they are safe. It gives up the control, and soon it’s shifting back into Y/n.

The change is harsh on girl. She ends up on her hands and knees with her eyes squeezed shut as her bones are riddled with pain. She isn’t sure if she can move. Y/n feels a coat being thrown over her and a presence kneeling by her.

“ That hurts you.”

Y/n tugs the coat over her exposed skin,” It’s just been a long time, so it was harder than usual.”

The hellhound tries to stand, but is unable to. Wednesday has to help her to her feet.

“ You could’ve left me for dead in the forest,” Wednesday speaks.

Y/n shook her head with the little strength that she had," That wasn't an option for me."

" Why not?"

" Because I-"

" Dear god, what happened!"

Y/n gets her sentence cut short by principal Weems. The woman is quick to help Wednesday with the battered girl.

" We got attacked in the woods. Y/n fought off the same beast that killed Rowan," Wednesday told the principal.

" I just need to lie down, and I'll be alright," Y/n tried to downplay her pain.

Wednesday was not allowing it," She needs to see the nurse."

Y/n wanted to protest, but Weems agreed. They led the injured girl to the nurse's office.

" You are no longer needed, Ms. Addams, why don't you go to your room."

" No," Wednesday said simply.

" No?" Weems questioned, but Wednesday didn't budge.

" She didn't leave me behind. I'm not leaving her," Wednesday glared at the bleach blonde woman.

" Wednesday," Y/n spoke softly, not wishing for the girl to get into any trouble with the principal.

Weems' eyes shifted between both girls before an irritated sigh left her lips," Very well then, but you better be in all of your classes tomorrow."

Weems left after that, leaving the nurse to tend to Y/n. Wednesday waited patiently for the girl to be placed in one of the beds. Once she was, Wednesday's gaze never left Y/n.

" Well now you know what the monster looks like," Y/n broke the silence.

" You could've died," there's malice in her tone. It's not necessarily directed at the other girl.

Y/n smiles a bit," You told me that before we went into the forest."

The pigtailed girl’s eyes meet yours, " It was never my intention to hurt you."

Y/n cautiously reaches for Wednesday's hand, scared that the dark haired girl will pull away. She doesn't.

" You didn't hurt me. That thing attacked me."

" It wouldn't have happened if I didn't bring you out to the woods."

Y/n shakes her head," I decided to go out there with you. I could've gone back to my room. You told me it would be dangerous. It's not your fault, Wednesday."

Her eyes are locked on your hands. Tears welled in her eyes, but didn't fall.

" Y/n, I swear to you that I will not rest until the beast is caught. It will pay for this," there's a fire in her voice when she speaks to Y/n. One that makes the injured girl's heart swell.

" If you think, I'm letting you do this alone, you're truly mistaken. We have to protect each other," Y/n squeezed the girl's hand gently.

Wednesday lifted their interlocked hands. She carefully placed her lips on the back of Y/n's hand," I will not let any more harm come to you."

Y/n's face blushed intensely at the tenderness of it all. She found herself kissing Wednesday's hand," I will stand by you as you fight your battles."

Both of the promises were different. However, the meaning was the same. They cared for each other. The fear of losing Y/n ignited something in Wednesday; just as the fear of losing Wednesday ignited something in Y/n.

There was an understanding between the girls. Nothing else needed to be said. They just paired well together. Wednesday was like a cello and Y/n like violin. Both beautiful on their own, but it was agreed that together they could create a masterpiece.

#lowkeyerror #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday #enid sinclair #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday imagine #wednesday addams fic #wednesday fic #wednesday x you

1K notes · View notes

dottores · 1 year

Text

SKINNY LOVE | IL DOTTORE

summary: a failed mission sets dottore off, just not in the way you might’ve expected--the doctor cares for no one but himself and his research, not even his own segments, so why was he so incensed at the fact that you were hurt?

warnings: no warnings, really, reader a bit anxious over just failing a mission and a small wound. just some hurt/comfort (??) with dottore. not rlly sure what to label it.

notes: man ik dottore isn't rlly the hurt/comfort man but i think i kept this rlly well in character im lowkey proud i even had tee n eris double check 4 me <3 i wrote this during my breakdown friday adfijaiosdfjia LMAO @tweris @dxlucs @7rkx @mxnjiros @hanmas @albedophoria @tokyometronetwork @manjiroscum @dynalite @niicevibe

wordcount: 1.5k

“You’re upset.”

You looked away at the statement--there was no sort of empathy or worry behind his words, it was a simple observation, a fact, nothing more, nothing less. He barely bothered to look at you as he spoke, engrossed with the vial in his hands. If you didn’t know any better, you would say he didn’t care at all.

If you didn’t know any better.

He wouldn’t have acknowledged it at all if that were the case.

“I’m not,” you said after a moment, clearing your throat and smoothing your palms over your pants twice before picking at your cuticles, a nervous habit that you couldn’t seem to break.

“... and now you are lying.”

You grit your teeth together, ignoring Dottore’s words as you became frustrated with one cuticle that would just not peel off. You let out a shaky breath, bringing your finger to your mouth, going to rip it off with your teeth instead, but a hand curled around your wrist before you could--grip firm and unmoving even as you tried to pull your hand away.

Reluctantly, your gaze drew upward to where Dottore was now standing in front of you, staring down at you unamused and unimpressed. “What happened?” he asked again, and you noticed that he had placed the vial down, averting all of his attention to you as he waited for you to explain.

And you wanted to explain, you really did, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit that you had failed the one mission that you had been given, not to Dottore. You were already trying to brace yourself for the punishment that would come from Pantalone at your failure. So you kept your mouth shut, turning your face away from him as you waited for him to lose interest and go back to his research.

You should have known better.

You felt two fingers grab your chin, not hard enough to bruise by any means but also not gently. Dottore turned your head back toward him, tilting your face up and forcing you to look at him. You kept your gaze averted but you could feel the way he was searching your face for answers, trying to piece together on his own what happened. Sometimes you really hated how smart he was.

“Your mission went poorly,” Dottore finally spoke up--it was a statement but also a question, he was waiting for your reaction to see if he had deduced it correctly. And you couldn’t help the way your throat spasmed as you tried to swallow back the sob--you had never been one to handle failure well, ever since you were a kid. “I see.”

Dottore let go of your face and you snapped your head to the side, turning away as you tried to blink back the tears that were building too rapidly for you to control. He didn’t speak again as he moved back to his lab table, picking the vial back up and watching it absently before placing it on a burner.

“What happened?” he questioned as he put away some of his tools, walking to the other side of the room where he had several other vials displayed.

Breathe in, breathe out.

“Pantalone sent me to the Natlan border--to Apavny--to pick up some materials for Sandrone. It was, um, supposed to be a simple mission, not even leaving the homeland-” your voice cracked, your hand went to your side as pain shot through your abdomen at the reminder. You noticed how Dottore was now looking at you sharply from the corner of his eye, waiting for you to continue--you tried to hide the way you were holding your side, “Natlan has been getting more aggressive, we knew that, I just didn’t think-”

“They attacked you,” there was an odd tone to his voice, tight and unfriendly, as he placed the final vial back in the burner and turned to look at you. You weren’t sure you had ever heard him take a tone other than the low drawl he usually spoke in.

“They got the materials-” you tried to continue, confirming his suspicions that you had failed the mission, but apparently that hadn’t been what he was leading to.

“You’re hurt.”

You faltered as you forced yourself to look back up at him, catching the way his jaw was taut and the way his eyes were trained solely on you, waiting for you to speak but you weren’t sure what he wanted you to say. Instead, you only shook your head.

“It’s only a flesh wound,” you said quietly. “It’ll be-”

Your voice hung off when you noticed the livid expression that had crossed Dottore’s face, it was only for half a second but you had caught it and you couldn’t help the way you hesitated. He was angry? But why?

Dottore didn’t speak again, returning his attention to the lab table, and you noted that instead of moving to continue his research, he was now putting the vials and materials away. His movements were still as smooth and graceful as usual, but each time he shut one of his drawers, it was a bit harder than necessary, the bang nearly making you flinch.

Was he mad at you? You couldn’t tell and any question you might’ve had to ask him died on the tip of your tongue as soon as you opened your mouth to ask him. The moments he spent putting away his tools and materials were long and agonizing, an anxiety building in you that you had never felt before. Dottore wouldn’t hurt you, you knew that--he might not care for anybody but himself but he had always favored you the most of everyone within the Fatui, even above the other Harbingers and his own segments.

What if your failure ruined it? The disappointment enough reason for him to cast you aside? You had never understood why he favored you, you figured it was because he saw potential in you and now, with your failure, you-

You hadn’t even realized he had come to stand in front of you, lifting one hand to your jaw again to tilt your face up toward his. Your cheeks were wet, you hadn’t even realized you were crying and Dottore hated weakness, any sign or mention of it had him mocking and cruel. “I’m sor-” you tried to say, voice cracking despite your strongest attempts to keep it steady.

“You said this happened in Apavny?” he asked, voice low and quiet and tense, but the grip he had on your jaw was gentle this time--he was never gentle with you, not while he was training you, now while he was trying to teach you about his research, he was always cold and sharp and unforgiving.

You nodded as best you could with the grip on his jaw.

“You did the best you could,” he said after a moment. “I’ll take care of it from here.”

You were at a loss for words as you stared up at him but Dottore didn’t linger. His hand dropped from your face, the cold expression returning as he turned to grab his cloak from where it was hanging several feet away, shrugging it on before fastening his mask on.

“Dottore, they’re probably long gone,” you tried to tell him, taking a few steps toward him but you froze when he turned his head over his shoulder to look at you--you couldn’t see his eyes from behind his mask and it had always unnerved you because you could never how he was feeling.

He didn’t even bother to respond to you, pushing the doors to the lab open and leaving without another word, leaving you standing there reeling, trying to figure out what had just happened.

---

Hours later, he returned, blood still splattered on his cloak and face, the box of materials you had failed to retrieve snug in his arms. His lips were tight and flat, and his eyes were still covered by the mask, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

He didn’t speak as he pushed the box into your own arms, not until he had already passed by you. “Bring it to Pantalone, tell him you retrieved it.”

Your mouth was dry as you stared down at the box, confused and trying to push away the rising emotions. You spun around to look at him but he didn’t even bother to look back as he walked back down the hall toward his lab.

“Dottore,” you called, watching as he paused midstep, waiting for you to continue. “Why?”

He didn’t answer, and you supposed you should have expected that. Instead, he waited for a moment before continuing down the hall, leaving your question hanging heavy in the air between the two of you as you stared down at the box with an oddly warm feeling in your chest, wondering what this all meant.

#dottore x reader #dottore x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #dottore fluff #genshin fluff #idk if its fluff #i don’t think so #wtv #i tried my best idk how to tag

2K notes · View notes

dduane · 6 months

Note

I'm sad today because of how I know my favorite character's story must end; a tragedy I didnt recognize I was writing. Do you ever find yourself grieving any of your characters when you realize their story's end?

I don't know for sure that it comes up to the level of grief, for me. It definitely sometimes does get up to deep regret—when I'm either simply sad to be saying goodbye to a given set of characters, or regretting the end of the project that contains them: or both.

The point where the regret locks in particularly hard for me is when I find I've got no choice but to acknowledge that a story's near-completion means soon I won’t get to work/play with these characters any more. That understanding—that your active relationship as creator with the created is ending: the sound of a door in your soul closing, and the key turned, inescapably, in the lock—that can be really painful. Nor do I have any evidence that it gets any easier over time. This is just one of those "You knew the job was dangerous when you took it" kinds of thing.

But experience has taught me that there's no successfully eluding the acknowledgement of the difficulty of the upcoming ending (or its execution on the page): not if you're smart. Story is old—far, far older than any of us; and powerful. And yeah, sure, it's a privilege to be able to serve it; to be in service to it! But it's not necessarily a particularly kind taskmaster. It has its own priorities. And the (admittedly sometimes tempting) urge to try to cheat Story for one's own comfort tends not to end well. Indulging that urge means also doing a disservice to those to whom you're telling the story—which is immoral, since they came to you expecting you to get the job done right. But also, if you try bending the rules for your own sake, Story has its ways of avenging itself on you. It's best to just suffer the inevitable, sometimes-painful consequences of closure, and avoid going down that road.

Yet sometimes Story will unexpectedly reward you, too, when you've kept faith with it and resisted the temptations. I have a piece of work in hand where one of the paired protagonists is going to have to go through a long painful sequence of (literally) legendarily awful things. As a result I've been—maybe understandably—resisting writing those things, while also knowing perfectly well they're inescapable if the story's to be done justice, and if the character going through all this pain's to be correctly perfected. Which I owe to them.

Yet you can only resist for so long. A story's not worth much of anything until it's told. So I went digging through my notes to get re-grounded in the universe in question and start dealing with this situation. At which point absolutely without warning I found myself staring at a single piece of data that had been lying there among my notes since day one, right under my damn nose... and which contained the happy ending I'd been resigned to never finding for this story and these characters: along with the iron-clad rationale for it.

Impossible not to hear the immaterial Boss Of Me murmuring You're welcome... as it wandered off to let me get on with the actual hard work. Screams of Could I not have thought of this earlier?! seemed like ingratitude at that point. So I got on with it. (Admittedly with some grinning that probably left @petermorwood confused for a couple of days.)

Meanwhile, I absolutely hear your grief and pain. All I can say is, "Hang in there with it and see it through." And when it's passed over you, know that things will eventually look and feel better on the other side. :)

#writing #story

185 notes · View notes

fazedlight · 3 months

Text

Hero (Kara character study. Angsty but gets better.)

I can save this world.

Kara looked herself over in the mirror, her chest puffing in silent pride at the symbol that lay across it. I am the last daughter of the House of El, she thought to herself. I am the last daughter of Krypton, and no one will ever forget it.

Her mind drifted to watching her cousin’s feats from her living room. Collapsed bridges, raging floods, villains - human and alien alike - who sought to cause harm. How he stood in the way, the El family crest on his chest, cape snapping in the wind.

She couldn’t save her world, but she could save this one. She could make herself worthy of the House of El.

I can save this world.

She could still hear the screams from across the city, from the child she couldn’t get to on time. The fire had spread so rapidly that the mere minute it took for her to come up with an excuse and run away had cost a child his life. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, but there were others in the building she could still save.

She thought of asking Kal how he handled it, the loss of a single precious life that might still have been here had she been just a little better, just a little faster. But maybe he didn’t really deal with that - maybe she was just the failure he wasn’t. She had failed to be there for him, after all.

Then the news of her father’s involvement in Medusa came to light, and Kara stopped knowing how to feel about the sigil on her chest.

I can’t save this world.

It was the last conscious thought she had, as Reign’s hand loosened. She remembered starting to fall, but she couldn’t remember landing.

She was trapped - trapped in her own mind, away from everyone. Unable to escape. But she wasn’t damaged. She was stuck because… she was afraid? Because she was a failure. Because Reign represented everything she couldn’t be. How could she try to save the world, when destruction was so much easier than creation?

I can’t save this world.

What is it the man had said? “They’re not like you. You’re a superhero.” As though her cape made her any less a refugee who came here for safety, a child sent across skies to protect and be protected.

How does one fight a villain that lives in everyone’s soul, a piece of darkness and fear that turns outward with suspicion and hatred towards those that are different? Even if she was a shining example of the best of her kind, she would simply be discounted. “You’re one of the good ones,” they would tell her. Because hate was easy when there was fear.

I can save her.

Kara’s chest fluttered in panic as Lena held Myriad in her hand. It had been too easy, how quickly their relationship had recovered from Kara’s own cruelty. She never wanted the other shoe to drop. She hid, she always hid, hiding would always be easier than acknowledging the possibility of loss.

She thought she had lost enough in her life, but as the kryptonite encased her in the last remnant of her home, she could only feel a new type of regret.

I can’t save her.

Kara’s fists clenched as she stared down Lena on the balcony. You act like a villain, I’ll treat you like one, she thought to herself, hating herself every moment. She knew the torn woman in front of her was an adversary she had created. But she had tried, Rao, she had tried to do the right thing.

She didn’t know how she could live with the string of failure that had followed her ever since she had picked up the cape. But at the same time, she knew there came a point where - whatever she had created - she still needed to do what was right.

Even if it meant giving up any hope of being with the woman she loved.

I can’t even save myself.

She could still feel the softness of Lena’s hand in her own when they reconciled. There was still so much they needed to talk about in the aftermath, something else she needed to confess. The bridge was there for them to cross, once it was all over.

But then the only option became to risk her own life. Her soul tore at Lena’s longing gaze when she left the Fortress, and Kara wondered if they would ever get the chance.

It was a twisted comfort, knowing that Lena cared, even in the midst of their fallout, even as Kara faced her eternity in the Phantom Zone.

They saved me.

Kara broke down sobbing when Alex shoved her under the sunlamp, feeling the painful tingling of her cells remembering how to process sunlight. Everything screamed at her - the thundering sound of the light breeze outside, and choking scent of motor oil from the passing cars, and the hammering of all her friends’ heartbeats from the Tower’s mainroom.

Her body screamed like she was 13 again, panic and joy overwhelming her, because the pain wasn’t tied to the loss like it was all those years ago. It was a second chance, with everyone she loved.

We can save the world.

There was this exhilaration to being back, to seeing the blue oceans and red sunrises and green grass. Maybe it’s easy to get carried away, when you can forget what made everything so hard.

Her father was going to save this world from its own destruction. She was going to absorb the sun. It was easy to seek easy solutions for everything, only for it to solve nothing at all.

We can save the world, sometimes.

It felt so odd to smile and cry, as Lena pulled her into her arms. Kara’s mind jumped from seeing her sister so happy with Kelly as they danced, to the words that were missing. The words Kara needed to say to her best friend.

She knew in the night - once they were out of their wedding clothes and in their pajamas, curled up on Lena’s couch - the words would finally tumble out.

But as Lena stood in front of her, reminding her that the world wasn’t on her shoulders alone, Kara took the moment to pause. She thought of her old cape, torn up and folded neatly in her closet at home. The day she put it on, she never thought she’d need more than feats of strength to save the world.

But how could strength defeat masses manipulated into bigotry? How could strength defeat magic? How could strength defeat the best friend she had betrayed? She wasn’t here through strength alone, but through connection, and truth. As Lena reminded her, the only salve against the darkness was in standing together.

We can save each other.

A small smile crossed Kara’s face, as she watched Lena snooze next to her in the morning light, hearing her voice from the day before. “You can’t always be our savior, Kara. You shine your light and inspire others to shine theirs.” She could never save everyone. No one could. But that’s not what hope was about, as much as cynicism said otherwise.

As Kara reached up to brush hair away from Lena’s face, she remembered the lyrical sound of her family motto falling from Lena’s lips. With each person who stood next to another, the spark grew. Perhaps they could someday create enough light.

Kara lowered her head, placing her forehead against Lena’s as she slept. As Kara listened to Lena's peaceful heartbeats and calm breaths, she found herself praying to Rao. Thank you for this spark.

#I think Kara is actually really hard on herself but doesn't let it show #apologies for inflicting this on all of you sometimes my brain just does this #supercorp #mel writes ficlets

131 notes · View notes

awkwardauthorwrites · 1 year

Text

The Devil Doesn't Bargain

Word Count: 4.5k

Themes: angst, very brief mention of abuse? Imelda is a piece of work in this but she means well

Warnings: Potential spoilers for HL. All characters are 18+ in their 7th year of Hogwarts.

If anyone’s curious this song here is the one I had on repeat while writing this

Y/N twirled the quill she was holding, her work forgotten in front of her as she looked across the library to where Sebastian was sitting a few tables away. He was frowning as he looked between his textbook and the parchment he was scribbling on, deep in thought as he worked on whichever essay they had been assigned. He looked more tired than usual and Y/N couldn’t help but roam her eyes over him carefully, looking out for any other signs that everything was not okay.

Their friendship has never quite been the same after the untimely death of Solomon Sallow in their fifth year. Despite not turning Sebastian in (the easiest decision Y/N had ever made in her life) and his reassurance that he was glad they were friends and that she had come to Hogwarts, he had begun to pull away in the beginning of their sixth year. It started slowly; from passing on visits to Hogsmeade and skipping the odd class because he wasn’t feeling well to barely acknowledging her when he walked by her in corridors, not even a nod in greeting. There was only so much she could do - so much she could take - before Y/N began to retreat as well, opting instead to spend more time with Ominis, Imelda and Poppy.

“Don’t do this.” Imelda kicked Y/N under the table gently and she reluctantly tore her gaze away from Sebastian to send a glare at the raven-haired girl.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Y/N rolled her eyes and flicked through her textbook, skimming the page for the information she needed. If she hadn’t been studiously avoiding the eyes of her friends she would have noticed the look the two girls shared followed by Ominis’ quiet sigh.

“Don’t play stupid, it doesn’t suit you.”

“I see we’re back to the tough love route,” Ominis said, the corners of his mouth twitching up in amusement as his fingers trailed across the braille in his book. “Do you think this discussion will end in throwing objects again? I don’t like my odds of ducking to avoid Y/N’s inkpot.” He turned his head in Poppy’s direction, who laughed quietly even though she was watching Imelda and Y/N nervously.

“I would much rather we didn’t discuss this at all, actually,” Y/N couldn’t help but look over at Sebastian again, if only just to piss Imelda off, but was surprised to see him looking back. She offered him a small smile in greeting, her stomach flipping pleasantly when he smiled back. She quickly turned back to her work, her leg bouncing under the table in elation. Apart from occasionally meeting her eyes as they passed each other in between classes, that was the most interaction she and Sebastian had shared in months.

“I know that look in your eye,” Imelda pointed her quill at Y/N, her eyes narrowing. “Do I need to remind you of what happened the last time you thought he was coming back around?” Y/N stifled an annoyed sigh and bit the inside of her cheek, if only to stop herself from lashing out. She knew Imelda was right, knew she was only being so firm because she cared. “Sebastian Sallow doesn’t care about anyone other than himself.”

“He cares about Anne,” Y/N muttered petulantly. Imelda kicked her ankle again in reprimand and Y/N hissed in pain. “Fuck, stop kicking me!”

“Stop being stupid then!” Imelda leant forward, her voice lowering considerably.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re better than this. He’s ruthless, he’s a liar. He’s abusive.”

“Sebastian would never hurt me.” If looks could kill then Imelda Reyes would be ten feet under. Y/N knew what her friend was saying came from a well-meaning place, but how dare she. How dare she speak about Sebastian that way - speak about her that way. She wasn’t an idiot any more than Sebastian was the devil Imelda made him out to be.

“Again, you mean?” Imelda snapped. Y/N sucked in a sharp breath at her words, at the sudden reminder of the agony the cruciatus curse had caused. Ominis stilled at the witch’s words, his amused expression dropping as he stopped reading his book. Poppy and Imelda shared a look between them. Y/N and Ominis never told them everything that had happened in their fifth year but they had worked out more than enough.

“You don’t know anything.” Y/N leant forward to hiss the words at her friend.

“I know you don’t want to let go.” Imelda crossed her arms and leant back in her chair, a smug expression on her face. “People talk, Y/N. Sallow’s fascination with the dark arts wasn’t exactly a secret, even before you joined the school.”

“That’s enough Imelda.” Ominis turned his head to glare at the girl, his words icy. “I thought you of all people would be above petty gossip.” His hand drifted under the table to gently squeeze Y/N’s knee, reminding her to breathe. “I may not talk to Sebastian anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’ll allow you to sit here and disparage him like this.”

“Oh? Care to tell us exactly why you both stopped talking to him after his uncle died?”

“Imelda…” Poppy had a pained expression on her face as she looked between her friends, before darting her gaze over to Sebastian, who had his head buried in a book. “You’re going too far.”

“Apparently there’s no such thing when Y/N is concerned. She’ll forgive me and come crawling back, just like she does with Sallow.”

“So what if I do?” Y/N snapped, her voice rising. Madam Scribner shushed them sharply and sent them a glare, not that Y/N could find it in herself to care as she leant across the table to growl at Imelda. “Sebastian is one of my best friends, Reyes. Present tense. I don’t care that he’s not spoken to me in months - I will always be there for those who need me. I’ll always be there if he needs me.” Y/N looked over to Sebastian as she took a steadying breath, her eyes meeting his again. He watched her carefully, his head tilted to the side as he recognised the tell-tale signs of her anger. She couldn’t bring herself to look away from him as she spoke softly, justifying it with how far away he was sitting. “You have no idea what happened to us in our fifth year, absolutely none, so don’t pretend just because you listened to some bullshit gossip that you’re omniscient. The shit we went through - what the three of us went through - was something that’s bound us together for life. You don’t experience what we did and have the ability to stop caring for the other person - not that you could ever understand that.”

Something shifted in Sebastian’s gaze as Y/N spoke about him, and a small part of her wondered if he had somehow gained the ability to read lips and knew exactly what she was saying. She swallowed heavily as the air between them changed, her heart thumping nervously in her chest. Words from their fight echoed in her mind, but they were all drowned out by every good action he had ever taken for her, every good thing he had ever said to her. Y/N wasn’t quite sure if she could ever pull away from his hypnotising stare, but it seemed Imelda had made the choice for her as she leaned across the table and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look back at them.

“You can lie to me all you want, but I was there.” Imelda held Y/N’s chin firmly as she spoke, not tight enough to hurt, but enough that she couldn’t pull away. “Every single time you came back to our dorm room crying because he hurt you, I was there. I saw what he put you through and he doesn’t care. He’s not worth it. I won’t pretend to know what happened with the three of you in fifth year but he will never change. He’s only going to hurt you over and over again and you keep letting him. The devil doesn’t settle, Y/L/N.”

Y/N finally smacked Imelda’s hand away and broke free from her grasp, her eyes burning with humiliation and anger. Poppy looked taken aback at how forceful their friend was being, while Ominis gripped the edge of the table in frustration. He couldn’t tell exactly what was happening in front of him, but the tone of voice, followed by the sharp slap of skin, was indication enough. There was a tense silence at the table as Y/N and Imelda glared furiously at each other, neither of them willing to break the silence first. Y/N blinked back the tears of frustration that were welling in her eyes and stood up, muttering to the table that she needed another book for her essay, and ignoring Poppy as she quietly called after her.

She had to pass by Sebastian’s table as she walked away, her shoulders tight with tension as she very obviously avoided his eye so that he couldn’t see her tears. He stretched his arms out casually as she moved past him, his hand brushing hers gently. Y/N didn’t know if it was an accident or not, but she didn’t let it stop her as she made her way towards the shelves she needed and rounded the corner, disappearing from the immediate eyesight of her friends (and yes, as rage inducing as Imelda was, Y/N still considered her one).

Her shoulders slumped once she was hidden from view and Y/N couldn’t help but to gently press her forehead to one of the shelves to calm the mixed emotions that were running wildly through her. She was angry at Imelda, because how dare she speak to her like that - how dare she grab her like that. She was frustrated at herself, because even though Imelda’s approach was far from ideal, she was right. Y/N always got her hopes up whenever Sebastian would flash her a warm smile in passing, and it normally led to her crying or screaming in their dorm within the week because he had gone back to his usual routine of ignoring her. The final feeling (one she didn’t want to linger on for too long) was how her heart was racing wildly as the casual touch of Sebastian’s hand as she passed by him. She didn’t want to admit what the sensation was, not even to herself, and instead tried to convince herself that the fleeting graze of his skin on hers was nothing more than an accident.

“Imelda is sorry.” Poppy said softly, her quiet footsteps stopping a couple of feet away. Y/N let out a humourless laugh and wiped away a tear before she looked over her shoulder at the Hufflepuff.

“You and I both know that’s a lie. Have Ominis and Imelda sent you to corral me back?”

“No. Imelda wanted to march over and drag you back herself but I told her to leave you alone and give you a little space. Ominis agreed with me and said he knows first hand what your anger is like?” Poppy phrased the end like a question, earning a surprised chuckle from Y/N.

“I think I’ve scarred him for life after he took my coffee from me the other morning.”

“Poor choice.” Poppy laughed softly, knowing first-hand how grumpy Y/N could be in the mornings before her caffeine. The pair fell into a comfortable silence as Y/N turned to face the shelves again and pulled a book out to see if it held any information that could help with her work.

“What is it, Poppy?”

“I don’t want to upset you any more.”

“It can’t be any worse than what Imelda said to me,” she reminds her with a sigh. After a few more seconds Poppy still hadn’t responded so Y/N closed the book and turned to face her, holding the tome to her chest as she waited.

“I just…Imelda wasn’t all wrong,” the shorter girl shrugged and offered Y/N a sheepish smile as she looked at her in surprise. “Her delivery could have been a lot better, though.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Y/N muttered.

“Look, you know I’m not the type to lecture and condescend. All I want - all we all want - is what’s best for you. I know you might think Sebastian is it but I don’t think he is.” Poppy lowered her voice considerably and peaked around the corner as she said his name, taking care he wasn’t around to eavesdrop.

“I thought you Hufflepuff’s always saw the best in people.”

“We’re loyal to fault, and my loyalties lie with you, not him. I’ve seen you cry over him too, Y/N. I never told anyone about the fight you two had.” Y/N stilled at her friend’s words, her mind flashing back to the argument that that had happened a few months ago. After weeks of being ignored again Y/N had finally cornered Sebastian in the Undercroft, and much like a powder keg the whole thing blew up with harsh words flying back and forth between the pair. She had finally hit him with her worst fear; that he had only stuck around with her because she was a means to an end to cure Anne. Sebastian had gone silent before nodding, and turned to leave her alone in the room, his parting words of well if that’s what you think of me echoing around her long after he had gone.

“Why?”

“Why didn’t I tell anyone?” Poppy asked. “Or why do I think he isn’t what’s right for you?”

“Both.”

“For one, Imelda would probably hunt him down and actually kill him if I told her.” Poppy tilted her head to the side, a dry smile on her face. “But mostly it was because of you. If you wanted everyone to know they would - you wouldn’t have come banging on the Hufflepuff common room door past curfew asking for me.” Y/N gave her friend a rueful smile and dropped her head back on the shelf behind her to count the ceiling tiles so that she wouldn’t cry again. “As for still being mad at him…what you said was out of line, but he never fought to correct you or prove otherwise and I watched as that killed you. No one cries like that over a friendship. You both said some vile things to each other but he ripped your heart out of your chest and I don’t think I can ever forgive him for that.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“I was in the wrong for saying that to him.” Either of them could have apologised. It didn’t fall to just Sebastian. Y/N had said things to him that were just as nasty - if not worse - during their fight.

“You were,” Poppy agreed, “but that still doesn’t excuse his behaviour. You always make excuses for him. I’m not going to get mad like Imelda did but I will say I’m not surprised.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s obvious you’re in love with him.” Poppy gave her a sad smile and Y/N felt her cheeks burn as she froze, her eyes wide as she looked at her friend apprehensively.

“I never said - ”

“You didn’t have to.” Poppy reached out and squeezed Y/N’s hand gently before turning to walk away again. “I know you might think he’ll change this time, and maybe he will - I really hope he does, to be fully honest with you. But just remember one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The devil doesn’t bargain.”

Poppy walked back to their table, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts once again. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest and a small part of her was grateful that nobody really ventured into that corner of the library as she sank to the floor slowly. She pulled her knees up, resting her forehead against them as she tried to calm her breathing and hold back a fresh wave of tears. They were right - they were always right. Sebastian did this to her constantly; he kept pulling her in only to push her away again. The last time it had happened was around their fight, and she had been a wreck for weeks because of it.

“Y/N.” A pair of feet shuffled to a stop in front of her, and Y/N felt herself go still. She would recognise his voice anywhere. It was ingrained on her very soul. He sighed quietly and she heard the shifting of fabric as she sat down across from her, his legs stretched out in front of him so he could tap her ankle gently with his shoe. “I know you can hear me.”

“What do you want, Sebastian?” she asked, not raising her head to look at him, even though it muffled her voice. If she looked at him all resolve would break and she would either scream at him for leaving her or turn into a blubbering mess and she didn’t particularly care for either of those reactions at that moment.

“Look at me.”

“No.” Sebastian laughed, a genuine laugh which sent shivers down her spine. Y/N slowly lifted her head but still didn’t look at him and instead opted to stare at his polished black shoes.

“You’ve always been so stubborn.”

“I learnt from the best.”

“That Slytherin pride really did hit us both hard,” Sebastian mused. He was quiet for a few moments before he crossed his legs and scooted closer to her so that he was almost sitting on her feet. “Look at me, darling.” Y/N hated the way her body reacted to the term of endearment. She hated that her stomach flipped pleasantly, that her heart started to beat erratically, that she could feel her face burn. She finally looks up at him, meeting his warm brown eyes with a withering glare.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Are we still pretending you don’t secretly like it when I call you darling?”

“I’ll punch you.”

“Probably,” he chuckles quietly and reaches out to brush a stray tear from the corner of her eye. “Who did this?”

“Why do you care?”

“Contrary to what you shouted at me in the Undercroft, I have and always will care about you.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

“So we circle back to the pitfalls of Slytherin pride?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “You could have just as easily spoken to me first.” Y/N looked away from him, turning her head so that she could see Madam Scribner standing at her desk and watching them both like a hawk. He was right. Hadn’t she just thought and said the same thing when she was speaking to Poppy? “Was it Reyes?”

“Will you curse her if it was?” Y/N couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth and she instantly grimaced. “I didn’t mean - ”

“You did and that’s okay.” Sebastian pulled his hand away with a defeated sigh. “I haven’t touched dark magic since that night in the catacombs. I know some people think otherwise, but they’re wrong.” He catches the confusion on her face as she wonders how he knows that and runs a hand through his hair. “You’re all not nearly as silent as you think you are.”

“You heard everything?”

“Including your speech about how you’ll always be there for me.”

“What about…?” she looks away, stomach churning with nerves as she thought about what Poppy had said to her. ‘It’s obvious you’re still in love with him’.

“Your conversation with Sweeting stays between the two of you. That felt private.”

“And what we were saying at the table wasn’t?”

“Not when you were looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m worth saving.” Y/N felt her heart crack in her chest at the look on his face. She slowly shifted so that she was crossing her legs instead and reached out to brush the back of his hand.

“Everyone is worth saving.” He gives her a sad smile at that, noting that she still won’t quite meet his eye as she chews on her lower lip nervously. They sit in silence for a few moments as Sebastian watches the cogs turn in her head before she lets out a quiet sigh and finally looks at him. “I’m sorry for what I said to you.”

“I’m sorry I treated you so poorly that you even thought about it in the first place.”

“I didn’t mean it. I just…I was angry and hurt and I lashed out and wanted you to feel even a fraction of the pain I was feeling. I know you were never just using me in the hopes of finding a cure for Anne. You didn’t even know about my ability to take pain away until we had been searching for a cure for months.”

“It doesn’t matter if you did mean it - I forgive you,” he murmured, taking her hand in his. He mulls over his next words carefully, a small frown on his face. “I was stupid to push you away. I thought you both would be better off without me - especially you. I led you down a dark path and never stopped to consider the consequences of doing so. I ruined your life.”

“No you didn’t,” Y/N tightened her grip on his hand so that he would meet her eye. “I’m my own person, Sebastian. I chose to follow you down that path. You always asked if I wanted to learn and I said yes. You never forced me into anything. You didn’t ruin my life.”

“What do you think will happen if anyone ever finds out what happened to Solomon?” his voice lowered considerably as he spoke. “You’re not just going to get a slap on the wrist, Y/N.”

“No one will find out, Seb. Even if they do, it was my choice. I was the one who told Ominis we shouldn’t turn you in.”

“You…why?” Sebastian’s voice cracked as he asked the question and Y/N saw tears start to well in his eyes. “Why would you risk everything for me like that?”

“Because I - ” Y/N broke off as she felt her face burn. Now wasn’t the time to accidentally tell him that she loved him. “Because I would do anything for you.”

“You said that in the present tense.”

“I did.”

“Even after all the horrible things I said to you?”

“I wasn’t exactly a saint back, Sebastian.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You do.” Y/N leaned forward and kissed his cheek before she could process the decision. “You deserve everything, Seb. You deserve to be happy.”

“You made me happy - you make me happy. Present tense,” he squeezes her hands gently. “I was an idiot to ever push you away.”

“Well, you won’t hear me disagree with that,” Y/N teased. Sebastian laughed quietly and she felt like a weight she didn’t even notice got lifted from her shoulders. “If you ever do this again…”

“Duly noted, no need to continue with that threat,” he chuckled. Footsteps walked in their direction - too heavy to be Poppy or Imelda and too purposeful to be any other student. The tell tale glow of Ominis’ wand lit up the stacks moment before he rounded the corner and came to a stop a few feet away from the pair.

“Y/N? Are you still here?”

“I am.” Ominis’ wand wavered to the left slightly, a barely perceptible frown on his face as he wondered who else was present, before he exhaled.

“Hello, Sebastian.”

“Ominis.” The pair stared at each other tensely (or at least, Sebastian stared at Ominis, whilst the latter looked slightly to his left) before Ominis turned to Y/N with a resigned expression.

“Shall I tell Imelda you’ve left? I can bring your things to the common room later.”

“She’s never going to believe it.”

“No, she won’t.” Ominis rolled his eyes and leaned against the bookshelf slightly. “She put two and two together the minute Sebastian walked in this direction, but Poppy is keeping her at bay.”

“She is?”

“She told me to tell you if you hurt Y/N again she will set a Hungarian Horntail on you,” Ominis turned back in Sebastian’s direction as he delivered the threat. “I don’t think I need to add what I’ll do if I ever have to listen to her cry again because of you.” Y/N looked away from Sebastian as his head snapped back in her direction, a look of distress on his features at knowing just how much pain he had caused her.

“Understood.” Sebastian stood up and brushed the dust from his trousers before offering Y/N his hand. She hesitated for a few seconds but took it nonetheless and let him pull her to her feet. Sebastian didn’t let go once she was standing and instead he laced their fingers together and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Ominis.”

“Don’t thank me yet. If it wasn’t for Poppy I would jinx you where you stand.”

“Well, thank Sweeting for me then.” There was a small grin on Sebastian’s face as he carefully tugged at Y/N’s hand, silently asking if she would go with him. She nodded before releasing his fingers so that she could pull Ominis into a tight hug. He froze, not expecting the contact, before weaving his wand-free hand around her frame and hugging her back.

“You tell me if he tries anything,” he muttered in her ear.

“Right after I hex him first.”

“That’s my girl.” Ominis released her with a chuckle and Y/N wandered back to Sebastian, who placed a hand on her lower back as he led her out of the library. They walked in silence until they reached the north exit for the castle and Sebastian let out a long breath and turned to look at her.

“I need you to know I’ll never treat you like that again. I can’t even begin to make it all up to you, but I’m willing to spend the rest of my days doing so,” he said. Y/N reached out for his hand and laced their fingers together again as she pulled him towards the gate that would lead them towards the path for Hogsmeade.

“On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You forgive me for how I spoke to you and what I accused you of,” she came to a stop and turned to look at him.

“Done,” he said quietly, a soft smile on his face. “I forgave you for that a long time ago, Y/L/N.” He brushed some hair behind her ear, his touch lingering on her cheek before he cleared his throat and looked away, his cheeks tinted pink. Y/N felt her stomach flip pleasantly and couldn’t help but smile shyly as they turned back towards the path. Now wasn’t the time to consider her feelings for him, or to tease him for his blush. But one day the bridges between them would be mended completely, and so she stored the information away for then.

564 notes · View notes

chlorine-and-daisies · 3 months

Text

nobody had to tell aziraphale that he loves crowley.

neither angels nor demons are taught anything about love or relationships or desire. even though crowley has been saving aziraphale for thousands of years and repeatedly asked him to run away, it still seems to hit him as this whole realization when nina talks to him about their relationship. he finally puts the pieces together that he needs to speak to aziraphale about their feelings. even during his de-facto confession he still seems to shy away from using the l-word or calling them a couple (a group of two).

we don't see anyone have a similar conversation with aziraphale (no, the "you're better off without him" guy doesn't count). he's never told that loving crowley is even a possibility for him.

and yet it's aziraphale who starts to choke out an "i love you" before cutting himself off.

aziraphale who constantly stares at crowley like he's barely stopping himself from pouncing.

he may be terrified of his feelings, but he can't deny that he knows their name. somehow he came to the realization all on his own, long before crowley did. he's been fantasizing for so long, inserting crowley into every romance book he read, probably guilty and afraid the whole time.

and furthermore he also picks up a little bit about crowley's feelings for him! the raised eyebrow when shax says he's not crowley's type, the "rescuing me makes him so happy." maybe he doesn't yet fully realize that they could be together, but he does at least acknowledge the mutual attraction, which is more than crowley does.

why else would he respond to a kiss that was *not gentle,* that he didn't see coming, that makes him cry, with "i love you?"

he recognizes that in the final act, after the long-awaited kiss, the protagonists of a romance are supposed to say i love you, and then they will stay together forever and get their happy ending.

the whole touching fingers to lips thing is absolutely a trope he's seen in books and movies too.

and i think this explains the ball as well. aziraphale is clearly intelligent and always reading, so at first i was wondering how he could have misunderstood jane austen so badly. after all, balls in themselves don't necessarily help characters find true love- balls are for watching from across the room and short conversations, for wondering who your dance partner really is and what could be. austen's characters don't really Fall In Love until they communicate.

take pride and prejudice- elizabeth may stare at darcy during balls, but she doesn't start to truly warm up to him until he explains his actions and makes his good intentions clear in his letter.

it seems more likely that aziraphale isn't misunderstanding austen's writing- instead he's misunderstanding love.

he thinks that the balls- the pining from a respectable distance, in a space with everyone watching you- are all people need to fall in love, because THAT IS ALL THAT HAS EVER COME OF HIS LOVE FOR CROWLEY.

and i cannot wait for him to realize that crowley loves him just as fiercely, that they are capable of giving each other so much more than the wondering and dreaming, that love isn't just the *hunger* but also the communication and the mutual expressions and the comfortable and safe and beautiful life together. the nightingales :)

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow

105 notes · View notes

bedtimegiraffe · 1 month

Text

I finally figured out why all the party members in Book 2 come out as so frustratingly self-focused to me.

It's not because they're all struggling with their own stuff. It's all about shelving your agenda- that thing in a relationship where you go, 'You need my support right now, so we're going to worry about my thing later.'

And MC does this constantly.

I just barely escaped death and found out a year passed, but is Kade recovered from the Shadow Court?

I just almost drowned, but it's time to comfort this owlbear cub and unpack Valax's trauma!

I just almost died twice to the Ash Empress, but is Nia coping with being corrupted okay?

Which can be okay. Shelving your agenda is part of a healthy relationship of any kind.

The problem is that no one does it back. I think Tyril and Nia kind of sum up the whole group's attitude:

But I don't think MC was ever going to be 'ready.' Someone else was always going to have to 'unshelve' it for them and make an effort to put the focus on MC.

Now, adventurers don't tend to be particularly well adjusted people. The full party has got maybe 1.5 healthy childhoods and 4 living parents between them (judged pretty generously). But it still feels like the others can't get it together enough to ask if MC is okay. Not that MC really makes it easy! I see MC as someone who is so used to pushing their feelings down to focus on whatever work is in front of them, they almost can't access their own emotions.

Which is why we had the brief glimpses of panic and the breakdown moment in Chapter 17. I think the breakdown makes sense mechanically. Kade is the one character your MC is guaranteed to have a strong connection to and this way it's not gated behind any diamond choices (like some really crucial character moments with Aerin and Valax, no I'm not bitter about it). But that makes it feel like the whole party has been neglecting MC while Kade immediately sees MC and goes, "Dude, you are not okay. Talk to me.'

And MC tries to turn it into comforting Kade! Kade has to actively argue with MC to make them actually acknowledge that they're having a hard time.

MC for some reason can't or won't talk about their own trauma and Kade (who's only been around for 5 minutes) is the one who has to actively force the issue for MC's own good. Which is not a great look for the rest of the found family.

Afterward, Mal and Nia both seem to address it without really getting the point. Mal says, "We know things didn't go the way any of us wanted." (Which could mean... anything. But I'm feeling generous.)

Protecting MC from death is not an equivalent exchange to talking about feelings! It is in fact dodging the feelings by focusing on practicalities again! Y'all better get it together in Book 3, I swear.

Overall, MC constantly delays addressing their own vulnerability and issues to focus on everyone else. And the others don't know how to do the same thing for MC, so the pattern just gets more engrained and damaging.

Except for Kade, my perfect boy.

Sources (they're fun, I promise!):

Screenshots from Neckrone Shen's playthroughs of Blades on YouTube, my go-to for whenever I can't remember something or don't have the screenshots myself.

I think @oh-so-youre-a-nerd's incredible piece 'Take Take Take' kept rattling around in my head until I figured out how to articulate why it felt this way: https://www.tumblr.com/oh-so-youre-a-nerd/736449955360899072/take-take-take?source=share

The language of 'shelving your agenda' came from the very good Cinema Therapy video about Kristoff from Frozen:

youtube

#I will choose to try and make things make sense in-universe rather than citing writing choices 100% of the time #I love the team I just think there were some windows of downtime they really could have used to check on MC (all the time on boats...)#choices blades of light and shadow #blades of light and shadow #choices blades #blades 2 #blades mc #choices bolas 2 #choices bolas #tyril starfury #nia ellarious #kade #kade of riverbend

76 notes · View notes

shiorimakibawrites · 7 months

Text

Imitation (Kinktober Day 9)

Personal Masterlist for Kinktober 2023

Flightless AngelWings's original prompt list can be found here.

Day 9 - Role Play

Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 2,057

Warnings: Role play, referenced masturbation, leather kink, kissing, love bites, dirty talk, vaginal fingering, hand job, spanking, light bruising, unprotected p in v sex, overstimulation

Tagging: @flightlessangelwings

Imitation

You looked in the mirror, doing one last inspection of your costume. Black cargo pants, belt, long-sleeved shirt, tactical boots and gloves – check. Black pads for your elbow, forearm, and wrists – check. Holster around your thigh complete with batons – check. Only thing left was the black mask.

The mask had been the most difficult part. It had taken you a couple of weeks to find something that looked right. That something ended up being your black leggings. Bonus was that you could kinda of see through it. Yes, if asked, Matt would teach you how to navigate while blindfolded. But that would have given away your plans.

When Matt agreed to role play, he was probably expecting you to dress up as nurse. Or a cop. Maybe a judge. You had bet good money that he was not expecting the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

When he got home from work, you were waiting by the roof access door. A door you swung closed with a heavy thud just as he entered the apartment. That didn’t startle him like it would have you. But he did seem surprised, standing there with his back to you, hand still on the door he had just pushed close.

He might not have jumped like you would have but you rolled with it, saying, “Sorry, sweetheart, didn’t mean to startle you.”

You had created your own Devil voice. It was lower register than your normal speaking voice, not unlike his, but instead of trying and failing to replicate that gravely rasp, you went with a husky, purring quality. You thought it sounded pretty good. Much better than actually mimicking his voice poorly and sounding ridiculous.

Matt turned to face you, tilting his head to one side, his brow burrowed as he visibly concentrated his senses on you. Trying to work out what role you had decided to play. Listening to your excited heartbeat. To how the clothing you were wearing sounded as you moved away from the door. To the sound of your heavy boots as you moved down the stairs into main living space.

Watching his nostrils flare and his tongue dart across his lips, you knew he could smell that you had been touching yourself. Could taste that you were still wet.

He said your name in a questioning tone as you stalked toward him.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” you said as you stopped in front of him. “Just a little bruising on my ribs.”

“Bruising?” he repeated, sounding a mixture of confused, concern, and anger. His hands reached for you, intend on assessing the mentioned injury and his expression already beginning to darken with fury at the very idea that someone had harmed you. The moment his hands landed on your torso and felt the material of your shirt, you saw the pieces click together.

It didn’t take him long to get into character. Gingerly tracing your ‘bruised’ ribs, he asked, “Nothing else? We don’t need to call Claire?”

“No,” you said. “I’m fine. It was a quiet night.”

He made an acknowledging humming noise as his hands roamed your body with the same light touches that you did when checking him for injuries. Through his lips twitched with barely suppressed laughter when he came across your batons and realized they were the lightweight wooden rods you used for craft projects and gardening.

“Wearing the black again?” he asked, his hands coming to rest on your hips.

“It’s a classic,” you said, reaching up to cup his face in your gloved hands. He shuddered. Just a little one but still noticeable. You were intrigued and make a mental note to explore that reaction further. But right now, you want to kiss him.

Maybe it’s because you are already worked up and he was already getting excited but there was nothing sweet or chaste about that kiss. You were both panting by the time you were forced to end that kiss but you weren’t done with his mouth. You nipped and sucked at his bottom lip, swallowing his moans, your hands buried in his hair.

With some reluctance, you let go of his lip to start trailing kisses down his neck until you reached the collar of his button-down shirt. Then one hand was forced to leave his hair in favor of the loosening that tie so you could reach that sensitive spot that otherwise partially covered by his collar. Once done, you kissed, nipped, and sucked at the flesh until you were sure he was going to have a hickey there.

One that would be partially visible when he was fully dressed. Fair was fair. He had done the same thing to you numerous times. He groaned and his hands slide off your waist in favor of your ass.

“Grabbing my ass now, sweetheart?” you murmured into his neck, still kissing and nipping, while your hands worked to unbutton his shirt.

“Can’t help it, babe,” he said in between pants, kneading your ass with both hands. “Your ass is too pretty not to touch.”

You made a humming sound as acknowledgment, taking a quick break from unbuttoning his shirt to give his ass a squeeze. “Right back at ya, sweetheart.”

Eager for his bare skin, you focused on making quick work of his clothes. Pulling his tie off, you let it fall where it may on the floor. You finished unbuttoning his shirt, pushing it and his suit jacket off at once. Then you got back to the serious business of turning him into a moaning mess.

Which you were having remarkable success at. Feeling your hands in tactical gloves roaming over his torso, judging by those little shudders as your gloved fingers traced his muscles and scars. Along with a groan when your wandering hands reached his nipples. Followed by an even louder groan when you switched from your fingers to your mouth.

His hands hadn’t remained idle. One hand remained on your ass but the other was undoing your belt. It didn’t long for his clever fingers to take care of the belt as well as the button and the zipper. He reached into your pants to find another surprise. A deep, rumbling moan erupted from his chest.

“No panties?” he said, his voice already sounding wrecked.

“Nope,” you answered, gasping when the hand on your ass lifted and then came back down with a smack.

“Well, aren’t you a naughty little devil?” he said as two of those thick fingers found your clit. You couldn’t stopped the loud moan at the sparkles of pleasure this caused if you had wanted to. Nor did you miss the smug smirk spreading across his face.

Two could play at that game, Mr. Murdock.

You unbuckled his belt and opened the closures on his pants. Then reached your hand inside his boxers and wrapped around your hand around his growing erection. Your reward was a gasp and jerk of his hips. And some muttered swearing as you started stroking his cock into full hardness.

“I think,” you said, pausing to moan when one of his fingers slipped inside you. “That you – Oh God, Matt – have a thing – yes, there – for leather gloves.”

“I might,” he grunted, pumping two fingers into your eager cunt as you continued to jerk him off. “Be – fuck, sweetheart – interesting to see your – ah – reaction.”

It was a little awkward getting to the couch, considering you were very reluctant to lose his fingers inside you or remove your hand from his cock. Matt seemed equally disinclined. But eventually you got there. When the back of his legs hit the couch, you took your hand off of his cock. He let out a low whine, a sound you echoed as sitting down required him removing his fingers from inside you. Your cunt clenched around nothing as you watched him put those fingers in his mouth and moaned.

But you had a plan – your cunt wouldn’t be empty for long.

As quickly as possible, you took off the boots and stripped off your pants. Not bothering to remove the rest of your clothes, you placed your right knee against his left thigh. You gripped his shoulders to maintain your balance as you lifted your other leg into position.

You had no idea when and where his glasses had disappeared but you were happy they had. Because it mean that you got to see the excited anticipation lighting up his entire face as you straddled him. His hands eagerly made themselves at home on your hips, then you lowered yourself into his lap.

You both moaned at the feeling of his hard cock against your wet cunt. His hands tightened as you wasted no time and started grinding against him. When you leaned forward and press another hard, sucking kiss to that sensitive spot on his neck. He cried out and bucked his hips. Now it was your turn to smirk.

“F-fuck,” he said, his voice strained. “I’m going to cum.”

“No,” you said. “Not yet.”

You lifted yourself off his lap, ignoring his whine of protest. Reaching down with your right hand, you gripped his cock and lined him up with your entrance. A deep breath, then you began to lower yourself. Slower than you had planned to. It was always a stretch – Matt wasn’t a small man in any measure – but usually you’ve had at least one orgasm before trying to fit him inside you. Not today.

The one advantage to the slower pace was that by the time he was sheathed inside your cunt, Matt was gripping your hips almost tight enough to leave bruises. You feel the tension in the muscles underneath you, the slight tremble, and knew it was taking all of his self control not to move. To give you cunt time to adjust when all he wanted to do was start fucking you.

Curious to see if you could break that self control, you circled your hips as your cunt continued to flutter around him. A deep moan, then his hand was smacking your ass again.

“Naughty little devil,” he growled. If his goal was discourage your actions, that was the wrong approach. The smack just sent sparkles of pleasure down your spine. Made your cunt clenching tightly around him. Which in turn made he thrust up. Just once before he regained control of himself but his cock had brushing against that place inside you that had you seeing stars.

Panting, you pushed yourself up until just the tip of him remained inside you, then lower yourself back down until he had bottomed out again. Again and again, building a rhythm and (too) slowly increasing your pace. The slower build-up nagged at your impatience but the payoff was totally worth it.

Matt whimpering under you, moans spilling out of his mouth like water, while you fucked him on his own couch while still half-dressed as his alter ego. Matt so lost in pleasure that he could no longer stop himself from thrusting up, driving himself deeper inside you and making you chant his name. Gripping your hips so hard that you were sure to have little bruises there later.

Close. You were so close . . .

One of his hands left your hip to start rubbing your clit. You cried out as you felt yourself clench tightly around his cock. A strangled moan erupted out of his mouth as he gave a particularly hard thrust into you and came inside you. His finger didn’t stop toying with your clit, drawing out your orgasm until you were slumped against him and starting to whine from sensitivity.

Through he also sounded a little sensitive a little while later when he lifted your hips and let his cock slip out of you. He gently lowered your hips back into his lap. You were both still breathing hard and you were sweating. One hand rubbed up and down your back. The other reached up and took off the mask. That it was fine. It was starting to get hot anyway.

He chuckled. You had the feeling that you might have said that out loud. You were feeling warm and a little floaty. Almost like you were drunk. You continued to feel that way even when he laughed at you for not being able to move your legs.

#fawktober2023 #kinktober 2023 #netflix daredevil #daredevil smut #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock smut #day 9

160 notes · View notes

cockslutpadalecki · 8 months

Text

But The Flesh Is Always Weak

Summary: It’s been a week since Andy broke things off, but to you, it feels like a lifetime.

Characters: Professor!Andy Barber x Student!Reader.

Words: 3K.

Warnings: teacher/student relationship, possessive behaviour, unhinged behaviour, gaslighting, manipulation, a face slap, throat grabbing, hate sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), forced orgasm, throat fucking, 18+. MINORS DNI.

A/N: The last visit to these two… well, for now. Thought I’d had better get round to posting this! You can read the rest of their story here. Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support our content creators by sharing our work.

It’s only been a week since Andy broke things off, citing, “You should be dating boys your own age,” but it feels like a lifetime. A lifetime spent in hell.

Every passing minute hurts. Every waking thought is plagued by his words and his touch on your skin. You drive yourself crazy, crying to the point of exhaustion before you wake up and do it all over again.

You can’t eat; you can’t sleep. Your chest aches with every breath you take without him, and quite often as you clutch at it in the midst of another breakdown, you wonder if dying from a broken heart is possible.

You shuffle through each day like a zombie, mindless with no real destination in mind— just wandering around waiting for something to distract you.

It’s not until you get an email from him nine days in— addressed not only to you, but the Dean— that the agony seems to lessen slightly at the sight of his name.

“I’m reaching out as you haven’t been to class for the past week and a half. I’m growing concerned for your wellbeing as this is just not like you. Please get in touch as soon as possible.”

It becomes an olive branch that you obsess over, desperately trying to seek out any hidden message he could be attempting to send. But after days of searching, you have nothing to show for your efforts and you begin to resent him.

Anger bubbles up in place of your heartache— a strange sense of still needing him like you need air, but at the same time, wishing you could hurt him just as badly as he has hurt you.

You can’t believe he has the audacity to show concern like he’s not solely responsible for shattering your world into a million tiny irreparable pieces, without a shred of noticeable apathy.

The driving force that propels you to attend his class surprises even you. You wake before your alarm, eager to dress in the outfit you excitedly picked the night before. Your stomach flutters as you walk through campus, feeling the most clear-headed you have in days. You can’t wait to see him.

You feel a little giddy at the prospect of seeing evidence of the breakup on his face— perhaps red-rimmed eyes or melancholy preventing his smile from reaching his lips, but he somehow looks better now than before.

He doesn’t bat an eyelid when you slink into the hall while he’s mid-speech. He barely acknowledges your presence when you hand him your overdue essay; a secret love note slipped in between the pages just like you used to do.

But what stings the most is that he doesn’t stop you from leaving when class is over. It’s like you don’t exist. Like the past nine months meant nothing, along with the litany of promises he’s already broken.

He’s doing fine and you’re not? How is that fair? your mind screams as you glance over your shoulder, catching Rebecca hovering around his desk like a common house fly, buzzing around shit.

You pause in the doorway, your stomach dropping like lead when Andy finally approaches her, and places his hand delicately on her arm.

And as he flashes her a wide grin, all of the momentum inside you deflates— the hurt and pain he has caused you morphs into pure rage.

The following evening, you know he’ll be alone at home. Five times you try to talk yourself out of going, but the overriding consensus eventually wins— he won’t be able to turn you away on his own doorstep. You just want to talk to him.

Maybe ask if he’s replaced you with Rebecca yet.

You pull up outside his neighbors’ and switch off the engine, gathering up the courage to get out when you notice movement at the front door. Andy steps outside, but he’s not alone.

You’ve only seen her— his wife— in photographs, and you actually hate that she’s more beautiful in person. Part of you wonders why Andy would betray her, but then you remember all of the horror stories he would tell you.

Her beauty is only skin deep.

From the things you know about their relationship— how strained it is— it surprises you when he wraps his arm around her shoulder, leaning in to kiss her hair as they walk to his car. They’re laughing, smiling without a care in the world. From this vantage point, they look and act like newlyweds. You feel sick as you keep watching, noticing the way he gently pats her ass when she climbs into the passenger seat.

The same passenger seat you’ve sat in countless times on drives back from secret trysts in dingy motel rooms, while your cunt still throbs.

Just before he gets into the car, he looks over his shoulder and for a wild moment, you swear he locks eyes with you from across the street.

He’s brought her here. The same place you used to have dinner. For a moment it feels like a knife wound to the heart that he would have the audacity to share this with her, but then you realise he has to be sending you a message. He must know you’ve followed him and he’s trying to communicate with you covertly so as not to draw attention to it.

Your stomach flutters, feeling a heavy sense of relief wash over you.

He still cares. He still wants you.

For an hour, you sit in the parking lot before you regret drinking so much soda on your way here, needing desperately to pee. You know you could go to the mall across the street, but your feet pull you towards the restaurant before you can stop them.

You make your way to the restroom, careful to avoid their table, and just as you’re about to leave, you spot Andy making his way towards you. Your heart leaps into your chest and you double back, waiting for the moment he’ll come bursting in, overwhelmed with joy at the sight of you.

Nothing but silence follows, except for the dull thud of the men’s door opening and closing.

Naughty. He wants you to go to him.

Giggling, you sneak out of the women’s and push open the door to the men’s restroom, confused a little when you don’t spot Andy at the urinals. You’re about to retreat when you hear his familiar whistle, remembering all the mornings after the night before where you’d wake up to the sound of him in the en suite, whistling his favorite tune.

He knows you’re listening. Dropping breadcrumbs in the hopes you’ll follow the trail right to his feet. And as you slip through the small gap between the door and frame, you hungrily swallow down every piece.

You wait until he’s finished in the stall before making yourself known. You don’t want to frighten him but as he begins to turn in the small space, ready to leave, he spots you in the doorway and nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Jesus, what the fuck!” he half shouts, half whispers.

“Oh god, I missed you,” you gush. Andy stares wide-eyed at you when you rush towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso. You inhale deeply and revel in his familiar smell, the scent enveloping you like a hazy dream. It feels so good to be so close to him again. Pulling back, you gaze up at him before rising onto your tiptoes, preparing to place a kiss on his lips.

He quickly intervenes, pushing you away. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I wanted to see you so I went to your office, but you weren’t there so I thought I’d go by your house,” you reply simply, like he’s just asked you what two plus two is.

“Th-that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

You shrug. “I saw you getting in the car, so I followed you.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I wanted to see where you were going, silly,” you giggle. “Bet you couldn’t imagine my surprise when you brought her to our place,” you add a little sharply.

“Actually, I used to come here…” he pauses before continuing with, “y’know, before.”

The metaphorical knife in your chest twists at his words, but you manage to recover quickly.

“It’s okay,” you smile, “I can let that go.”

You reach out for his hand, loving the softness, but inexplicably rough of his skin on yours. He allows it for a moment, running his thumb over yours before snatching it away.

“You can’t be here.”

“Afraid she’ll catch us?” you sidle up to him with a cute laugh. “Is this a new thing you want us to try?” Gently, you cup him through his pants and a wave of heat ripples through your gut. Andy hisses, his cock stirring against you as you squeeze gently, encouraging it to swell. “C’mon, don’t you remember the risks we used to take?” You rise up again, kissing the underside of his bottom lip. Even his beard feels amazing brushing across your chin.

He snaps, yelling, “No!” as he pushes you away, yet again.

Sudden hot tears gather in your eyes at his outburst and a horrid realization sets in. “Have you really moved on already?”

“How can I move on from something we never really had in the first place?” he brutally admits.

Ouch.

“But you promised me the world,” you start tearfully, “why would you choose her over me?”

Andy’s brow furrows. “She’s my wife.”

So? “That didn’t seem to matter when you were fucking me in her bed.”

White hot pain explodes across your cheek as the sound of the slap follows. Your hand shoots up to cradle the area, your skin throbbing. Fresh tears form as you try to stop yourself from crying with a loud sniff.

Andy steps to you, covering your hand with his. You’ve never seen him look so apologetic, even after he dumped you. “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have— that was wrong.”

You stare up at him, wide-eyed as he comforts you, asking if you’re okay. You just nod slowly, unable to find the words. This is what you needed to prove he still cares.

“What we did, we shouldn’t have done,” he says softly. “I took advantage of you.”

“Was it really taking advantage when I wanted you too?”

Andy smiles kindly, stroking your hand with his thumb. “I can’t give you what you want. You need someone who will treat you like you deserve.”

“Why would I want anybody else?” you counter back with a shake of your head.

He lifts his hand from yours and places them both on his hips with a heavy sigh. “I know it’s hard to get over somebody you care about, but with time, it will get easier.” He reaches out, tenderly rubs your bicep as a form of comfort. He looks awkward doing it, like he’s afraid to touch you, when he’s touched you— fucked you in more intimate places than most boys would even be able to find on a map.

Is he recounting that from experience? Is he telling you he’s not really over you either despite his insistence he is?

“I don’t want time, I don’t want it to get easier. I just want you.”

Andy rubs his fingers into his eyes and lets go of an exasperated huff. “Listen to me,” he glances up, lips tight in a frown, “I’ve tried to be nice about it, but this is the last time I’m gonna say this. We’re over.”

Your cheek smarts as your jaw tightens and the rage you’ve managed to suppress bubbles up. “Then I guess I’ll just have to tell everyone you hit me.”

He stares down at you in contempt for the first time ever, his features twisted in disgust. “That was an accident, I didn’t mean to do it, you know that.”

“Was it though?” You give him a teasing pout. “‘Mr. Barber came onto me, slapped me when I said no’,” you put on a sad voice before it returns to normal. “Sounds like an open and shut case to me.”

“Don’t you understand how damaging those accusations would be?” he spits, incensed. “I would lose my job, my marriage, everything.”

You smile at him, giddy. “But then we could be together for real! No college to prosecute you for fucking a student and she’d divorce you, it’s perfect.”

The ire on Andy’s face contorts into sheer bafflement. “You crazy bitch, you’ve lost your fucking mind.” He tries to shuffle past you, but you block his way. “Get out of my way before I move you myself.”

“What are you going to do, Sir?” you taunt. “Hit me again?”

He lunges forward, hand wrapped around your throat and forces you up against the wall of the stall. “Don’t tempt me,” he breathes out heavily, gazing down at your body until his eyes meet yours once again. “Why I ever thought getting involved with you was a good idea, I’ll never know.”

“Because, and I quote, ‘no other pussy could ever come close’,” you manage to croak out from beneath his grip. Reaching out, you cup him through his pants and he hisses between gritted teeth.

Andy swats your hand away, but you quickly grab hold of his, shoving it beneath the hem of your dress. You let out a moan as his fingers brush up against your damp panties.

You see the way Andy’s eyes flicker at the contact, the slight loss of control when his fingers flex around your throat. You move his hand up and down your clothed cunt, letting go of tiny whimpers as flames of heat begin burning through your core.

“Touch me,” you beg. “Please.”

His jaw ticks like he’s fighting with himself, growling under his breath as you use his hand to pluck your panties to the side.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you purr. “Show me how much you’ve missed my tight little cunt.”

Closing his eyes, he mutters, “Stop,” but makes no attempt to pull away.

He wants this just as much as you.

And when you finally manipulate his fingers inside you, you can feel the resistance ebb as he starts to fight for control and eventually you let go, confident in the knowledge he’s not going to pull away. You reach for him and unzip his pants, the warmth of his cock meeting your fingertips as you slip your hand inside the gap.

“Remember how good I used to make you feel,” you whisper with delicacy.

He doesn’t respond, instead choosing to stare at you the entire time, face tight with disdain as the sloppy wet sounds of your cunt fill the tiny stall. Legs trembling, you can feel your orgasm beginning to crest. The pressure in your gut becomes too much. You push at his hand to move it away, but Andy doesn’t stop.

“No. You wanted this, so you’re gonna come,” he tells you sharply. “Do it.”

“I c-can’t.”

“You will.” He leans in, capturing your lips in a wet kiss as he presses the base of his palm against your clit, and you unravel like a spool of thread.

You’re still coming as he removes his hands from your body, hurriedly lifting you up around his waist. He’s inside you in one swift stroke, stuffing you to the brim for a split second before he’s pulling back out.

He fucks you like he hates you. Mean, hard thrusts that push you back against the stall until your spine physically aches from the force. You embrace it— every bruise, every welt— the pain reminds you of how close you came to losing him, and you promise yourself that it won’t happen again.

Another wave of heat builds steadily beneath your skin, tingling all the way down to your toes. This time, you welcome the overstimulation, squirting all over his cock with a heady moan.

“Oh fuck,” he growls into the juncture of your neck, teeth nipping at your skin. “God, holy shit.” Andy roughly pulls out, and drops you to your feet. He tugs on his dick as you move to kneel before him, presenting your tongue like a dog waiting for a treat.

Andy grabs your hair, tugging hard on the roots as he shoves his cock to the back of your throat and you gag from the lack of warning. He fucks your mouth, exploding messily across your tongue with a strained grunt, stray droplets of cum spilling out from the corner of your lips, unable to lick them away.

Your throat throbs when he retreats, and blessed air rushes back into your lungs with an almighty whoosh. Eventually, he loosens his grip on your skull and leans into the stall with his palm, eyes firmly closed. His breathing is still jagged and unsteady as he repeats, “fuck,” to himself as the enormity of the situation comes crashing down around him.

Finally, his eyes flicker open, the pure disgust and conviction returning to his expression as he stares down at you, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it.

“This is it,” he states curtly. You slowly rise to your feet in the small gap, leaning in to kiss him but he pulls back.

“Don’t be like that, Daddy,” you pout. “You used to love tasting yourself on my lips.”

His jaw tightens in frustration as he snaps, “I mean it,” and your name rolls off his tongue like molasses.

“Okay,” you smirk with a light shrug, triumphant that despite his insistence, you know it won’t be. You have leverage and Andy, of all people, should know that's the golden ticket. You slip from the stall without another word, taking a moment to check yourself out in the mirror before turning to press a finger to your lips. Grabbing the door handle, you yank it open without bothering to check if anyone is around before sauntering out, a little limp new to your gait.

***

ALL CE: @buckymydarlingangel @broadwaybabe18 @captain-asguard @chamberofsloths @cevansgurl @dreamlessinparis @deanwinchesterswitch @fandom-princess-forevermore @hurricanerin @kellhems @ladybug05 @mugi-chwan95 @navybrat817 @otomefromtheheart @oneoftheprettynerds @patzammit @rebel-stardust @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @sammykb1994 @syrenavenger @saiyanprincessswanie @sunwardsss @selfsun @threeminutesoflife @vicmc624 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wintasssoldier @xoxonotme

4EVS: @amirra88 @andreasworlsboring101 @b3autyfuldisast3r @cheesyclaire @chibijusstuff @callsignrambam @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @heyyouwiththeassbutt @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @ilovefanfic86 @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @letsby @letsdisneythings @labella420 @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @nik2write @obsessivelycapricious @patrick-hockslutter @princessmisery666 @phildunphyisadilf @sage-writing @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @smokeandnailz @stoneyggirl @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @thegirlnextdoorssister @wayward-dreamer @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox

#andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #defending jacob fanfiction #dark!reader #chris evans fanfiction

279 notes · View notes