#it’s drawn from memory few hours after seeing the performance | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whateveriwant · 5 months

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Idk if you're taking requests, but here I am. Maybe TF 141 with an S/O who has ADHD and when going places, like a mall, for example they'll just completely walk away and they'll just loose their S/O

I took 'reader who is always walking away' and ran with it… ba dum tss (sorry, I had to). Anyway, I hope this is sorta what you were looking for! I was in a Christmas-y mood so all of these are winter/holiday themed!

Price

The park is especially busy for a Friday afternoon. There's children playing in the snow, daring youths having a go on the frozen lake, and families everywhere making memories to last a lifetime.

You've only been sitting on this bench for roughly a quarter of an hour before Price starts to squirm beside you, something clearly making him uncomfortable. Before you can even ask what it is, he's standing from the seat in one brisk motion.

“Be back in a moment, darling,” he grumbles. “The cold makes me need to piss like a stallion.”

As he takes off to find a place to relieve himself, all you can do is laugh and call after him to, “Wash your hands!”

Five minutes and one desecrated tree later, he emerges from the secluded thicket of bushes he found, zipping up his fly discreetly. He makes his way back to the bench you'd been seated at, a bit of a spring to his step… only to deflate once he discovers you’ve disappeared into thin air.

He sighs out loud – a long, drawn-out sound. He could say he's surprised but then he'd be lying. He knows you and your tendency to wander off; this is nothing new to him. Now it's just a matter of finding you again… for the third time this week, he remarks internally.

He would try calling you but he already knows you forgot your phone at home. He's got to get better about reminding you to take it with you whenever you leave the house, especially if he's constantly having to chase after you like you're some sort of loose gerbil.

Thankfully, he sees a set of footprints which he believes to be yours leading away from the bench. So, with no better clues to guide him, he decides to follow after the tracks, hoping they'll lead him right to you.

It's not long into it that he hears a sound in the distance, sort of a low, pleasant humming that grows stronger the closer he gets. It's only a minute or two later when – eureka! – he finds you standing with a small crowd who've gathered to listen to a group of carolers.

Ahh, of course. He should've known. You just can't resist a good live performance. Like a siren calling to you in a storm, one way or another, you'll always find your way to them.

Price easily sidles up next to you, flashing a smile when you briefly turn to take notice of him. His hand finds the small of your back as he joins you in listening, enjoying the festive songs performed by the carolers.

You're standing for a while, attention fully drawn to the singers ahead, when at some point you lean into Price’s ear, your voice lowered to a whisper.

“You washed your hands?” Your question is earnest, if not a little playful.

In response, and with a tone most firm, he declares simply, “...Yep.” Though, the way his hand slips from your back and into his coat pocket reeks of something awfully similar to guilt.

Ghost

You're on your 15th row when you spot it. There, standing not quite two and a half meters tall, perfectly green and dense and conical: your Christmas tree for the year.

An excited squeal leaves your lips and you swiftly run up to the tree to admire its beauty. “This is it! This is the one! Oh, isn't it just perfect?” you say reverently.

“Hold on a minute, love,” Ghost tries to rein you in as he lags a bit further behind. “Isn't that wha' you said about the one a few rows back? Wha' about that one?”

Oh yeah! You forgot all about that tree!

Well, now that he's reminded you, you want to do a little comparison. You tell him to stay put and guard this one while you quickly run back to check out that other one.

Two, five, nearly ten minutes pass and you haven't returned, much to Ghost’s chagrin. He thinks his bollocks must’ve shrunk three sizes by now from how long he's been standing out in this freezing cold.

After a dozen or so minutes, he tries ringing you, just to make sure everything’s alright. When there's no answer on the other end, he tries again, but is met with the same silence that has a streak of alarm bolting up his spine.

Ghost has always been a worrywart when it comes to his loved ones, and that concern only amplifies when it comes to large crowds and even larger spaces.

What's taking so long? Where have you gone? Are you lost? Hurt? Something worse? His mind begins to spiral.

Fuck it, he decides, and abandons the tree in order to seek you out. As he searches, row after row yields nothing but strangers and snow-capped firs. By now he's starting to fully panic, running around like a maniac, drawing the eyes of everyone in the lot as he yells out your name.

When he finally runs into you again – literally runs into you – he's out of breath, his heart pounding, and he grabs your shoulders with his strong hands and nearly shakes you out of your knitted cap.

“Don't scare me like that!” he's more exasperated than angry, and he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. “Thought somethin’ might've happened to you,” he confesses, holding you to his chest like he thinks you'll evaporate if he lets go.

“M’sorry,” you mumble into the wall of hard muscle. “Got distracted.” The excuse is as weak as your skeleton feels beneath his embrace.

Distracted? What could have possibly distracted you enough that you didn't hear him screaming your name?

You pull back just enough to look at him, a sad curl to your lip that he can tell is forced. “I saw the cutest French bulldog,” you say, and Ghost has the audacity to scoff. “No, really! He was wearing the most adorable little Christmas jumper, and his name was Bark-tholomew. Bark-tholomew!” you stress.

Now that he knows you're safe and sound, Ghost loosens his hold on you, closing his eyes as he feels his pulse begin to slow.

“I asked the owners for a picture. Do you wanna see him?” you add hopefully.

When Ghost opens his eyes again, he's met with that sweet look on your face – that one he's unable to resist. He holds his breath for a beat or two, before letting out a deep, resonating sigh. “...Yeah, alright. Let's see it.”

Soap

It's unsurprising to find the mall jam-packed the week before Christmas, but that doesn't mean Soap isn't still annoyed by the swarm of bodies. But that's what he gets for waiting so long to go holiday shopping. Curse those last-minute deals and his inability to pass them up!

However, rather than wandering aimlessly through the mall, Soap has a game plan for today's spree. He knows exactly what stores he wants to hit, in the order he wants to hit them. And with you following closely behind to help, he's sure it'll be no sweat.

The first shop is easy enough to navigate with you trailing after him – providing your input when he inquires, and holding his items for him once he picks the one he wants. The second shop is much the same and the third even easier.

It's on the way to the fourth where, too caught up in his lists, Soap doesn't notice as you divert from the path, something else much more appealing stealing your attention away. It isn't until he's trying to decide between the last remaining pairs of snowmen or gingerbread men socks that he turns to ask your opinion, only to find you nowhere in sight.

He peers around the store for a second, not spotting you anywhere, before he suddenly feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. Your picture flashes across his screen and when he answers, the first question out of your mouth is, “Where are you?”

Where is he? Where are you? You were supposed to be following him, he not-so-subtly reminds you.

“I'm by the Cinnabon,” you tell him, then make a sound like you're taking a sip of something. “They've got hot chocolate. Giving out free cups of it,” you say, and that has Soap's ears instantly perking up.

Oh. So that's what had you scurrying off in his time of need. Honestly though, he can't say he'd have done any differently if he had caught scent of it like you did.

His movements falter for a beat, slowly lowering both pairs of socks in his hands. “Get me a cup, will ya?”

“Sorry. Can't.”

‘Can't’?! Well, why not?

You inform him that they're only giving out one per person and they seem to be running a pretty tight ship, so it's not like you could sneak another under the radar. And that makes sense, he supposes. They want everyone to have a chance to enjoy some.

“But that's why I called,” you continue. “It looks like they're almost out. So if you want one, you gotta come quick.”

The sudden deadline has Soap's eyes darting down to the themed socks in his hands. If he leaves now, they'll no doubt be snatched up by someone else. But the prospect of a cup of hot chocolate is equally as tempting, if not more so.

After debating with himself for about half a second, he asks, “…Where’d ye say ye were again?” as he places the hangers back on their racks. “By the Cinnabon. Right.” He makes his way to the front of the store, moving as quickly as possible. “Wait there,” he tells you, and once he's out the door, he's running full speed, his shopping bags swinging violently in his hands. “I'm comin’!”

Gaz

The night before Christmas seemed as good a night as any to take a walk around the neighborhood. So once you and Gaz had bundled up all nice and warm, you went for a stroll around the block, heading wherever your feet decided to take you.

Over an hour later, you're both just enjoying the evening – giving cheerful greetings to passing neighbors, turning down unexplored streets as you try to soak in this gorgeous night.

It's as you come up to another fork in the road that Gaz suddenly realizes one of his shoes is untied. He stoops to tie the laces, eyes cast down in his concentration, and as he does, you continue walking ahead, completely unaware that you're leaving him behind.

By the time he's finished and stands up again, you've vanished into the middle of this unfamiliar neighborhood.

Damn it. There you've gone and done it again. He knew he should have invested in one of the backpack leash things you see parents try to wrangle their wayward kids in.

You’d both left your phones at home in order to try to fully immerse yourself in this experience, so now he's forced to go old school when it comes to finding you.

He knows you couldn't have gotten very far; it's only a matter of if you went one way or the other. He picks a direction at random and after walking for a moment, he comes across a passerby whom he asks if they've seen someone matching your description. When they say they haven't, he then doubles back, repeating the process in the opposite direction.

Before long, thankfully, Gaz thinks he spots you stopped in front of a house not too far in the distance. He jogs up to where you're standing, and when he comes within earshot, he jokes, “Need to get you a bell or something, hun.”

Though the joke was lame at best, you don't react to it at all; don't even seem to hear it, honestly, which is likely given how distracted you currently are.

Your focus is entirely drawn to the house before you, your back to the street as you stare up at the brick facade. The house is stunning, absolutely covered top to bottom in all sorts of Christmas lights and decorations. It's by far the best display you've seen all year, and a breath of pure amazement leaves your lips as you take it in.

“Wow…” The word clouds the chilled air with a light puff of smoke. “Isn't it beautiful?” your awe bleeds into your voice, making it gentle, dreamy, like a sweet bell ringing in his ears.

Your tone has Gaz turning to face you, watching how you marvel at the way the lights twinkle and shine. A kaleidoscope of colors reflect off your skin, and an almost angelic glow seems to radiate from within you the longer he looks.

As he admires you, Gaz can't help how a smile slowly overtakes his face. With his eyes still trained on you, he takes your hand with his, and speaks softly, almost in a whisper, “Yeah… beautiful.”

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lindszeppelin · 2 years

Text

DEPRAVITY

pairing: Elvis x Fem!Reader (you could alternatively imagine Austin!Elvis in this scenario)

summary: Elvis experiments in the bedroom with you, as he reveals a kink he's kept hidden for a long time.

rating: Mature, 18+. Minors...get out of here with peace and love.

warnings: dirty dirty smut, gun kink, swearing...

word count: 5.4k

a/n: hey, im back Lol. i hope you guys enjoy. i just had to write this and get this thought out of my mind. it was plaguing me lol. forgive any grammatical errors and things as per usual. i do my best

tags: @ash-omalley @powerofelvis i forget who else wanted to be tagged, but here you go!

It was a tepid Las Vegas night. As you stood from the expansive floor to ceiling windows that formed around your penthouse, you gazed out at the sunset strip below you. It was actually a beautiful sight that became one of your comforts. You learned quickly that Vegas was the city that never slept. Even at this ungodly hour that you find yourself awake in, you can still see flashing lights of neon signs from sleazy strip joints and headlights from cars driving through the hectic traffic. It was nothing like you had ever experienced before. However, nothing really was when you're dating The King of Rock and Roll. One of the mentalities that you quickly adopted since being with Elvis Presley was to expect the unexpected.

Sometimes it can be quite lonely spending the evenings by yourself in the vastness of your shared room with Elvis. He had a particular way he liked to live, and that was black furniture with the curtains drawn most of the day. The total darkness was somewhat of a comfort to him. And that was okay with you. Whatever made him happy was fine by your books.

As your man was busy trying to rehearse for the grueling performances he was contractually obligated to fulfill, you had to find ways to entertain yourself. Not that he would keep you prisoner in your living quarters or anything. One of the things he loved about you was your independence.

After spending a few years at The International Hotel with him, you've grown accustomed to filling your daily planner with activities that you personally enjoy. And at night, Elvis would sneak into bed and wrap his warm arms around you, kissing you out of your slumber. He felt like home in a city full of strangers and haggards.

You cross your arms over your chest, clutching at the sheer black robe that hits the floor delicately. Your long hair cascades around your face, perfectly blown out in that typical 70s fashion that accentuates your feminine features -- just like Elvis and you like. As you stare out into the busy cityscape It can be so easy to get lost in thought. The array of bright colored lights and the stars in the sky are an excellent distraction to quell your loneliness. In fact, you were so engrossed in the view that barely even heard the door to your penthouse open and close in the distance.

You feel a familiar pair of arms snake their way around your waist. The giant rings adorned his fingers were cool to the touch against your warm skin. You could smell his seductive sent of leather and spice wafting through your nostrils, sending a shiver down your spine - he was intoxicating to the senses. Your man was back where he belonged, with you. Elvis nuzzles his nose into the side of your face lovingly, smiling sheepishly against you. His gorgeous lips trail lazy kisses down your neck. You savored in his touch.

And at long last, he spoke. "Hi pretty baby." He mewled. You allow yourself to melt against his muscular body. You loved the way your delicate curves fit like a glove against his sensual embrace.

Taking one of your hands and gently cupping his face, you commit to memory the feel of him right now so you wouldn't dare forget.

"Elvis..." You sighed. Without wasting any more time, he captures your lips in a kiss that makes you weak in the knees. One of the things you loved about him were his lips. And he was a wonderful kisser -- the best you've certainly ever had. He puts other man to shame.

This welcome home kiss was soft and filled with adoration. Your hand on his face makes it way in his fine black hair, tangling in his dark tresses, pulling him in deeper to the kiss. He hummed in delight as your satin lips work in tandem with his. The sparks were flying off of you two, the electricity of your sexual desires for each other was insatiable.

All too reluctantly, he breaks away from your mouth and looks you over with his icy blue eyes. He loved that you naturally enjoyed wearing sexy lingerie, although he certainly can't deny he equally loves seeing you wear nothing but his button down shirts. You exude an effortless sexiness that he finds so enthralling. Seeing you like this now, in you black robe and matching two piece ensemble with thigh high stockings gives him a wicked eyeful of you. The corner of his mouth perk up in a boyish grin.

"Mm. Darlin' you look divine. You wearin' this little number just for me?"

You laugh playfully. "Oh you know, I thought i'd slip into something a little more comfortable. You like it?"

"Do I ever..."

As he desperately grasps your frame to him with one hand, he lets his other one idly roam the expanse of your body -- wherever he could manage to touch. The rough pads of his fingers lightly dance over the silk of your stockings. Elvis was dangerously close to petting your inner thigh where the heat was radiating off of you to the point where you swear you felt steam rise from beneath his hand. You closed your eyes and basked in his touch, sighing deeply. He couldn't help himself when his hips rolled into the curve of your ass, creating friction with his growing erection that he could no longer hide even if he wanted to.

"I've been thinkin' about you all goddamn day. I couldn't get back here fast enough. I missed you, honey." He said wantonly in your ear. Elvis rolled his hips again, this time a little harder to punctuate his eagerness for you.

"I missed you too baby." you cooed, grinding your ass back against his cock. The grip on you have on his thick mane of black tendrils tightened ever so slightly as you both rocked back and forth against each other, rolling like a wave. He moaned against you. He was getting harder by the second, and you could feel your lace panties stick to your pussy with your abundance of juices. You were both so desperate for each other, always. It was never a dull moment between you two. His breath was hot against your neck, panting with desire.

"Goddamn baby, you get my motor runnin' so good. My perfect girl." He moaned gravelly. As he was grinding hard against your ass, his hand came to life again -- gliding his way over your hips and stomach, setting you ablaze with each inch of skin he comes into contact with. He began to make you with his tongue. His plush lips place wet kisses along your shoulder while his hands finally reach the ample round of your breasts - squeezing them with dominance through your lace bra. He massages your tits in his masculine hands, your nipples hardening under him.

"El..." You moan out. As he worked your breasts masterfully, you roll your hips back against him, earning you a lustful groan that vibrates along your neck. You felt him twitch aggressively against your ass, he clearly was straining against the confines of his brown slacks, looking for any kind of release. Elvis could keep this up all night, but he was slowly but surely snowballing into all the dirty thoughts about what he wanted to do to you. He could theoretically take you right here and now against the windows, your naked body pressed firmly against the glass as he fucks you mercilessly on show for all of Las Vegas. But tonight he had other plans.

There was something he kept hidden from you, a secret desire that he only recently discovered. And he feared telling you because he thought it was something you would say no to. Hell, I'm sure anyone in their right mind would say no with the kink he had unearthed. But he couldn't help but obsess over this kink, and you unravelling in front of him because of it. It turned him on in the most depraved ways. And as he held you in his arms in this perfect moment, all his logic went out the window. It was now or never.

Elvis swallowed thickly as he cleared his throat, his voice dripping with desire. "Honey, I-I was wonderin' if we could do somethin' a little different tonight. Try somethin' new."

Your interest was piqued. "What did you have in mind?" you asked coyly, still fully engrossed in his hands working your breasts.

"Well..." He trails chaste kisses from your shoulder back up to your ear. "I was thinkin' of introducin' somethin' into the bedroom. Somethin' that I have complete control over. But I know you trust me, baby. If you say yes then you'd surly be fulfilling a fantasy of sorts for me..."

Honestly, you're a little taken aback by his words. Sure you and Elvis have tried new positions and such over time, but he was being so cryptic about this proposition. What could he be talking about? Your mind went to a million different avenues and you weren't sure what to think initially. You begrudgingly remove your ass from his erection and turn around in his arms, looking your man in the eye to try and get a read on him.

This was the first time tonight that you got a proper look at Elvis, so you drank in the glorious sight of him and let it sit with you. His oceanic eyes were slowly morphing into black halos of infinite darkness, yearning completely for you. His soft hair had fallen into his face, and the expanse of his chest was on display for you to ogle at through the brown suit jacket he was wearing, with no undershirt. You bit your lip as you furthermore noticed his thick cock standing to attention that instantly made you stifle a moan in the back of your throat. He looked sickeningly delectable. Your fingertips instinctively ran through his coarse chest hair as your eyes fixated on his once more. A shy smile was written on his face, waiting for your response in earnest.

"You say this is a fantasy of yours?"

He simply nodded his head, still waiting for your full response and too shy to reply back.

"Okay well, i'm all for satisfying my man, and i aim to please. What is this fantasy you want to act out, EP?"

Delighted by you answer, he beamed his bright pearly whites happily and kissed your forehead.

"Thank you, satnin. And uh, it'll be easier if I just show you what it is rather than tellin' you." Without uttering another word he took your hand in his and walked with you over to his little makeshift office - which was really just a massive desk with some stationary where he would write letters to himself or others - and he proceeded to slide out a big silver briefcase from underneath his desk. His hands began to tremble slightly, on edge, as he placed the briefcase on the desk and flipped up the hatches to reveal what was inside.

Before you was an array of various types of handguns laid out perfectly in a protective bed of red velvet. You obviously weren't naïve to his collection. You knew that Elvis liked to keep a few different guns on his person at all times. While it wasn't a hobby that interested you in the slightest, you were happy to oblige him when he purchased a couple. You've never actually looked closely at them before, though. This was the first time. You noticed that they came in all different colors and sizes -- some intimidatingly large and some comically small that you couldn't imagine doing much damage at all. Some had turquoise grips, while other were ivory and pearl. It was decadent and definitely an expensive hobby. You wouldn't lie to yourself either, you kind of liked the way the metal gleamed in the moonlight.

Elvis finally broke the silence with a gentle tone. "I know that you're aware of my guns. But I've purposely kept them away from you all this time, because I don't want to scare you. You know they're just for protection incase some stupid bastard decides to take me out. But Lord knows I'd give 'em hell if they tried."

You nod in agreement. "Of course. Better to be safe then sorry." You say sincerely. It was true. It was better for Elvis to be on the safe side rather then be possibly unprepared for future unforetold events. You don't want him to get hurt, or worse. At this point though, you were still trying to find the correlation between his guns and this fantasy he mentioned.

He spoke up a little bravery this time, finding the courage to continue. "Yes, i'm glad you feel that way, Darlin'. I won't let anyone hurt you." His hand roams over the guns seated in the crushed velvet enclosure, feeling a surge of dominance run through his veins as he admires the weapons in his arsenal. The thought of not only protecting himself but you with something as alpha male as a handgun made him hot under the collar. "I take care of what's mine..."

You lovingly stroke his back with one of your soothing hands, soft to the touch to ground him back to you. "I know, Elvis. You make me feel so safe and protected." You say as you reassure him. It was okay for him to feel this way, and you wanted him to accept that you really were open to his lifestyle. His gaze softens as his power trip flashed out of his mind and back to you in this very moment. He smiled sweetly before ghosting his lips with yours in a tender kiss.

As he tucks a piece of your hair lovingly behind your ear, he tries to piece together how he can properly articulate his newfound kink to you. Trying to ease into it with care.

Elvis speaks lightly. "I've uh, had this thought for sometime now and I was planning on finding the right moment to ask ya. How would you feel about introducing one of these into the bedroom?" He gestured to the guns on the desk.

And finally like a freight train it hit you right then and there. It all made sense in your mind. You felt a little dumb that it took you this long to piece it together. But honestly, you never knew that something like that was a sexual kink that people enjoyed. Was he seriously talking about what you think he was talking about?!

You took a moment to pause and collect your thoughts before speaking. "I'm not quite sure if I follow, E. Are you saying while we're having sex you want to use a gun on me?" You questioned.

Without missing a beat he steps in to further explain, hoping he didn't set himself up for failure. "I know how it may sound, but you know that I would never hurt even the smallest hair on your head, little one. I'd protect you with my life. But, yes that's what I mean. Obviously the gun wouldn't be loaded. It's just...there's something about it and you together that I can't get outta my damn mind. I would just...grab hold of it like this..."

He selects one of his guns at random, his .357 magnum revolver, and picks it up in his hand, grasping the ivory grip like a pro. You hate to admit it but he looked too good with that piece in on his person. He slowly makes his way over to you, letting you see the gun by his side.

"...And, let it touch you like this..."

He let the barrel of the gun graze over the sheer black robe you had on over your lingerie, pulling back the fabric like a stage curtain and exposing your inner thigh to him. A shaky sigh of fear and arousal spilled past your lips. His touch was feather light but it felt heavy all the same in your mind. You suppose it was the fear of a weapon pointing at you in the lightest of ways that made you shake.

Noticing your reaction, Elvis takes that as a sign that he hopefully argued his point well. He raises his eyebrow inquisitively "...What do you say, Y/N?"

The ball was now in your court, and you were frozen on the spot. Your mind ran a million miles a minute. You've never had a gun come in close contact with you before. And while this was confusing and you weren't entirely sure how you could see this fantasy playing out in real time, you were little by little warming up to the idea. I mean, you implicitly trusted Elvis with your life. And he said the gun wouldn't be loaded. So in this mixed state of emotions, and the throbbing in your panties only getting stronger, you caved.

"Well, if this is something that you really want then I suppose we can give it a try."

Elvis breathed a sigh of relief. He places his free hand over his heart in earnest. "Thank you, baby. I promise, I won't ever hurt you. And if it gets to be too much then you stop and tell me at any time. Alright?"

Words just totally fail you in this moment. Your mouth was agape, ready to try and say anything, but nothing came out. So instead you simply nod your head to his question, hoping that would suffice.

He purses his lips and moves his hand to lay his hip. He was not gonna take that for his answer. He needed your implicit, verbal consent. "I'm gonna need a straight answer from you, babydoll. To make sure we're on the same page."

You try to steady your obvious nerves by breathing in deeply and exhaling through your nose. You did want to consent to this. Elvis would never push you to do something you were uncomfortable with. And while this fantasy involving guns in the bedroom was intimidating, you wanted to try this for his sake. Who knows, maybe you'd actually enjoy whatever he had in store for you. You just knew that this was a situation where your faith in him was being tested. But deep down in your soul you knew everything would be okay.

Finally ready to speak, you clasp your hands together in front of you and look him in the eye. "Yes, El. If it's too much i'll tell you. I promise."

"That's my good girl. Always so obedient."

You had officially reached the point of no return. You were fully at his whim and you were going to see this fantasy of his through. Elvis closes the gap between your bodies and pulls you by the small of your waist into him with a searing kiss that turns your extremities into jelly. His other hand still grasping the revolver that he will be using tonight, remains by your side. Suddenly, you jump slightly at the harsh coldness of the metal brushing up against your leg. He was testing how you reacted to the gun to break the ice.

It's a strange feeling that you're sure to be used to by the end of the night. Using the long barrel of the gun, he places it behind the tie of your robe and pulls forward. The fabric quickly unravels with ease, exposing your black bra, panties and thigh stockings to him. Elvis licked his lips at the gorgeous sight, firmly pressing his cock against your mound with a hiss.

"Get on the bed, lil mama."

The game has started. You would be lying to yourself if you weren't a little bit nervous for what was going to happen next. But, you did as you were told. Before you knew it, your feet were sauntering on their own over to the large bed in the center of the room. He followed behind, slowly stalking you like a predator watching their prey. You could feel his stare burning a hole in the back of your head as he watched you make your way to the bed. The anticipation hung heavy in the air between both of you.

You gathered the hem of your robe in your hands as you climbed the high king sized bed and lay pristinely in the middle of the satin black sheets. Your heartbeat was pounding so hard and fast waiting for him to make a move that you felt you were sure to have a heart attack. Elvis never broke eye contact with you as he took his final place between your legs at the foot of the bed, towering over you with his tall frame. The moonlight from the windows behind him casted the most beautiful shadows, contouring his chiseled features. He looked gorgeous, which made your heart beat even faster.

The gears in his head were already starting to turn, you could tell Elvis was trying to figure out what to do first. He had been thinking about this exact predicament with you in his mind for so long. But now that he had you completely at his mercy on the bed in a demurely submissive pose with the gun in his hand, it was an intense high that no other drug could give him.

Finally after what felt like an eternity passing by, he brought his free hand up and made a come hither motion to you.

"Come down more towards me, baby." He rasped.

You complied, inching your way down the bed towards him. He put his hand on your knee when you were in his perfect placement - your ass nearly hanging off the edge of the bed and your knees bent in front of you. Elvis wanted as little space between you and him as possible for the twisted game that was enfolding before you.

With both hands now, he took your knees and forced them apart, spreading your legs even wider for his sinful gaze. Your face burned hot and red with nervousness and arousal as he could see just how wet you were for him. It was a beautiful sight he could never tire of seeing. Your panties were completely soaked through. You gave yourself away and practically handed over any self control you thought you had left. The ball was now in his court to do whatever he wanted with you, and he knew the effect he had over your body.

Elvis licked his lips greedily as he fixated on your clothed pussy totally drenched your juices. He whistled in appreciation. "Fuck. I'm gonna enjoy having my way with you."

Somehow your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of mulberry at how exposed you were to his lustful eye. You hadn't forgotten the revolver though, he made sure it stayed exactly in your line of sight so you knew it wasn't going anywhere.

It was at this point that there was no turning back. As soon as the bone chilling metal made contact with your searing soft skin you sucked in a shaky breath, hissing at the contact. It was torturously slow how Elvis took the edge of the barrel and traced over your delicate inner thigh, making a B-Line right for your core -- But not before teasing you a bit more and repeating the same dragging motion on your other thigh. He was making sure you got used to the feeling of the gun in small steps before diving right in. Elvis was showing complete restraint in this moment to not go right for where you both wanted him to be. The payoff would be worth the wait.

Your body was shaking like a leaf on a tree. The feeling of this dangerous weapon on your body tore you in two about how you should feel. One part of you knew that you absolutely should not be turned on right now by how dangerous this was. But there was another part of you that screamed louder in your brain that was actually enjoying this sick game. Elvis has a way of making you want to do these crazy things that you know you shouldn't. But it's oh-so good.

"El..." You moaned demurely. Your hips rose off of the bed, desperate for contact from him. You wanted Elvis to touch you, lick you, fuck you, literally anything. You were unraveling under his touch like he knew you would. But since this was his fantasy, you had to relinquish any and all freewill.

He was definitely getting off on the control he held in his hands. He chuckled dryly under his breath at how badly you wanted him. "Sssh, don't worry honey. You know that i'll always give you what you want." His words sent a shiver up your spine and a new pool of wetness in your ruined panties. And it didn't help matters when your large doe eyes traveled down his body and locked onto his massive erection that was threatening to rip his trousers in half. He was having too much fun toying with you to focus on his own pleasure right now, even though he was painfully hard. You wanted to have you way with his cock but you knew you couldn't.

Elvis right then and there decided on his next move. He wouldn't wait anymore. He took his free hand and ran his thumb up your covered slit, rubbing tiny circle over your clit. The strangled moan that escaped your pretty lips was almost blood curdlingly loud at the feeling of his hands finally touching your desire. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head and your hips matched the rhythm he set. This simple act alone was enough to put you over the edge based on the fact that Elvis Presley himself is making you feel this good.

He couldn't help but flash his signature cheeky side smile at the sight of you writhing on the bed. His gorgeous good girl clinging for purchase against the satin sheets at he plays with your pussy. He was in heaven. In one swift movement that nearly took you by surprise, he took his thumb off of you and hooked it around the hem of your panties and pulled them down your legs. But if that alone wasn't enough, he just had to bed down to take your soaked panties in his mouth with a sexy wink and tuck them into one of his trouser pockets -- keeping them for later use. The fucking sexy bastard. You knew you would never see those panties again. They were forever his.

Now here you were, your dripping wet throbbing pussy was on display for him. You felt like you were a three course meal for the taking at his leisure. If you thought the anticipation was heavy before, it was like a fog that clung to the both of you in this moment. He was a man out of his mind, hellbent on making you come tonight in a way you never did before. He felt like a God, letting his machismo getting the better of him as he peered down at you with heavy lidded eyes.

It was on. And there was no stopping what was about to happen.

Elvis looked down at the gun and then looked back at your pussy, grasping the ivory grip firmly in his large hand. The veins bulging as he gripped firmly. His decision was made. As you lay there looking up at your man who wielded all of this incredible power you tried to calm your nerves as best you could. Now that you were exposed to him, what was he going to do? Well, you didn't have to ponder too long about that question before he went all in.

"Elvis!" You squealed loudly. Elvis pointed the gun downwards and took the entire length of the barrel and made direct contact with your slick. It was a shock to the system to feel the clammy metal pressed right against your soft pussy lips. It was orgasmic in the most depraved ways.

But he didn't stop there. He positioned the revolver at nearly a 90 degree angle so that it brushed up against your folds and your clit all in one full swoop. He made quick work of rocking the barrel against your soaking cunt, your juices completely coating the weapon. The burly, deep groan that roared from the pits of his chest as he saw your pussy envelop his gun was erotic. And you couldn't help but grind yourself back against the barrel, making sure your clit came into contact with it every time he pressed into you. You two set a perfect pace that snatched your soul.

His jaw flexed, ragged breaths escaping his lips. "Holy fuckin' Christ. Look at you. My good little whore. Gettin' off on my gun."

You shook against him as you let out a moan. This feeling was so foreign to you, but it was sinfully pleasurable. You never thought in a million years you would actually be enjoying being touched with such a weapon. But right now with Elvis, this was everything. No wonder this was a fantasy for him. You wished he had shared this with you before. Is this what you were missing out on this whole time?!

"Fuck, Elvis!!" You groaned breathlessly, grinding yourself harder and faster against his gun. The slippery gushing sounds of your pussy filled the air and swirled in his ears. As you lay there on the bed, head thrown back in pure ecstasy at what he's making you feel, you hear the faint rustling of Elvis's zipper being pulled down.

You got disgustingly wet at the sight before you. Elvis had one hand on his gun buried deep in your cunt, and his other hand was stroking his thick cock. He was mimicking the same pace he set on your pussy on his cock, getting off entirely on his ultimate fantasy come to life. He was lost in chasing your pleasure and his. A tantalizing bead of precum leaked from his red tip that he spread over himself.

"You're doin' so good for me, angel. So, goddamn good. You're makin' me fuckin' hard."

Never in your wildest dreams would you ever imagine that you could come exactly like this, but he's griding the barrel of the gun perfectly against your clit. It's impossible to deny to both of you that you're close. The pit in your stomach coils, tightly winding up inside you. You scream a string of sweet moans that's his favorite sound in the world, and your legs betray you by thrashing violently against the bed.

"Elvis please! I-I'm gonna..." You pleaded with him with your eyes, tears spilling over the brim. It was all too much to bare. The most powerful orgasm of your life was knocking, and you're hoping he would give you want you wanted.

Elvis gripped his cock tighter, jerking himself faster, wanting to come with you. He knew he was a goner if you came exactly like this -- his fantasy and reality merging together as one. "That's it baby, give it to me come on. I want your pretty pussy to come all over my revolver. Give me what's mine." He growled huskily, pushing you over the edge.

And with that, your body gave way to the incredible force of your crashing orgasm. Your walls fluttered around nothing, but coming hard and fast regardless. You muttered profanities and Elvis's name in a beautiful concoction, like you were entranced under a spell.

Elvis was right behind you, groaning your name loudly, sure to wake the whole of Las Vegas, as his hot come splattered all over your lower stomach, marking you as his girl. You were both utterly spent, and you didn't even properly fuck each other. It was an amazing feat that the two of you accomplished together on this very night. This was definitely one for the books.

As you both shared a comfortable silence and riding the final tumbling spills of your orgasms, you winced when Elvis shakily removed his revolver from your pussy. He brought it up to inspect the weapon with intent -- eyeing the dirty details in the way your juices enveloped the barrel and made its way into all the nooks and crannies. The corner of his mouth perked up in a sly smirk, admiring his handiwork.

"Hot damn. This for sure just became my favorite gun."

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emsvertigo · 11 months

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Money Power Glory

image not mine, found on pinterest

summary & genre — angst & slight nsfw. after the death of a gang member you take a moment to reflect in your tent. however with dutch standing so close you confide in him, which leads to a rare moment between the two of you. takes place in chapter 4 of rdr2.

warnings — touchy reader!!, canon typical violence mentioned, smoking, sensitive conversation topics, major character death.

character & pairing — dutch van der linde x fem!reader (red dead redemption 2. 2018)

word count — 2.2k

a/n — it’s finals season and i’m dying but i’m kinda obsessed with rdr2 rn cause i’m playing it for the first time (ahhh!!) i’m currently on the epilogue but i’m missing arthur’s story with the gang, especially dutch haha, so i decided to write this. obviously once again it is really self insert but i don’t care. if you’re reading this i love you and really hope you enjoy!

also!! don’t worry i’m still writing for ryan! i’ve got a draft in the works!

major spoilers for chapters 1-3 of rdr2!!

find my old fics here! ✿

From outside the tent, hearty singing could be heard, ringing out into the night breeze, a rare occasion for the camp as of late. The notes performed on guitar signified health and victory, however not everything that day brought had been pleasant. The death of a member of the gang had always been celebrated with memory and tales, yet the member who lay was not old enough to carry a lasting legacy. Sean’s death had been greatly overshadowed by the retrieval of Jack. Cheers echoed throughout the camp, yet there was a falseness to the smiles, which didn't quite reach the wearer's eyes.

Not that you didn't love Jack, of course, you did, just like every other member of the gang. His face lighting up with a smile was a blessing, and the only pain you wanted to witness him feel was a full stomach from eating too much. Of course, you wanted nothing but the best for the small child, but a young man had been killed only hours before. A young man that meant more to the gang than they dared realise.

You had passed Karen on your way to your tent, her head in her hand, beer beside her foot, swaying and swearing under her breath. You could never understand her pain, but you could understand the worry and apprehension of a loved one leaving for a mission. Someone who you adored so much that they were a piece of you, who could be taken in an instant. You had feared this moment would come to you, seeing as your lover was reckless, but never to someone as young and treasured as Sean.

You had tried to have a word with her and attempted to offer her comfort in her time of need, but she had shooed you away, drunkenly pointed to your tent, betrothed standing outside. She had slurred something about focusing on your problems and returned to the bottle.

It felt wrong to think of your own life and stupid measly controversies and bickering quarrels when Sean’s brains lay splattered across the ground in Rhodes. But he would have wanted your life to continue, and to think about the present and not the past. Although that didn't stop you from taking the time now to sit unattended, far from the party.

You played with your fingernails, chipping away at the red tint which matched Dutch’s waistcoat. Another way to establish your bond with him, to show that it was you that the infamous gang leader became soft and melted around. How a vicious man became putty in your hands a few years ago and every day since. Yet the days had drawn cold, and his stares distant, his kisses hurried and hasty. His voice always sang praise but never the words you wanted to hear, the poetry he had spoken years previous had turned sour.

With his back to you now, amber firelight illuminating his bloody maroon waistcoat, you observed the muscles in his arms tense as he surveyed the camp. A cigar was placed in his firm grip, blowing clouds of smoke into the air, his hat tilted to cover his eyes. His jaw was tight, small specs of stubble tracing his chin. The look of an elusive and feared leader. But you always could tell when your other half was tormented, and this was one of those times.

You let out a sigh. Just being able to be this close to a man that feared was enough to make you come undone, but his demeanour was not an invitation to show him affection. You believed him to be tired of you, and more interested in the youthful women within the camp. Not that you reprimanded them of course with their flowing hair and high-pitched laughs, any man would swoon at the sight of them. But Dutch? Dutch was your lover, and you couldn't bare to catch a glimpse of his eyes lingering on Mary Beth for a second longer. You wanted him to yearn for you again, to be satisfied with your touch.

But it appeared that he wasn't satisfied with anyone, not even those closest to him, since Blackwater.

“Dutch.” You called out to him, your breath was airy and welcoming. His shoulders tightened, and he took another long drag of his pipe, the amber light illuminating his face for a fleeting moment.

“Dutch.” You repeated, this time in a sing-song voice, trying to gather his attention. You wished to have him wrapped around your pinky yet again. But when he didn't respond and his position stayed intact, you decided to stand and make your way towards him.

You placed your hands over his back, running them up and around his neck, carefully tracing your fingertips along his throat. Dutch startled for a second, but calmed into your touch.

“Didn’t hear you comin’.” He whispered, turning his head towards you for a moment before returning his gaze to his family. He took a final drag of his cigar and dropped it, crushing it below his feet into the ground.

“I called but you didn't answer.” You smiled into his neck, holding him close to you. A gesture that used to be so frequent between you both, but had now become tiresome and unwanted. When Dutch remained silent, you spoke again - worry evident on your lips. “What’s on your mind?”

You noticed his eyebrows furl as he grimaced at his reflection. He sighed before replying, a pause between each statement. “Sean. Jack. John. Micah. Sometimes even Arthur and Hosea.”

As of late it wasn’t commonplace for Dutch to confide in you, and as you smelled the alcohol on his tongue you understood how much he needed comfort.

“I can’t stop thinking about Sean.” You sighed, nuzzling your cheek further into the crevis between his jaw and shoulder. “I know I didn't see it, but I keep picturing him laying there.”

“I know,” Dutch replied, an uneasy tone across his lips, “I feel as though I’m responsible for his death.”

You retreated from his shoulder at this remark. How could his mind twist his goals into acts of brutality? He had always been a good man, and you understood that more than anyone.

“Dutch..” You gently grasped his hands in yours, pulling him closer to you. “Don’t blame yourself for something you weren't there to prevent.”

His head dipped, hat sliding down his forehead as he did. You reached one hand up to grasp the hem of his hat and removed it from his head, dropping it to the side of your leg. The same hand then arose to cup the side of his face, running fingertips across his jaw. Your fingers danced into his sideburns and fiddled with the short hair growing there.

“This whole gang is fallin’ apart,” He paused, soaking in the emotion in your eyes. “Nobody has any goddamn faith anymore!” He spoke.

The silence that followed that statement was only heard by you, blood pumping in your ears as you thought back to every time you had been by Dutch’s side. How long you had been with him, and how much you had been through.

“Except for me.”

He lingered, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. “Yes. Except for you.”

Moments like this were so hard to come by. Dutch had been so occupied recently, going out scoring for the gang, all the while his conscience was plaguing him with ideologies and problems. Problems that were causing him to completely forget his old, loving, self. Beats like this one had to be shared with complete tranquillity. It didn't matter that Dutch had been eyeing other women, the only woman he could have at any moment was you, and sometimes you wished he would take advantage of that gift.

“I’m here for you, Dutch.” You whispered, his hands coming to find your hips and walking you back into the tent. “I'll always be by your side.”

“I know.” His reply solidified his tough exterior, but you knew that it meant a hell of a lot more to him that you had vocalised your trust in him, and the faith he so desperately clung to. “Just as I am to you, my sweet.”

The saccharine words dripping from his tongue sent you spiralling, but you knew of his silver tongue personality and understood he would use it to get whatever he wanted. He used it with the men, so why wouldn’t he use it to make your brain melt away? But as compliments fell from his mouth, you allowed yourself to be caught like a fish into his lure.

The music playing outside seemed to fade away, muffled by the intense stare Dutch was delivering. His eyelids were slightly heavy from the drink, and in close proximity, you saw his eyelashes flutter. One of his hands trapped yours in a gentle clutch, rubbing circles over the skin there. Your hand cupped his face, sliding your thumb against the stubble. You had hoped to discuss the issue surrounding his loyalty to you, but with his breath fanning your face with hot air you couldn't bare to let the moment disappear.

“Don’t worry, Dutch.” You exhaled, lips almost locking with your own. “You always think of something.”

Dutch reached his hand up from your hip and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His golden rings brushed against your cheek, which sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine. Looking back down at you he confessed;

“Right now I can’t think of anything but you.”

A small smile formed on your face as he leaned forwards and connected your lips in a tender kiss. A sigh escaped his lips as you drew your other hand up to cup the opposite cheek and tug him closer to you, closing your eyes as his chest met yours. His arms snaked slowly around your waist, placing themselves flat on the small of your back, cupping the material that sat there. The hair from his moustache tickled your upper lip and left you smiling into the kiss. His lips danced carefully around yours, making sure to keep the steady tempo of hearts melting into one. The souls of two individuals becoming a singular feeling.

Dutch dipped his tongue into your mouth, running his way along your bottom lip and encouraging your mouth to open and invite him inside. A small groan escaped his lips as the kiss became more heated, his hands lowering to grab at the bottom of your ass. The taste of smoke and whiskey was overwhelming in your throat as his tongue traced your teeth, and both your breaths met in the slim space between your starving bodies.

Dutch mumbled your name across your mouth, a noise that created a large arousal in you. Your hands reached down and glided slowly along the front of his waistcoat and down his chest. Your lips then disconnected when your hands found his gun belt, tugging at the rough leather found there. The buckle under your fingers, cool against your skin as his golden chains bounced onto your knuckles. His forehead connected with yours, breath tumbling from his lips.

“Darlin’...” He groaned, bucking his hips as your hand fell further onto his clothed crotch, feeling him beneath your touch. You spoke his name like a prayer, running over his lips with furious kisses. Your shawl fell to the ground, as his hands moved around your neck, your hand still pressing further into his most sensitive spot.

A moan escaped your lips as he jerked his hips forward, melting into your touch, pleading that you please him and rid him of this dreadful tension building up underneath our palm.

Suddenly there was a shout at the mouth of the tent and a wolf whistle to accompany it. Breaking your intimate moment, your cheeks burned red and Dutch turned to the entrance to confront the intruder, panting hard.

“Look at you!” The voice shouted, words slurred into one another, the stench of alcohol flowing through the air. You'd recognise that disgusting drawl anywhere. Micah. You could've cursed Dutch for allowing him to join the gang, let alone wasting this private moment.

Dutch shot Micah a glare and turned his body to cover you, flashing the silver pistol in its holster towards Micah. A loud and clear threat of death if Micah was not going to leave. But at this display of powerful rage, he backed off, grasping the bottle in his hand and throwing it into the swamp.

Dutch kicked a tent pole which caused the entrance of your makeshift home to close, excluding the rest of the world from your sanctuary. Another firm non-verbal to Micah, or anyone else in the gang, that you were his and no one could disturb you.

Dutch’s mouth was soon at your ear, tickling your skin with his moustache once again.

“Now, where were we?” He cooed, bringing your attention back to him. He placed one hand on either side of your hips and walked you back into the tent, seating you on the edge of your cot.

#dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #dutch rdr2 #dutch van der linde fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #fanfic #imagine #oneshot #hioreh fanfictions

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noahvember · 5 months

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Noahvember Fics

Here's a collection of all the fics for Noahvember that have created so far! Please let me know if I've missed you and/or if you would like to be added to the list. The Noahvember Collection on AO3 can be accessed here.

"breaking & entering" by dxncingquxxr

"breaking and entering: [noun] the act of forcing or otherwise gaining unlawful passage into and entering another's building -merriam webster dictionary in which noah loses his contacts and team escope breaks into a house at five in the morning"

"Digging Up Memories" by CeruleanSeaScorpion

"While at a family reunion, Noah's siblings and his girlfriend take him on a diversion, and he learns a lesson in humility and accepting who he is."

"Being sick sucks" by Mothymoon

"Noah's sick. Luckily his boyfriend is there to take care of him"

"Eels and owls" by NoahCue

"It's been a about two years since world tour, Noah has been trying to recover from total drama and it's.. Oddness. One of the things he has been trying to recover from is what Izzy calls "The eel pond incident"."

"would you just skip right to the end?" by mayonaisie

“Welcome back to Total Drama! For a new season: Total- Drama- All Stars!” Chris proclaims, and Noah’s nose can’t help twitching in annoyance as he walks up to where Chris is, the robot wheeling up next to him. “As you can see, we have this fan favourite returning to be my lovely assistant, as well as the Total Drama Robot!” Noah sighs, putting a hand on the robot to lean slightly on it. Day one, and he was already exhausted.

"against all odds" by dxncingquxxr"

Being a tutor isn't all bad. It's one of the less sucky jobs on campus. He gets paid a decent amount and has flexible hours. Hardly anyone utilizes the tutoring center here anyways. On a good day, he gets paid to sit and do homework. It's not the worst job he's ever had. After all, he could be working in dining. The mere thought makes him shiver. He usually doesn't end up tutoring many people in a week. However, there's a certain blonde that's the exception. She's here week after week, studying for her statistics class. Yet no matter how much he tries to help her, she can't seem to learn anything – including his name. But like his job, she's not all horrible. Sure, the first few weeks had been rough, and extremely frustrating. But then she had started bringing him coffee, and that led into them gossiping about other students on campus, and that led into – dare he say it? – enjoying her company. If she doesn't pass her stats class? Well, he's done all he can do. That's on her. or, noah's unlikely friendship with lindsay as he tutors her in stats

"Bloodstained memories" by Mothymoon

"the wrong place, at the right time" by mayonaisie

“Have faith Noah, believe, in us.” Alejandro says, the bastard, before performing some over-the-top flip. He puts an effort into not otherwise reacting to this, as the guy probably knows it as well. He's already said his words. His soulmate.

"much ado about noah" by dxncingquxxr

"A PowerPoint is projected onto the screen. The first slide is decorated in cutesy hearts drawn around a cursive font. In large, looping letters, the text reads: Operation Alenoah. In smaller letters below: Sierra's totally awesome plan in getting Alejandro and Noah together." in which noah and alejandro's friends are totally sick of this flirting rivalry thing they've got going on and hatch a plan to get them together

#noahvember #noahvember2023 #td noah #total drama #tdi #alenoah #nemma #noco #nowen #notie #total drama island #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #fic #fic rec #total drama fanfiction

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awritersometime · 20 days

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Hiii! I watched Glass a few days ago and I decided to write something with Dr. Ellie Staple! It's nothing special, and maybe it's pretty rushed too, but I wanted to give it a try and here it is! I finally graduated so I have way more free time than before to think of plots and write down ideas. Hope you enjoy it <3

Embrace who you are

I have been sitting in this room for so long, I don't even remember what day is it. Hours flow quietly in their succession, always the same. I used to believe that being different was a blessing, but in this place it's nothing like that. I don't consider myself a superhero, although I possess some characteristics that have nothing to do with what's ordinary.

There must be something in my brain, she says. An episode of my past, a memory, a trauma that perhaps led me feeling numb in contact with fire. Not that I can do much in here. The medication and these restraint bracelets are weakening me day to day, and I'm honestly not even trying anymore to perform it because what's the point?

"Why are you doing this?", I ask her again, when comes in for the daily checkup. Her soft waves contour her face so graciously, I can't help but feel drawn to her, to those eyes that deep down appear to guard only light and kindness. However, was that the truth or just an infatuation of mine, considering the conditions she put me in?

"What do you mean, sweetheart?", her voice is laced with an innocence I stopped believing a few days ago. She is just trying to avoid the question, as always. I scoff lightly and bow my head focusing on my trembling hands, whose wrists have been handcuffed with a peculiar bracelet meant to keep all my abilities at bay. Initially I thought she cared about me, like truly. But now, I'm not sure anymore.

"I'm supposed to believe whatever you say without a fight—" I mumble tiredly, slowly meeting her confused frown. I'm so tired of being here, these four white walls are driving me crazy. I just want my life back. Doesn't she see that I'm struggling? She sighs and tilts her head to the side, a soft smile appears on her lips, "Sweetie, I—"

But I don't want to listen to those excuses anymore. "All your assumptions about what's real and what's not," I fix my gaze at the handcuffs, "and these, I'm sick of these! I feel like... suffocating," I swallow a lump in my throat, my voice comes out thinner but determined to make her understand that she was hurting me.

She smiles sadly at me, her eyebrows meet in a frown, "I know it seems brutal...", I chuckle bitterly, "Because it is!" I respond, letting out an exasperated grunt. She sees I'm fighting against my emotions, pushing past the tears threatening to spill from my eyes. She walks towards me, and for a moment, I see guilt flashing through her deep chocolate eyes. "Hey, hey...", I feel the mattress beneath me dip a bit as she takes a seat next to me.

On one side, I admire her like no other person I've ever laid my eyes on. There is something about her that hopelessly draws me closer. But there is also the other side that says— scream even to stay away. "I'm aware it's hard for you to comprehend, but I know what I'm doing. I specialize in people like you..."

Have you ever had that feeling about a person? Even when you know they are wrong, it feels like they are telling the truth, just because they firmly believe it is the truth. That's how Ellie was making me feel. She thinks she is helping me, failing to see my prospective. "People like me?," I look into her eyes with nothing but pure disbelief. A bitter chuckle escapes my mouth right after.

"Wait—", she sighs and reaches out a hand to touch me but I draw back before she can do it. "Do you hear yourself talking? There is nothing wrong with me," my lip quivers as I pronounce those words. I wonder what these handcuffs are made of to make my finger feel so numb and cold.

Ellie leans closer and lightly hushes me. Her long brown lashes well up with tears, tears that honestly I don't understand. Is she sad because she can't cure me? Is she discouraged because I refuse to listen to her? While busy asking myself what the reason of her distress may be, her hand gently cups my cheek. I squeeze my eyes shut, when her voice says my name with such a delicacy, I feel more vulnerable than ever. "You mastered a remarkable kindness, but it's just a camouflage."

If I looked at her now I'd see the hurt in her eyes. Her fingers tremble next to my skin. She inhales sharply and shakes her head at the same time, "No..." she voices out both exasperatedly and painfully, "You're so wrong," when her voice cracks a little, I look at her and say, "You keep telling me I'm wrong, but you never considered that you might be."

Her cheeks have reddened a bit, probably taken aback by my sudden outburst. A single tear slides down her face, while her bottom lip wobbles, causing me to feel guilty for whatever reason. "Your beliefs can put you in danger," she stutters for the first time feeling unconvinced of her own statement. It only makes the entire situation funnier to me.

"They are not beliefs and you know it! This is who I am," I voice out in a faint whisper. Tears spill from my eyes, because I'm so exhausted to be fed lies. I never called myself a superhero and if that's the title she fears so much, I'm willing to never use it. I'm just a girl that can evoke fire. I don't know myself how that's possible, but it's true. A part of me secretly hoped that Ellie would understand me, but I'm slowly losing faith.

When I was first met with those brown eyes I thought there was a chance for me to be understood and not condemned. I understand maybe it's fear what she feels. But I'm not a danger, I never was. After all, what harm have I done in life? I try to help those in need when I get the chance. Otherwise, I simply mind my business. I'm a normal person, regardless of the skills I possess. "I simply want to help you, make sure you don't get hurt..."

I scoff again, a bitter smile curve my lips, "By making me lose myself so that you're happy with your research?", "How does this make me happy exactly?", she quickly responds, gesturing animatedly. I raise an eyebrow at that. Is she pointing out the fact that I'm restrained? If yes, wouldn't it be easier to just let me go? "You did this to me," I state calmly, showing her my wrists.

Her chest rises and falls quicker, she opens her mouth to say something but she closes it again. I see her biting her tongue after, clearly in difficulty to express herself and make herself understood. I find myself even more confused because... are those irises moist with tears now? Is she about to cry? If so, maybe she does care? Or maybe she just finds me crazy and utterly beyond recovery.

"You're so focused on trying to get me to admit that I'm mentally sick, that you don't even see the person that I actually am," I see her posture change a bit when I pronounce these words. "That's not—", I keep her gaze, while I hesitantly draw my hands closer to hers. Despite the handcuffs, I can still move pretty freely, since they are not those bound to one another but they simply restrain my wrists. She looks at our fingers in trance as they almost touch. "Am I only an experiment to you? A task to complete so that you can level up?"

"N-no...," she looks heartbroken when she says that. Her voice never sounded so weak and guilty. It almost makes me feel bad for having said that. For a while I thought about believing her, admit to myself that having those abilities was more of an illness than a gift. That I maybe didn't feel pain, but I was actually hurting myself purposefully. And that it was better to be cured, but then, something snapped in me. Those were just lies.

"I don't see you that way. I never did. I do care about you." I sigh and angrily wipe my cheeks with the sleeves of my shirt, "Your actions tell me differently," I reply, averting my gaze towards that annoying pale wall, but only briefly cause lingering on it too long causes my eyes to itch and burn. "What do you want me to do?", that question surprises me. I mean, wasn't it obvious? I shake my handcuffs slightly as to point out the main reason of my distress.

"Freeing me from these would be a good start," I keep a sarcastic smile on my face. She takes a hesitant breath, her teeth nibbling her bottom lip that can't stop trembling, "Sweetheart...", she struggles, her eyes possess a fear of I don't know what, but it's crystal clear that it gnaws at her heart. "Please, Ellie. I'm not a danger," I plead.

Despite having been treated like this for weeks, I don't seek revenge or anything of the sort. I just want to be able to go back to my old life and get rid of these annoying handcuffs. "I want to believe you, I do", she insists, her voice trembling as she speaks, wavering with uncertainty. For the first time after a while I see a shift in her behavior. A determination that maybe will lead her to go against the protocol, "Then, what's stopping you?", I insist softly.

"Everything I've been taught...", she mutters to herself before looking at me again, "Look, I see the truth in your eyes," she admits, which makes me hope for a real change of events. "I'm just— I'm scared of the consequences. Not about what you would do once you're set free, but about the others— what if they find out and disagree with my decision? What if they come after you, manipulate and restrain you in ways I can't even imagine?"

I see her heart torn between duty and compassion. Love even, maybe. A soft smile tugs at my lips, maybe she does care about me after all. "I can handle myself. I can change city, I don't know, disappear if I have to... Anything is better than this. I don't want to spend eternity here, though your company makes it better," my attempts to be funny even in such situations sometimes astonishes me.

However, there is some truth in it. I like her. Maybe more than I should, as irrational as that sounds. Ellie's cheeks flush pink, an amused and quiet chuckle escapes her mouth right after, "You don't have to flatter me, sweetheart," I rapidly shake my head at that. I'm not trying to play with her, I really meant what I said. "I'm not," I state simply, hoping to let my honesty shine through. "Although, I wish we met in different circumstances," I mutter quietly, shrugging a bit.

"Me too...", she says, which leads me to snap my eyes open towards her. "For real?", her heart breaks at the uncertainty and vulnerability in my voice. Ellie simply nods at that, a thin and sad smiles graces upon her lips, while her hand reaches out to cup my cheek still wet and warm with tears. The pad of her finger delicately wipe a solitary tear that, without me knowing, just slipped from my eye. I'm so vulnerable to affection, I feel myself blushing.

I didn't know that but Ellie had spent so long to try and suppress her mixed feeling towards me, burying them beneath the weight of her responsibilities as doctor. Her fingers keep brushing against my paled cheek as she ponders on her next words carefully, "I'm so sorry," she whispers painfully, "Ellie...", I look for her eyes, that she voluntarily keeps down. "I'm sorry for making you doubt of yourself, for keeping you here—", shaking her head, she lets out a cry, "I want to help you, for real now."

With my eyes wide open, I breathe out, "Really?", tears brim in my eyes, as a glimmer of hope flick within them. "If it's the last thing I do" she confesses weakly, finally looking at me now. "This isn't your place." My heart flutters at her tone, I feel mixed feelings all of the sudden. I'm so excited to the possibility to put an end to all of this, "What will we do, then?"

What she does next completely astounds me. Her delicate fingers fumble as she struggles to unlock the handcuffs which have been secured with a code that only she knows. When a click follows, I finally feel cool air pass through my skin. I let out a relieved breath, while Ellie gasps in horror, noticing the red, raw marks etched into my wrists. "Oh my God, I'm.. I'm so sorry—", panic fills her voice as she shakily takes both my hands in hers, examining the seriousness of the injury.

"Don't be sorry, " I tell her with a reassuring smile, not wanting to add more weight on her shoulders. I feel so relieved, as if I'm starting breathing again. "No. I should have done better, I never meant to hurt you this way—", she takes a deep, shaky breath, her whole body trembling with remorse. She lightly massages my sore wrists, making me wince a bit. She stops, offering me another apologetic glance, "Can you feel your powers?", she asks, cupping my cheeks.

"Huh?", unsure if I have heard her right or not, she looks at me with conviction, tears filling her eyes. She nods her head and strokes my cheeks tenderly, "But... are you sure?", a reassuring smile tugs at Ellie's lips, "You need them to get out of here, don't you?", she grins through tears. I can't help but chuckle at that. The first liberating giggle in so long. "You're not afraid of me?", I need to make sure of this. I never mean to be a monster in her eyes.

As weird as it sounds, the last thing I wish for is for her to think ill of me. She simply shakes her head, her lips flatten in a thin line. Her eyes express me a weight of guilt and sorrow that tell me more than one hundred words. "I never was," her emotional confession makes my heart burst with joy. As I wriggle my fingers, slowly feeling my powers radiate through each fiber of my body once again, she gives me an encouraging squeeze on my shoulder.

I chuckle softly when dim flames start dancing in your hands, casting a warm glow in your face. Ellie can't help but look at me in awe. Her fear slowly melting away, replaced by a sense of wonder and admiration. "You were never a threat...", she mutters to herself, however loud enough for me to hear. A soft smile plays on my lips, as I look at her. When my gaze lingers on her eyes, the flames grow a little stronger.

Realizing that, I close my hands in fists and quickly and awkwardly apologize. She giggles at that and reaches out a hand to cup my chin, "You're extraordinary," she mutters, captivated by my gentle demeanor. A funny warmth fills my chest, when she asks, "Show me again. Show me who you are," her eyes lock with mine with nothing but love and conviction. I nod my head, a playful grin upon my features as I lean closer to her and whisper, "with immense pleasure."

#sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson imagines #dr. ellie staple #Ellie staple x reader #sarah paulson #glass #dr. Ellie staple x reader

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hockeywriterrowan · 7 months

Text

Delicate Pt. 3 || Andrei Svechnikov

author's note: this is just such a short part but I love it and I just don't really know where I'm going so I might just be done with this fic for now idk (unless y'all have any ideas for what to do with it from this point)

summary: Elise practices at the Canes rink.

pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x hockey player!oc

word count: 590

warnings: N/A

pt 1, pt 2

Elise arrived at the Canes’ practice rink for the fourteenth consecutive morning, her heart brimming with anticipation and the thrill of stepping onto the ice. Practice rinks had always held a special place in her heart, but now, with her unwavering commitment to reclaiming a position in competitive hockey, the Canes’ facility held an even more profound significance.

As she placed each skate onto the ice, she felt a familiar shiver of excitement race down her spine. The ice was her home, and its cool, unforgiving surface beneath her edges sent a surge of energy coursing through her veins. The ghostly echoes of her past whispered through her ears, the sound of the skates across the ice all too familiar from a constant two weeks spent on the ice and a whole lifetime of practices. Each stride brought the memories of countless hours spent perfecting her skills.

As always, Andrei Svechnikov had arrived early for practice. Today, however, his attention was captivated by the sight of Elise. He couldn’t help but be drawn in, never having witnessed her skating in person, let alone after her injury with this level of intensity. He leaned forward against the boards.

Elise began with a set of basic skating warmups, each movement with grace and precision, but also a newfound determination. Each stride was fluid, her control over her body was a testament to her relentless dedication.

Andrei stood mesmerized, his eyes locked onto Elise’s every move. Andrei had met thousands of skilled players, but there was something exceptional about watching Elise in action. Her passion bled into every stride, every calculated maneuver, making her practice “performance” truly extraordinary.

As the drills became increasingly advanced, Elise’s speed and agility became increasingly evident. She glided through the drills with a fluidity that spoke to her hours spent on the ice, rekindling her talent.

When she finally made her way to the bench to grab a sip of water, Andrei couldn’t contain his smile. He joined her at the bench, his voice laced with admiration, “Elise, you’re such a good skater. I didn’t know you were going this hard this soon.”

Elise paused and looked to him, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of exertion and pride, a small smile forming, “Thanks, Svech. It’s been a while, but I wanna get back in the game.”

Andrei nodded in genuine admiration and leaned slightly forward, “It’s amazing. We should definitely skate together sometime.”

A spark of excitement lit up Elise’s eyes, “I’d love that. I’m sure Marney would be cool with adding another. Lemme talk to you once I finish.”

Elise hopped back onto the ice to complete a few shooting drills as a cool-down.

When she finally stepped off the ice, Andrei was still standing by the bench, patiently waiting. Elise removed one of her gloves and approached him with a warm smile, “So, Marney says he’ll adjust our practice for tomorrow. Let me put my number in your phone just in case.”

She took his phone and began typing her number. As their hands briefly touched in the exchange, her red face grew even warmer. Andrei smiled down at his phone, looking at the new contact in his phone. His dimples only made Elise grin widen.

With a playful twinkle in her eye, Elise put her glove back on, ready for static stretching after practicing for so long. She and Andrei exited the bench area, Elise heading to her own locker room, quickly turning to see Andrei walking to his dressing room with a grin.

#andrei svechnikov #andrei svechnikov fic #carolina hurricanes #andrei svechnikov x oc #hockey #hockey fic

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the-cinnamon-snail · 1 year

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Spells for Out Of The Woods and how I think Vic and Trix will encounter them. Being it learning them or learning about them or simply seeing the magic being performed.

Spells They Can Find/Learn About First Ideas: Healing, Rain Summoning, Lightning, Fire, Water Breathing, Wind Manipulation, Small Teleportation, Quick Feet, Memory Sharing, Floating, Large Jumps, Clairvoyance (maybe just by a few hours or days), Emotion Links, Ground Manipulation, Plant Growth, Animate Objects, Blend Into Shadows/Invisibility, Animal Communication, Physical Representation of Emotions, Phasing Through Objects, Levitating Objects, Stunning/Attack Spells, Shielding Spells, Spells To Hide Things, Temporary/Permanent Memory Loss Spells. Spells, Potions, Runes, Wand/Staff Assisted Spells, Star Magic, Sigils/Drawn Out Like Summoning Circles, Animal Magic, etc.

For spells that they learn. Maybe some small healing because everyone needs to know how to take care of cuts and bruises.

Water breathing or something to aid in swimming because Beatrix not being able to swim wasn't a joke. I'm gonna toss her into a river in the forest and have Vic save her.

Rain summoning or lightning because I'm gonna have them mess around in a storm as a bonding activity.

Emotion/Small Memory sharing because Victor has to share the death of his older sister with Trix somehow. Maybe I'll make Beatrix just not remember because maybe she blocked stuff off after her mom's death.

Plant and Star magic are a given because those are amazing. Potions because Victor excels in them. Fire because Ambrose will have them lighting the brick fireplace somehow. Maybe they can't perform Star Magic perfectly but Ambrose can and will show it to them along with the old magic user.

Invisibilities and Shadow magic because maybe they snoop in on some family drama, theirs or otherwise, and don't want to be found out.

Levitation is probably a basic spell everyone knows at first because it just seems easy y'know? Attacking and Defense spells only in theory, they are too young to know that but it still needs to be taught. Maybe some shielding spells can be learned.

Runes are maybe a bit of older magic but they can pass by a few old books in Ambrose's libraries. And also Animal Magic and learning about/caring for magical animals. Because Victor is attached to the black cat that hangs around Ambrose's house (with a few other animals) and maybe it will become a familiar of some kind.

Maybe some floating of themselves, and speed boosts. But other than that? They probably won't practice a lot of other spells. Maybe a few ones that require more thoughts for me to invent though. Learning about others in theory from Ambrose and other older magic users will probably be mentioned in passing though.

#again just copy and pasted but it shows my thoughts perfectly so it's fine #Out Of The Woods

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twothpaste · 9 months

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little fic snippet below the cut, in which lucas n' bronson n' pals begin to uncover ghosts in the ruins of new pork

The whole place is haunted, mind you. Not just Lucas' cranial cavity. God knows what groans beneath their weight, every now n' again. Long, guttural wails, sifting through caked layers of apocalypse. You'd think it's just tectonic. Bronson sure does. Tide comes in. A thousand tons of rubble give way to sinking pressure. Natural as the sea, he maintains. Sheep shakes their head, though. They know what a crumbling tower sounds like. This? This invokes somethin' else. Like the mourning calls of long-extinct pilot whales. Or a million memories, snuffed out at the City's gates. Or zombies. Maybe.

Gilbert swears on his life it was solid ground one moment, and not the next. That he was swept off his feet, onto his bloodied knees, in all of a paranormal instant. Bronson says that's New New Pork Harbor for ya. Nana tells Toothpicks he can squeeze her hand, if he needs to, when she douses his wounds with rubbing alcohol. And his ears with an elaborate tale about how she learned to play the cornet, rekindling destiny, after swearing off brass instruments in her youth. She performed for an audience of none on a cliff by the sea, when she visited Kyushu-Two, and serendipitously charmed an adolescent short-tailed albatross. She named it Petunia. Gilbert squeezes tight. And draws the deepest sigh he can muster.

"For what it's worth? I think y'all're all a buncha yella-bellied nervous nellies," Claus jests. Radiating sunshine n' lackadaisy, from a walkway overlook. Helpin' themself to a hearty bite of beef jerky. "Environment's got a profound effect on an animal's nerves, y'know. This place is prob'ly just gettin' to your heads."

Below, the chicken coop in question clucks middling counterpoints. Earning Claus' grins n' snickers. Beside his brother, Lucas extends a sympathetic arm over solid steel. N' mutters,

"Y'ain't projectin', are ya?"

Turning rightwards, their eyebrow concedes a flicker. As does the wavelength between the two of 'em. Psionic technicolor. Warm to sudden cold tones. And back again. With a crooked smirk.

"It happens to the best of us," they shrug and say.

Regarding the supposed spectral force plaguing the junkyard mire - or the potency of places over people - Lucas has his faith, and his doubts. A wealth of experience on either front. If he had to wager? He suspects there's a truth to both sides.

"Whaddaya know?" snarks the Porky in his head. "When a leftist finally grows the hell up, he becomes a centrist, after all."

You don't know what either of those words mean.

"Hahahah."

An adamant realist, on the other hand, Bronson fears no ghosts nor hauntings of the past nor present. Nope. No siree, he whistles. But he keeps his wits about him nonetheless. For everyone else's sake. He promised Abbey n' Abbot he'd watch over the whippersnapper, in particular. No easy task, he soon comes to learn. Lil' lassie's workin' hours trend lengthy and precarious. Scouring sunset overtime, just to plunder a few more trunks n' glove compartments. With metric tons piled on top of each other, and rumors of shifting terrain, the prospect of one misplaced boot has the admiral on edge. Perhaps with good reason.

"Ah? Hey! H-Hey! Abelle!!" he barks, abruptly.

She turns on a dime. From her perch atop the leaning tower of pizza delivery vehicles. Bright eyes drawn dinnerplate-wide.

"Y'better get the hell down from there, if you know what's good for y--!?"

Before Lucas' addled reflexes even spark a flinch's inkling, the flash is said and done. Glassy chime above. A crash in every key, glanced off an impervious surface. Bronson jolts like artillery fire. Craggy wrinkles illuminated in the ward's gracious gleam. Behind him, unbeknownst to him - a second heap had budged, see. Of its own ghoulish accord, or by incidental laws of physics, is anyone's guess. The fallen piano's no mere specter, though. Hilarious as it might seem. Were it not for Shield Omega, he'd be crushed to smithereens.

Abelle's pupils relinquish their neon glow.

"Gosh! Careful there, Mister Bronson! Now, what's that you were sayin'?"

His jaw slacks open. His lungs, however, manage little more than, "I… I, er.. ah…?"

"Nice save," both twins call. In almost-unison.

"Oh! Why thank ya!" Abelle waves back.

#2thprose #osha's eleven

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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

Text

gin and tonic and bad, bad men

Collab Masterlist

✧ pairing: bartender!dabi x waitstaff!fem!reader

✧ word count: 6k

✧ warnings: misogyny, scummy dabi, noncon/dubcon, yandere vibes, cat calling, toxic relationships, toxic work environment, face fucking (?), smut, semi-public sex (in an alley), alcohol, drunk reader, drunk sex, smoking mention, brief spitting, humiliation, light degradation, probably incorrect use of restaurant terminology, reader is implied female but no body parts are explicitly gendered

✧ summary: Dabi is willing to protect you from those awful, nasty men who torment you at work, but he never does anything on the house -- or the newbie at the bar catches dabi's attention and everyone else's.

✧ a/n: Heyy my first dabi, and he's scummy as hell in this. who's shocked? Not me. This is for the BNHAREM collab and it's a coworker/workplace au! Please go check out all the other works, everyone is so talented! Enjoy~

Dead men tell no tales, but drunk men’s mouths run wild.

Liquor loosens the lips like no other force of nature.

Dabi knows this to be true.

Whiskey runs hot in the blood and makes hands reach to lay claim on whatever is closest, whatever is prettiest within their grasp.

Alcohol on the tongue draws forth cravings from deep, hidden pits in men—bears their ugly truths to the world—and Dabi is the master of this liquid sorcery.

He sits, high and mighty, behind the safety of his bartop and watches the sea of bodies grow loose with vodka and gin and in turn he drinks their secrets. Sees the things they hide in sobriety and knows their nature with a removed certainty that is only found in those who have seen the darkest depths of mankind and come out the other side stinking of their filth.

The mahogany slab that separates Dabi from the waves of slobbering drunkards does nothing to stop the infection from spreading. He knows their thoughts, knows their truth, knows what their hands long to bruise, because they’re his thoughts too.

His truth.

His longing.

Kept only at bay by the simple fact that the boss doesn’t like him drinking on shift. Likes to keep his air of professionalism even if the bar is nothing more than a seedy dive in the bad part of the bad part of town.

Whatever keeps him off Dabi’s back is fine.

“The bar is over there and that door is to the kitchen…”

Toga’s voice pulls him from his stupor. The dirty rag he’d been using to halfheartedly wipe down the counters leaves his skin slick, calluses soft and plump as the water eats at them. She’s showing around one of the new hires. The turn over rate for staff here is so goddamn awful that this is a near weekly occurrence, so Dabi doesn’t pay her much mind as she wanders over.

It isn’t until her face is shoved up against his across the bar that he looks away from his task.

“Say hi to the newbie!” she cackles, smile just deranged enough to keep her safe from the crowds on packed nights.

Toga doesn’t look it but she belongs here too, in the filth and squalor of humans. But not like him. She thrives and gorges herself on their foolishness, twirling through the mob of patrons, always knowing who’s back to pat for gracious tips and who’s to stab when she needs to.

He glances up through his lashes and is both shocked and unsurprised by what he finds.

Hanging off the end of Toga’s arm, you stand out against the dingy background of the taproom. The smog of the bar clings to it’s staff, making their hair dull and their eyes red rimmed. You haven’t been poisoned yet though. The smell of the downpour raging outside still clings to you and errant raindrops drip down your chin like tears.

“Hey,” he grumbles and with another prodding look from Toga tacks on a gruff, “name’s Dabi.”

“He’s our bartender,” Toga provides after his silence and you smile. He guesses cause you don’t know any better.

You’ll learn not to do that down here soon enough.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Your name slips off your lips and onto his like top shelf tequila. There’s rain on your palm as you reach out for him, so when he takes it to shake, you can’t feel the way the grime clings to his skin—can’t feel the roughness etched into his fingers through the chill.

Can’t see him for what he is.

Meanwhile, you’re practically transparent in the dim, neon light of the bar.

The buttons of your shirt are undone too low, he notices as Toga drags you away to the back. He could warn you, should warn you. That when the late night crowd stumbles in, you’ll want those extra inches of skin covered up. That dressing like that is just asking for something to get smacked.

You must be stupid to not know it, because he doesn’t think you do.

You’re not really carrying yourself like a slut, he thinks, watching you trail along behind his boisterous coworker smiling and nodding and eager to please.

He ought to warn you.

But he knows he won’t.

You’ll be gone within a week and Dabi will swiftly forget your name and face just like the others before you. He’ll sneak shots in while his manager’s back is turned and any memory of you will be filtered out by his abused liver.

But for now, Dabi reigns himself back in to polish some of the obvious stains from his glasses and prepares himself for the show. The doors open in an hour, and he wants to be ready for the action.

The drunk antics of all the city's criminals gets old fast when you’re the one who has to clean up their shit.

Fresh meat is the only real entertainment they ever get around here.

So Dabi watches as you don one of the stained, black aprons and doesn’t tell you to cover up that sliver of your chest practically glowing in the electric red and blue light. Just looks on from the relative sanctuary of the bar as Toga instructs you on how to carry the drink trays and waits patiently to see you be devoured.

After you trip on the way back to the kitchen, Dabi pulls a twenty out of his pocket and shoves it in a jar hidden under the bartop. He makes a mental note to tell the chef he’s betting on just under a week you’ll last.

At the very least he’ll get a free performance and a neat hundred out of your inevitable failure.

He goes back to polishing, only looking up once as you breeze past the bar on your way to unlock the gates for the nocturnal animals of the city to filter in as they please.

You smile at him again as you pass.

Dabi tosses another twenty into the jar.

***

Well, he may have lost the bet, but he can’t find it in himself to mourn the forty dollars too hard.

Today would be your two week anniversary, and honestly, Dabi felt a bit of grudging respect for the determination you showed, no matter how pointless it was.

Determination and foolishness often came hand in hand.

He couldn’t help but think you looked more than a little the fool as you smiled and made unbridled eye contact with the patrons while walking your rounds from table to table. You’d learned enough to cover up a bit more, but he can’t be sure if that’s because you’ve started to notice the stares or because a spring cold front has rolled over the city. Either way, he watches you shiver under the gaze of a particularly rowdy guest and feels a chill run up his own spine as he watches the man’s eyes trail up your thighs, drinking down the slivers of bare skin like his fifth beer of the night.

Dabi is intrigued now.

Wonders how you’ve made it out of the fray every night so far.

Wonders what you’re hiding under those skimpy clothes and friendly, thoughtless smiles.

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out.

It’s inevitable really. When you’re working nights there are certain occupational hazards to expect. So when the little clock above the bar reads just past one in the morning, and you drift out once again into the raging mass of bodies, Dabi isn’t shocked to hear the yelp and smash of glasses just a few minutes later.

The first die has been cast.

He looks up from pouring out two fingers of whiskey just in time to catch the man’s hand slipping between your thighs, dirty fingers digging into the flesh and yanking you down onto his spread legs. The tray of drinks you’d been carrying clatters to the floor, lacing the air with the sweet burn of alcohol and futile outrage.

It’s far too loud to hear what the man says to you, but the way his blackened, ragged nails press five perfect, filthy crescents onto your skin—how they mark you as a worthy target, claiming you with their muck—sends a clear enough message.

Dabi wouldn’t bother watching if it wasn’t you trying to squirm your way out of being passed from lap to lap around the booth. He’s isn’t the least bit ashamed to admit how curious he is to see which way you’ll react.

And while he expects passivity—a drawn look with wide eyes, hoping no reaction at all will leave them bored and searching for a more interesting conquest—Dabi finds himself on the wrong side of the tracks once more.

His eyebrows shoot up, quite the reaction from the generally stony bartender, as your hand cracks open palmed across the face of your captor. A strange, heavy silence falls over the bar. It lasts only a few precious seconds but it’s enough to draw the attention of your manager who pulls you, cursing and snarling like a dog without it’s muzzle, back to the kitchen.

It’s your face that does him in—seals both your fates in dripping cream and purple wax.

Working down here, in this pigsty bar with it’s air that clings and dirties and tarnishes, brightness of any kind is foreign.

Alluring.

And your eyes that shine with the glow of reckless willpower have the same draw as the fat wads of cash that slip too easily from drunk fingers into his tip jar. Defiance is a rare currency in the underworld and Dabi’s fingers itch as your secret is revealed.

You believe you’re worth something.

Even as he hears the rasp of his boss’ voice, berating and threatening from behind the swinging doors, Dabi can’t help but hold the image of your smile turned snarl. You’ll get off with a warning because you’ve lasted this long and it’s a hassle to find replacements with pretty enough faces. But only this once, do it again and you’ll be out on the street.

For his part he tries to look sympathetic when you crowd yourself behind the bar and pout with your tail between your legs.

You haven’t spoken to him since that first night and he hasn’t exactly made an attempt at conversation either.

It wasn’t like you were worth the effort before.

But now, as you sniffle and pretend the pin prick tears in your eyes are just from the bite of the liquor slicked floor, Dabi feels an old heat rise in him. Something stokes the embers that laid dying out inside the prison of his ribs, and he welcomes the familiar burn.

Like an old friend, like a knife at his throat.

The man from before approaches the bar to order another drink and his cloudy eyes don’t even seem to register the way you cower from him, back turned and sinking into the peeling wallpaper. They’ve forgotten you already. To them you are one of dozens, not worth the fight it takes when plenty of properly meek flesh hops from table to table, ripe for picking.

But Dabi see’s the flint in your hands and knows it’s you that lit this fire licking up the back of his throat.

With two rough fingers he beckons you over into the soft overhead spotlights of the bar. Like a beast to its master’s call you shuffle forward into his gravitational pull and look up at him warily.

“Wanna learn how to mix?” he asks, even to him his voice sounds harsh with disuse.

“...sure,” you say quietly, after a brief pause.

You’re warm and soft as he settles behind you, caging you in with his arms under the guise of reaching for a strainer or a jar of olives. Unlike that bastard, now long passed out from drink, Dabi’s face remains free of your claw marks when his chest brushes against you or his hand wanders to the small of your back to move you aside as he serves customers.

He even works up a little smile of his own when you stare, sunny bright over your shoulder at his attempt to distract you from the incident.

The city, the bar, the underground—all of it is an angry, storming ocean filled with angry, storming bodies that swiftly drowns its victims as they desperately tread water in the open, black abyss.

Without him, you’d learn to take the wandering hands and vulgar words or you’d be foolish enough to inhale them in lungfuls and sink to the bottom.

But as you smile and nod while he shows you how long to stir an Old Fashioned, Dabi feels his own neglected determination rise to the challenge.

By the end of the night, you already trail behind him as he does his rounds to each abandoned table. Like a stranded victim to a raft, you cling to the safety he’s dared to provide.

And if he plays his cards right.

He might not come out of this bet so empty handed.

If only you knew, he was no better than the rest of them.

You’d run straight from the trees into the wolf's den.

***

“What’s your favorite drink to make?” you ask.

Dabi glances up at you, his chest pressed against the cool surface of the bar as he surveys the empty taproom. It’s a little over an hour till opening, but the only thing waiting for him outside of this hellhole is an even deeper hellhole, so Dabi almost always finds himself lounging around the abandoned bar. The boss doesn’t care anyway as long as inventory gets taken and any dried blood from the night before is gone by the next day.

You’ve taken to drifting in early too, even sometimes on the nights you don’t work.

Normally, he’d be annoyed, but it’s better you’re here than out on the streets.

At least if you’re bugging him behind the bar, he can keep an eye on you. Dabi’s found recently that you’ve been on his mind with increasing frequency. It’s easier if you’re in his line of sight. There’s a certain reassurance in your dopey little smile and your hand fisted in the back of his shirt—your body knows where you belong even if your pretty little brain hasn’t quite caught up yet.

Pretty.

“My favorite or my best?” he grunts, pushing off the bar and wetting his lips.

“Is there a difference?”

You’re looking at him with what he assumes is meant to be a cocky grin, but he has a hard time taking you seriously with your crossed arms squishing your chest up like that.

“‘Course there is,” he turns to grab one of the highball glasses from it’s rack and sets it down on the counter. “Just because you like something, doesn’t mean you’re good to it.”

When he looks back at you over his shoulder, you’ve got this comical little furrow in your brow.

“To it?”

Dabi presses the tip of his finger into your forehead, “At it, whatever. Don’t frown so much, you’ll look old as fuck soon if you do.”

“You don’t know how old I am,” you scoff and slap his hand away.

“Bet I’m older,” he mumbles, searching the shelves of bottles idly while dropping a few cubes of ice into the glass.

It melts in his palm, slipping through the spaces between his fingers.

Dabi clenches his fist tighter.

“I don’t know about that,” you’re trotting around to the other side of the bar now, slipping into one of the worn, red topped stools and watching him start to mix.

He likes having you for an audience. Any other customer is only concerned with getting his drink as fast a possible, to numb whatever wounds need to be numbed on their insides. But you appreciate the art form of crafting this liquid destruction.

“I’m older where it counts,” he replies simply, pulling a bottle of gin down from near the top shelf and plopping it on the counter.

“Oh really? How’s that?”

Dabi measures out two ounces of sharp, clear liquor and pours it smoothly over the ice. He doesn’t bother looking at you as he works. He knows your eyes won’t leave him.

“Experience,” he offers and doesn’t elaborate.

The tonic water cracks open with a satisfying hiss and bubbles as he tips it into the glass. You trail your fingers through the condensation on the bar absentmindedly.

“I’m not as clueless as you think I am, you know that?”

He does glance at you then, senses the lack of your attention that’s focused on the fading finish of the bar top.

Dabi waits in silence.

You do elaborate.

“There’s some real fucking choice clientele here, but nothing that’s gone down on shifts is like, a new development.”

“No?” he asks because you expect him to respond and because he enjoys the way you perk up when he actually engages in a conversation with you.

He likes that you like it.

His attention.

It’s not often he finds anyone worth the effort.

“No.”

You stare at him expectantly now, eyes flicking between him and the glass as he stirs the drink a few times and grabs a lime wedge.

Dabi rolls his eyes at the clear fishing line you’re casting for more questions, but takes the bait anyway.

He hopes you know how lucky you are.

“What, got groped on the train a few times and now you think you're a seasoned member of the criminal underground?” he squeezes the fruit between two fingers lightly to spread its juice around the rim and lets it float atop the ice. “I fucking knew you were a dramatic little bitch.”

“I am not dramatic,” you pout just like you do every time the boss chews you out.

He gets the distinct feeling you’re just as much of a petulant little brat elsewhere as you are at work. Then again, that is what makes you so interesting. If you didn’t try to gnash those little baby teeth at him every now and again, he wouldn’t have bothered jumping to your rescue so often.

Dabi doesn’t partake in...partners often. People disappoint him, which isn’t shocking considering the amount of shit he’s seen them spew in his years behind the bar. People are dirty and never in the sexy way all those pop songs talk about, and that makes them boring. The allure of inviting someone else into his shoebox little life is shaping them to fit it. You can’t sculpt mud that loses its shape, slips through your fingers and back to the filthy earth where it belongs.

But you haven’t been stained yet.

You sit at his bar looking like a perfect slab of clay, ready for his hands to dip past those sweet, sweet lips and form them to fit only his fingers.

A rare find in a place like this, just like the single malt on his top shelf—unexpected, leaving behind a pleasant burn on his tongue.

He thinks back to that man on the first night he showed you some of the drinks and all the others that came after him. Here, in the bar, you can come scurrying over and hide behind the wall of his chest. You can put Dabi and the counter between you and the mass of hands and whistles.

He hadn’t really bothered to think of what might happen to you when he’s not around.

Who might touch his precious treasure he’s managed to dig out of muck.

Who might try and ruin you before he gets the chance.

His brain is working to rationalize the growing feeling of possession he feels towards the half frown half permanent smile that you fix him with. But he knows.

He knows exactly what he’d like to do to you and how he’d like to do it.

Knows it’s exactly what all those creeps on the train or drunks that stumble in one hour to call would like too.

It’s fine though. People like him wouldn’t be so attracted to people like you if you weren’t asking for it.

And you were asking.

Every time you stood by him, attached at the hip and let him chase off the assholes who tried to get in your pants or practically begged him with your eyes for some scrap of attention—you were asking for him to take control.

Even if you were too stupid to see it for yourself.

Your body knows what you want, even if you deny it with every fiber left of you.

He doesn’t offer another response, just slides the concoction across and into your outstretched hands.

Gin and tonic is simple, bare bones and hard to fuck up. He likes that. Everything else is so goddamn complicated, this type of magic doesn’t need to be.

You seem to forget the weight of the previous conversation and peer curiously down into the glass. Dabi is shameless as he watches your lips wrap around the curved edge and your throat constrict as you swallow.

He likes that more than the floral gin that hits his tongue when you pass the drink back and he sips.

“So which is it, your favorite or your best?”

There’s a pause as he considers the questions before passing the glass back to you.

“My favorite.”

He isn’t looking at the drink when he answers.

“Oh,” you respond quietly, sipping lightly on the drink he’s made and looking at him like he isn’t seconds away from taking you then and there.

“Stay awhile after your shift,” he says, not much thought behind the words. “I’ll drive you home.”

***

You look almost angelic, a beacon amongst the refuse and grime of the back alley, silhouetted by the dying orange glow of a lone street lamp. The door to the kitchen is still rattling in its frame as Dabi pulls you stumbling behind him.

He isn’t angry.

But there’s something burning in him.

In reality, he’d felt the potential of the night the instant he walked through the front doors, slipping behind the bar to clock in only to find you leaned up against the drink racks, ready and waiting.

The same sensation since the first time you’d smiled that dopey smile his way was raging to a crescendo under his skin. He’d been doing you a service all these weeks, keeping you from the prying eyes and fingers of the patrons—keeping them from soiling what was his to ruin.

Tonight he would take what he was owed.

Indulge a bit in what he’d won, the gold nugget he’d plucked from the dirty, city sewer riverbed.

After all, he needed to make sure you were a worthwhile investment.

If the boss thought the restaurant business was risky….well, Dabi knew better.

You struggled a bit as his fingernails dug into the skin on your bicep, but he just tugged harder, clicking his tongue at the jumble of slurred protests you groaned into the sweet summer air. There was a space between the two massive dumpsters out behind the kitchen Dabi used to go to smoke. It was a nice, private little spot. Didn’t smell too great but nothing here did, and that wouldn’t matter when he had you to distract him anyway.

In seconds he had your back to the wall, hidden on either side by steel containers. The brick caught on your uniform and Dabi watched the fabric tighten around your chest and throat. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, but your hands were weak as they shoved at him, easy to gather in one palm and pin down.

He wasn’t exactly sure what put this idea in his head—the urgency in his blood—but it definitely had something to do with that last customer.

It was halfway through your night shift, closing in on one in the morning. Dabi was stuck behind the bar, churning out cheap beers and lines of shots. You’d been forced to brave the sea of regulars, too busy to hide yourself away in the kitchen with Toga or watch with owl-wide eyes as Dabi doled out liquor.

The bar was unusually packed. Not that it was strange for a bar to be full on a Friday night, but he’d never seen the place without an empty seat in sight.

Maybe it was because you were so easily swallowed up by the roiling mass of bodies, or maybe it was because Dabi lost himself in the magic of the drinks—of the mixing and matching and perfecting—that he didn’t notice the man.

That the way this particular customer stared and touched and spoke to you miraculously didn’t end in a smart slap to the face and a screaming session from the manager.

No. It seemed that somewhere along the way he’d let that light in you, the matchstick spark, dwindle just a bit too much, let you sink just a bit too far into the mud of the place. Cause when this man pulled you into his lap and plied you with shot after shot, cheering all the time, calling you his ‘pretty little thing,’ you didn’t put up any fight.

No.

No you smiled that dumb, bright eyed smile at him.

Flashed this nobody asshole Dabi’s sweet little smile and drank the shots he’d poured like Dabi hadn’t wasted the nearly a month driving you home and keeping you safe from the human garbage that wandered in off the street. Like all that work had been for nothing, up in ashes the instant that man’s hand found purchase on your bare thigh and you didn’t so much as squirm in his grip.

You squirm now though.

Fight despite the alcohol blurring your vision and turning your bones to jelly. Normally the boss hates it when his employees drink on shift, but if you want to take it like the fucking slut you were well, who’s Dabi to stop you?

He kept pouring rounds for that table and watched the man tip sweet, top shelf whiskey down your throat. It didn’t take long till you were losing your balance and sinking deeper into the quicksand debris of the bar.

Gin and tonics used to be medicinal—mixed up with quinine to treat malaria. Dabi likes that. Likes the idea that he’s whipping up healing potions instead of Molotovs. Likes the freshness amidst the burn.

But Dabi wants you to burn now.

Wants your throat on fire with the betrayal.

It’s easy to force your knees. The whiskey made you pliant even as you shake your head and look up at him with bleary eyes.

“You’re looking at me now, huh?” he works his tongue across his teeth as the words leave him, spitting straight on your cheek to watch you recoil in disgust. “Didn’t seem too interested in me earlier.”

“I don’t, I’m sorry...what?” you mumble.

He thinks if you were more coherent you might be crying.

Maybe he should have cut you off sooner.

“Don’t act stupid with me,” he still has your hands held above your head and his free hand moves to grip your scalp. “You’ve been behind my bar so many times, there’s no way you don’t know I see everything.”

“Why didn’t you…” Dabi shakes your head as your eyes droop and you gasp at his nails raking your skin. “You could have helped me!”

“What? Help you get fucked by some drunk shit? I don’t think so.”

“No,” you shake your head yourself this time, face screwed up in confusion and as the grit of the alley bites into your knees. “They wouldn’t let me leave, I was scared, Dabi please—”

He is swiftly losing his patience, hand leaving your head to fumble with the clasp of his belt and pants. The look on your face—tears beginning to bead at the corners of your eyes and mouth opening up as words try but fail to find their way off your tongue—is enough to have his cock twitching with interest.

“Listen sweetheart, cause I’m not gonna fucking say this again,” he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his chest as his dick falls free from his boxers and your eyes go almost all white as he strokes up the ladder of piercings on his shaft. “You might think you’re cut out for this job, but you aren’t shit. Everything’s got a price down here and you’re gonna have to pay the fuck up for what you owe me.”

You look like you want to protest, even in this state—on your knees in an dirty as fuck alley with a fat cock nudging your lips—but he’s got his thumb worked between your teeth, shoving down on your tongue until your jaw pops open and he can sheath himself inside.

The half choke, half sob, half shameful moan that squeezes out past his dick only has Dabi growing harder. It’s been so long since he’s fucked someone’s throat. So long since he’s fucked anything at all, he’s nearly forgotten how goddamn good it feels to have something other than a fist wrapped around him.

His fingers migrate, moving to grip you by the cheeks, keeping your mouth open and jaw locked so you can’t bite him. Not that he thinks you really would.

Your body knows what you want.

And it seems like you really want a fucking dick in your mouth.

He pulls out, listening to the click of the little metal barbells against your teeth and the gasp of air you take before he plunges back in.

“Look at you,” he muses, daring to release your hands which flop uselessly to your sides as he holds your face still and starts to roll his hips. “Don’t know why I waited so long to collect, fucking shit.”

Your neck bulges with every stroke of his hips, and when the ring at the tip of his dick nudges the back of your throat, you gag so pretty he can hardly stand it.

He wonders idly, as you cry and choke on his cock, if you’re thinking about the man in the bar. Wishing it was his length you were lapping at like a good little hole.

Wishing Dabi had been better.

Not like the others.

And for a moment, it has him stilling—the horrid notion that there might have been something not so twisted between you if only he wasn’t scum like the rest, if he wasn’t just hiding his dirt on the inside.

Tar logged lungs and heart.

But then he remembers that if he just fucks you hard enough, you’ll forget all those nasty things until you’re fit just for him. Molded for Dabi right down to the thoughts in your head.

So instead of stopping this now and hoping you’re drunk enough to forget the filth of the alley and the salt of his cum on your tongue, he picks up his pace.

His thighs burn with the effort, not used to this kind of movement after years alone, and your face is a mess of tear tracks and spit that dribbles out in streams around the length of him slamming into your throat.

It’s quick and dirty and hard and everything Dabi has ever been and will always be. Delicious and hot and fresh. His blood is pounding in his ears, drowning out the cries and sobs and whimpers coming from you between his knees. Instead his head is alight with the thought that soon he’ll mark that mouth as his, claim you before the others could. And if the road to hell is paved with good intentions then Dabi doesn’t know where he’s going when he dies, but he’s deep in heaven now.

With a bang and a whimper Dabi will pretend didn’t slip past his lips, he slams past your teeth once more before exploding in your mouth. Thick, white ropes of release coat your tongue and he doesn’t pull out, just works his fingers under your jaw until he feels you swallow around his softening cock.

Only then does he take a step back to survey his work.

Half in shadow, surrounded in trash and debris, cum stained with dirt under your nails, Dabi feels pride well in his chest.

Distantly he thinks that this burning sense of completion, of perfection, of accomplishment, is what an artist must feel—hand finally dropping the brush to gaze upon their life’s work.

A masterpiece.

His perfect, human clay creation.

Your mouth still hangs dumbly open, hands resting on the brick dust coated ground, your eyes are wide and still stare up at him—reminiscent of a peasant gazing onto a king, confused at the power before you. And with the dim burning of the streetlight, illuminating his hair and glinting off the silver piercings adorning his ears, Dabi thinks he must look just that—a king with his crown of bloody jewels.

He watches as you sway and fall forward on your hands and coughing onto the ground. Your chest heaves, your legs shake, and Dabi feels his shoulders soften. He tucks himself away slowly, refastening his belt as your sputtering subsides. With careful steps, he moves to stand in front of you once again, running his hand along the back of your head until your breaths come deeply and his mouth tastes sickly sweet at the way your hands move to grip at his boots.

“Hey,” he mumbles, feeling some strange heat in his face that brings him to his knees before you. “Look at me.”

And you do in an instant.

Dabi half expects a glare, steely and cold like the walk-in but it’s not.

Your eyes are blank and glossy, staring hooded and helpless like a stray cat desperate to be carried away and fed warm milk.

He wipes a bit of his own release from the corner of your mouth and doesn’t question the sudden, intense need to lick behind your teeth. With filthy hands he cups your face and revels in the feel of your swollen lips and the taste of himself on your tongue.

It screams ownership.

And Dabi has never had much to his name so the thought only makes him want to cling harder.

As he pulls away there’s a smear of red dust on your cheek from his thumbs stroking the skin. Marked. Claimed. Coated in a thin layer of grime just like every other poor soul that walks into this place, but that dirt is his. That filth is him, a permanent imprint on your bones.

He thinks you’d look good with his name in black ink etched into your flesh, dark and blatant so anyone who looks at you would know, would see who owns you even when the muck has been washed away.

“You did good,” he says, giving you a smile of his own—maybe his first, surely not his last.

Your voice is nothing more than a sunken ship wreckage of what it once was, interrupted with sniffles and creaks. “I..want to go home….”

“Let me drive you,” his hands reach under your arms to lift you shakily off the ground, head tucked safely into his shoulder as he helps you limp to his car. “Not safe for you to go walking at this time of night. Men can be fucking monsters you know?”

His heart pounds happily in his chest as you nod against him.

“Thanks,” you whisper into his shirt.

Dabi grins wider than he can ever recall. The kind of expression that makes his cheeks ache and his head spin.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” the words drip off his tongue, top shelf truth if he’s ever heard it. “Anytime.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #bnha fanfiction #tw: alcohol #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw misogyny #tw sexism #tw cat calling #tw drinking #tw toxic behavior #tw yandere #tw spitting #bee.writes

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rcksmith · 3 years

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Geniuses — Five Hargreeves

Request: “Hi! I am just the annon that recently sent the request 3,11,16 and 22. You asked what I wanted, I forgot to put that I got them from the “fluff” prompt list. I am so sorry!! And don’t worry! It’s not your fault I didn’t see the list 😂😂 but thank you so much! I really like your fics and your writing style so much! 🥺🥺💖💖”

Fluff prompts:

3“You’re staring again.”

11. “Wow- you look…amazing.”

16. “I love you. You enormously stubborn pain in the ass.” 16. “I heard that!” 1 .“You were supposed to!”

22. “well the probability of that is 0, but you go ahead”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

Haha love, it’s okay💖💖 i hope you like, because I really like to writing tis. Thank you for resquest. Love u❤️

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves/Fem! Reader.

Warnings: nothing, just bad words and fluff.

(gif not mine)

— — — — —

It was fun to think that Five never had an equal opponent, someone as smart, canny, sarcastic and ironic as he. Five Hargreeves was always used to being the smartest person in the room, always being the one with the quickest response on the tip of his tongue.

And, well, it was fun to think that it all went up in the air when you showed up.

You were cruelly intelligent, able to correct errors in Five's math equations, sarcastic and always had a cheeky smile on your face. You weren't used to being underneath, which is why when Five wanted to show that he was better than you, well, you wouldn't give up.

But unlike the time traveler, you didn't have super powers, you weren't extraordinary, you didn't have any skills, but that didn't stop you from being equal to him in every other way.

Whenever Five wanted to come out on top with the argument that he had powers and you didn’t, you raised an eyebrow, looked at him as if he had made a basic math mistake, and said: “I don’t need powers, I’m a genius, you should try to be one too.” And it made him furious, and, truth be told, you just liked to tease him too.

But just as the two of you had personality differences, the ability to handle emotions and people well was different from Five. You were kind, funny and wanted to make people comfortable around you. Being a genius didn't mean you shouldn't be a nice person, and Five usually forgot about it.

As you and Five spent more time together, it became clear that you two were no longer able to stay away from each other. Five liked (secretly) to have someone to really talk to. Someone that understood and followed his line of reasoning, that understood the equations he did, and that considered him a genius instead of crazy with some reasoning.

Being with you was like, for Five, meeting another human being in a dog-only world, and when he kind of told you that in other words, you laughed out loud and said: “Or how to find an equal sign in an equation.” And that's when he felt his heart pounding for you.

Five remembered when you beat him in chess for the first time, no one had ever done it before, and he agreed to play with the full awareness that he was going to win again. Well, that is not what happened.

When you checkmate his king, Five was stunned. He leaned over the board, looking at the pieces as if they had created a head. And you laughed, leaned back in your chair in a victorious smile.

“This is impossible.”

“it's actually just intelligence, why don't you use it now and then?” You were kidding, it was obvious, you couldn't stand hurting people and Five knew it. The dynamics of the two of you who were exchanging barbs.

“You must have stolen or something, this is very much your style” He returned, eyes on you as you laughed “Let's play again and I will give you a the most brutal defeat.”

“Well the probability of that is 0, but you go ahead” You accepted, first because you wanted to show that you would beat him as many times as possible, and second because there was nothing you liked more than spending time with Five.

The matches started, and you won every time. And when the sunset and the breeze was cold, you and Five looked at each other, with the peach rays of the sun illuminating their faces, and the mutual smile they gave out sweetly.

He were really enjoy the game and you knew that, and he knew you not just want the victory. You two know Just more matches would make you spend more time together. And... Five didn't remember if anyone ever really engaged in a game just to want to be around him.

But things really got more real and serious when Vayna asked you to go to one of her violin performances too. And, well, you wore a long, red dress, firm in all the right places, and Five couldn't get his eyes off you just one second.

It was as if, when he saw you, all the equations in his life had been solved. And a single thought rang in his mind: “I want her”

And the certainty of that was absolute. He wanted you as an overwhelming force, which shook his whole body. He needed you like needed oxygen. And there was no way to deny that anymore.

But it all happened in a fraction of a second, and you had just chosen that moment to approach him and ask:

“So, how am I look? Are you going to make a little joke about berries or something?” You laughed.

But Five could think of nothing but that if there were the personification of sin and perfection, it would be you. He looked at you as a whole, a fucking beautiful woman with a fucking brilliant mind. You are incredible and he had no other adjectives for you.

“Wow- you look… amazing.” You felt all the intensity and truth in that sentence, and your heart pounded in your chest.

For, truth be revealed, you had dressed up for him. Because wanted him to think you were beautiful. Because you thinking him were a young God with all the vigor and beauty.

Five really wanted to focus on anything but you. Not In the swing of your body, in the outline of your lips, in how he wanted to put you out of that dress. He really tried. But his eyes were always drawn to you at the end of the effort, as if you were the only thing worth seeing.

“You’re staring again.” Luther whispered in his right ear, while Five kept his eyes on you for a moment that seemed to him seconds, but to Luther it was hours.

But who could blame him? You looked like a mirage, too beautiful to be true. And Five wanted to record every detail of it in memory.

“Take care of your life!” He replied, taking his eyes off you.

After that night, Five already knew that he could no longer keep his hands off you. He couldn't just look at you anymore when the hunger to touch you started to hurt physically. As soon as you got back to the mansion, he grabbed you by the wrist, in a strong, firm grip, and pulled you with him as he climbed the stairs towards his own room.

Five needed you. A kiss, a caress, a body-to-body contact, anything, he just needed it. And it had to be now, he not wait for you to go home and come back later, he couldn't wait days...damn it! He couldn't wait seconds!

Then he knocked and locked the door behind you when you entered the his room.

“What the hell?” You rubbed your wrist that he must not have measured how much firmly him hold you “You're acting like a nut and I thin ...”

But Five didn't give you time to continue. He couldn't give you time. He could not explain something that for him was still a mess. So he showed you.

Five came to you in big, determined steps, and he fit your face in his hands before tilting and sticking his lips to yours. And then the world seemed to make sense for the first time.

Everything was suspended. The people, the rotation of the earth, the wind, the noise of the streets. Everything went into a black hole and was no longer important. The only thing that really mattered was you. And Five kissed you until the oxygen was strictly necessary.

“I have been waiting for this for some time.” You confessed, and Five blew out a low laugh, answering you with another kiss that ended up taking you to a bed and messy sheets.

After that night, Five became more attached to you, and the relationship grew stronger over the weeks.

“You know this is wrong, right?” You said as you took a look at the equations he had made that afternoon.

Five looked at you with a frown, irritation in his eyes, but you were trying to contain your laughter.

“You have nothing else to do no?”

“Besides seeing your accounts wrong? No.” You had fun, taking one of the white chalk Five was using and erasing an equation from it, redoing it in the right way.

You could feel his gaze on your back, but you did your best not to laugh and return the chalk complacently.

“Now it's right.”

Five looked at the account you redid, and gave you an expression of so few friends that you couldn't control your laughter anymore.

And his expression closed even more. You shook your head and were already on your way to the door when when you heard him mumbling:

“I love you. You enormously stubborn pain in the ass.”

Then you laughed even harder and turned to Five, who had been doing his math again on the walls of his room.

“I heard that!”

“You were supposed to!” He countered without even waiting a second, and then you came back towards him, the laughter still present in your voice, your eyes full of play and love.

You put your arms behind his waist, still with the remnants of laughter coming from yours lips, and leaned your head against his broad back.

Five felt and heard your laughter, and then controlled himself not to laugh too, before giving yours hands that were hugging his waist a few gentle pats.

“You are unbearable.” You mumbled, but full of love overflowing with the words “But I love you.”

Then Five laugh came and he exchanged pats for an affectionate affection on yours hand, signaling that he also found you unbearable, but that he loves you.

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flowerfan2 · 2 years

Text

Dim The Lights

I haven’t written much Glee fic lately, but some time ago I wrote a series in which Blaine and Kurt reunite during a production of Into the Woods. Sondheim’s lyrics and music were in my head for months as I wrote those stories, and it seemed that those characters were the perfect way to help me process Sondheim’s death, and honor him in my own way. You can read the first two parts of this story here: The Journeying (24k), and here: Ever After (51k). May his memory be a blessing.

Dim The Lights, A03, 2300 words

Blaine sees the notification pop up on his phone, and his heart sinks.

“Blaine? What’s wrong?” Kurt pokes him with his toe from his spot at the other end of their couch. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Sondheim died,” Blaine says. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?” Kurt crawls across the couch and lands next to him, warmth pressing against his side as he grabs for Blaine’s phone. “Let me see. How?”

“It doesn’t say. He had Thanksgiving dinner with friends yesterday.”

“How old was he?”

“Ninety-one. I guess…” Everyone dies at some point. Ninety-one is pretty old.

Blaine looks at Kurt, who looks as shocked as he feels, and then they are wrapped around each other, holding on tight.

“Why does it hurt so much?” Blaine asks, as Kurt rubs soothing circles on his back. “It’s not like we knew him.”

“But we did. He gave us so much. His music… it taught us things. Helped us.”

People make mistakes. Fathers. Mothers.

Blaine’s phone vibrates where it has fallen under his thigh, and he pulls it out and gives it a quick glance. “Mona says people are going to that piano bar on Grove Street. Want to go?”

Kurt straightens his spine and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

They change into more presentable clothes, their day-after-Thanksgiving lounging outfits quickly deemed unacceptable by Kurt, and head for the subway. Neither of them are in a show at the moment, having decided to take a few months off to see if they can make some headway on the musical they’re writing. But by the time they get to the bar, most of the evening shows are letting out, and the place is filling with recognizable faces.

Both Blaine and Kurt have been fortunate enough to have had steady work since their years in Into the Woods, Blaine doing a stint as Fiyero in Wicked, Kurt with an understudy role in Company that turned into an almost year-long job as Bobby, and then a stretch when they both had parts in The Book of Mormon. Kurt pulled the plug first, committed to giving his own work some attention, while Blaine had a starring role in a play about suicide and depression that everyone felt was tremendously important, but didn’t last long on Broadway. In some ways Blaine thinks it was probably just as well for his own mental health, and it gave him the perfect segue into taking time off to write with Kurt.

Being writing partners has been going surprisingly well, and when it doesn’t, they try not to take themselves too seriously. After all, they’ve joked more than once, there’s no rush, “we’re not Sondheim.”

It’s warm and crowded when they get to the bar, and while Blaine still feels miserable, it feels slightly better to be miserable with dozens of other people who also recognize that Sondheim’s death is a valid reason to feel this way. He spots Mona at a table near the back, and he and Kurt make their way over, immediately drawn into hugs. Mona’s sitting with Catherine, the actress who played Florinda in Woods when they were all in it together; she and Mona have been roommates ever since Blaine moved off of Mona’s sofa and into a place with Kurt.

“I just can’t believe it,” Mona says, and it’s the same thing everyone else is saying. “It doesn’t seem possible. What’s the theater world going to do without Sondheim?”

As musical theater fans, and students, and performers, their lives have always been filled with Sondheim’s music, his words in their heads for countless hours and days. Blaine has sung so many of his songs, and felt them echo deep in his soul. He’s performed them on stage for thousands of people, the lyrics perfect every single time.

Agony, beyond power of speech. When the one thing you want is the only thing out of your reach.

Blaine remembers singing those words, faced with Kurt’s surprise appearance at his first Broadway table read of Woods all those years ago. How Blaine felt frozen in place, doomed to repeat the failures of his past. How he had slowly begun to think that just maybe, love wasn’t out of his reach.

He also remembers realizing how much pain Kurt was in, isolated and lonely in the city, and how hard Burt’s death hit him. How horribly ironic it was that Kurt was playing a character devastated by the death of his mother, while staggering from the death of his own father. I wish…

“Didn’t you get into NYADA with a Sondheim song?” Mona asks Kurt, dragging Blaine out of his thoughts.

“We sang a lot of Sondheim at NYADA,” Kurt deflects.

“No, but yours was something special,” Blaine says. “Your Being Alive blew everyone away, even me, all the way back in Lima.” He kisses the flush on Kurt’s cheeks. That may not have been the best time for the two of them, but he loved that Kurt all the same. “Rachel sent me the video afterwards,” he explains to Mona, leaving out the part about how many times he had watched it.

“Speaking of,” Kurt says, pointing through the crowd to a pair of people who have taken over the piano, the man playing while the woman fiddles with the mic.

“Be nice.” Blaine shifts in his seat so he can watch Rachel as she faces the audience, shaking her head so that her long dark hair frames her face perfectly. The crowd erupts in cheers and then simmers down as she starts to sing.

Isn't it rich? Are we a pair? Me here at last on the ground You in mid-air Send in the clowns.

“Say what you like about Rachel Berry,” Mona whispers, “she can sell the hell out of a song.”

Jesse, at the piano, starts to sing along with Rachel, and soon half the bar joins in. Kurt’s got his arms around Blaine from behind, and Blaine can hear his voice in his ear, trembling ever so slightly as he sings along.

As the song comes to an end (Where are the clowns? There ought to be clowns. Well, maybe next year.) Rachel spots Kurt and Blaine and pushes her way over. There are more hugs, some brushed cheek kisses, and then Blaine can see Rachel’s mind spinning. Trying to come up with something to make Kurt sing, no doubt.

“Don’t even ask, Rachel,” Kurt preempts her. “I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“But Kurt, your Bobby was acclaimed. It wouldn’t be right not to sing it tonight, as a tribute to Stephen. You owe it to him, and to your fans.”

“Let him be, Rachel,” Blaine says. He knows how little Kurt likes to be put on the spot. Kurt used to push through the discomfort, feeling like he had something to prove, needing to show everyone who doubted him just how talented he was. But the more comfortable Kurt has gotten at putting his own feelings first, the happier he’s been, and - no surprise - he’s still just as talented.

Another woman stands up to sing, and Rachel lets out a quickly stifled screech. “Oh my god,” she hisses, “do you think Mandy is here too?”

Here’s to the ladies who lunch, Patti LuPone rasps, and a hush falls over the crowd. The one and only Patti LuPone, who worked so often with Sondheim, is here - right here - pouring out her sorrow. Blaine likes to believe he’s not as unhinged about LuPone as Rachel is, but he’s still having a little trouble remembering to breathe.

When song rises to a crescendo, LuPone practically shouting out the words, the whole room shivers in response. When the song nears the end and she sings everybody dies and then rise, rise, rise! everyone is on their feet, singing along and raising their glasses.

Blaine falls into his seat afterwards, a server finally making her way over to their table with their drinks, and they toast once more to Sondheim. Blaine is listening to Catherine recount a story about when she was in a college production of Assassins when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, any chance you’d play for me?”

He turns in his seat and it’s Elliott Gilbert, smiling sadly at him. It’s apparently not a Starchild kind of day, as his friend is just wearing jeans and a Queen t-shirt under a battered leather jacket. He doesn’t even have any eyeliner on.

Blaine wants to decline - there are plenty of capable piano players here - but something in Elliott’s expression tells him he’s looking for more than just musical support. And he’s spent enough time with Elliott at piano bars to be fairly certain he knows all of his go-to songs. “Sure, of course,” he says, getting up and giving him a hug.

Blaine checks in with Kurt, leaning close for a moment, and Kurt squeezes his arm. “Go. Emote. I’ll be right here.”

They wait for someone with an incredible bass voice to finish singing a song from Merrily - Blaine thinks he might be in Hadestown at the moment - and move up to the piano. There’s a hum of approval as they step forward to take their turn, and someone yells “play Glitter Rock Vampire.”

“Not tonight,” Elliott says, “tonight’s not about me.” Blaine kind of loves that the song his nickname for Elliott inspired continues to follow Elliott around.

“What’s it going to be?” Blaine asks, dancing his fingers over the keys, and Elliott leans down and whispers his song choice to Blaine. He’s not surprised. Blaine centers himself for a moment, then begins to play. After just a few bars, Elliott comes in.

I feel you, Joanna. I feel you. I was half convinced I’d waken, satisfied enough to dream you. Happily I was mistaken. Joanna...

Elliott had played Antony in a touring production of Sweeney Todd a few years ago, and he infuses the song with heart wrenching love and desperation. Blaine feels a bit drained himself when he finishes, and they find their way back to their table.

Kurt pulls him into his lap and wraps his arms around him, giving Blaine a chance to ground himself. Blaine vaguely registers that Aaron Tveit is singing Marry Me A Little, just like he did for Sondheim’s 90th birthday celebration, but he’s content leaning his head on Kurt’s shoulder and breathing him in and isn’t about to move yet, not even to watch Aaron sing.

“Any bets on who else will show up? Maybe Bernadette?” Mona asks, sliding her chair over as Jonathan, Julian and Izzy join them.

“No way,” Izzy says. “Bernadette has better places to be.”

“Not sure there could be a better place right now,” Blaine says softly, just for Kurt, who kisses him sweetly in return.

A trio of young actors from the chorus of Lion King have taken the mic, taking turns singing parts of Finishing The Hat. It’s not really made for this kind of performance, Blaine thinks, but he gives them kudos for trying.

“You were in Sunday, right?” Julian asks Blaine. “Junior year?”

“Yeah, I was,” Blaine says.

“I would have liked to have seen that,” Kurt says, taking Blaine’s hand in his and twining their fingers together. Blaine doesn’t like to dwell on those years, when he was figuring himself out, learning to deal with his depression and anxiety and being without Kurt. But it all turned out okay in the end, and he doesn’t want to pretend that time didn’t happen, either. It’s an important part of his life.

“I think we were better off reuniting for Woods,” Blaine replies with a smile.

“Talk about a fairy tale,” Mona says. “It’s pretty amazing, your story.” She looks at the two of them, and Blaine knows that he’s blushing, although probably not half as prettily as Kurt.

“We got lucky,” Blaine says.

“And we work hard at it.” Kurt gives Blaine a little nudge, and they both stand up. “Care to dance?”

It’s not really music for dancing, but Blaine knows Kurt’s signals, and he could use a change of scenery as well. They shuffle their way through the ever-increasing crowd and find a spot against the wall near the front door. The mood has shifted to West Side Story, and Blaine finds himself smiling despite himself.

Tonight, tonight, it’s only you tonight, a sweet tenor voice sings, and Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt’s shoulders as Kurt tucks his head against his neck. They sway together, whispering the lyrics to each other, until the song comes to an end.

“You know, we really do owe Sondheim a lot,” Kurt says, still wrapped close around Blaine.

“Nah,” Blaine says. “No matter what eventually brought me to New York, I bet you would have found a way to be there too.”

Kurt laughs softly. “I did tell you about all the ways I imagined we might meet again, right?”

“You did. I particularly liked the coffee shop one. Sounded a lot like a Star Wars AU Sam read to me once.”

“But seriously,” Kurt says, “I’d like to think it would have happened, even without Woods. But who knows?”

Blaine pulls back and looks into Kurt’s eyes. “We’ll never be sure.”

Kurt gives him a wry smile. “But the difference between a cow and a bean is that a bean can begin an adventure.”

“Are you saying life with me is an adventure?”

“The very best kind.” Kurt leans in and kisses him, easy and sure, and Blaine can feel it all the way down to his toes. He loves this man so completely, and has for so long. He knows he’s fortunate, they both are, that they found each other again. Life with Kurt hasn’t always been smooth, and it’s not always puppies and rainbows, but as Sondheim wrote, if life were only moments, then you’d never know you had one.

No matter what his future holds, Blaine is certain that it will be better with Kurt in it. They’ve both learned to put the work into their ever after, and Blaine will always be grateful to Sondheim for helping them on their journey.

#Glee #Stephen Sondheim #Blaine Anderson #Kurt Hummel #Klaine #Klaine fic #Glee fic

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willowbleedsonpaper · 3 years

Text

Winter In The Shade V

Part V

Sirius Black x Ravenclaw Reader

W.C. : 2913

Requested by @amourtentiaa : It is Sirius’ fifth year at Hogwarts, the same year he ran away from home and to the Potter’s. Soon, he discovers the unfamiliar sight of his brother Regulus smiling and looking truly happy, next to him a Ravenclaw girl who immediately captures his interest. What will happen when the Black family gets involved in their sons lives and the ones they hold close to their hearts?

Warnings: None (?)

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Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Anything I need to know for the party?” you asked Regulus as you two entered the charms classroom, both sitting in your usual spot while waiting for the rest of the students and the professor to arrive “You know, colors?” you said, raising an eyebrow “Do you want to get matching outfits? Should I be ready to leave at midnight before our carriage turns back into a pumpkin?”

“Pumpkin?” he asked, confused.

“Nevermind.” you waved a dismissive hand in his way, remembering he didn’t even know what a T.V. was. “What I mean is, this party's going to be the last time we see each other for weeks! We need to make it special so I can go back to the memories when the bitter reality hits me and you're not there.” you finished, letting out a dramatic sigh as you placed the back of your hand over your forehead.

Regulus looked at you with concern “Are you being dramatic or serious? I can’t tell.” he asked.

You narrowed your eyes, letting your performance fall as you flew a piece of hair out of your face “You’re not fun.” you grunted “And just so you know, I am being serious.”

“It’s only two weeks, Y/N.” he reminded you “You’ll survive.” He was met with silence, turning to look at you and the angry pout of your lips. He let out a long sigh “You have lived most of your life without me, what’s two weeks?” he asked.

You scoffed, letting your jaw fall as you crossed your arms “I don’t know, you cold hearted man. Maybe two weeks of boredom?” you said, watching as his eyes turned into one of disbelief “Torture.” you added “What am I supposed to do with two weeks by myself?” you asked him.

“What did you do before we became friends?”

Your brain froze at his question, both mind and eyes blank as you stared into the void. Regulus calling your name brought you back and your face turned sour as your eyes focused back on the raven haired boy before you “You are no good influence.” you mumbled sourly.

“Pardon?” he asked, his eyebrows scrunched together as he placed his book down, his attention completely on you.

“Since that day you hit me in the head my entire life revolves around you!” you whispered yelled, watching his shoulders relax as he tilted his head “And don’t try to deny it, we both know it's true.” you said, starting to pick up your things and shoving them inside your bag.

“What are you doing?” he asked, never trying to stop you and instead handing you the things you had placed on his side of the table.

“I, “ you said, placing a hand in your chest as you stood from your chair, looking down at him “am taking space from you. You have consumed my entire life.” you hissed, the urges to laugh coming through as a small smile broke through you every now and then.

Regulus watched you walk a few feet from where he sat, patiently staring at the back of your head with a small smirk “Y/N.” he called, his voice steady and calm “We have class, remember?”

You stopped, sharply turning to face him again from the front of the classroom. You purse your lips, glancing between the door and Regulus. You gave up in the end, letting your shoulders fall and dragging your bag all over the floor until you reached your chair again, falling into it.

Regulus bent down from his chair to pick up your bag from the ground, placing it on the table as he turned to look at you with a small smile “If it makes you feel better,” he said, breaking the silence that had fallen in the classroom “You have consumed my entire life as well.”

Your face broke from the bothered look you had put on, swinging your head so you would be looking at Regulus “It does,” you smiled “We’re attached to the hip.” you said, moving your chair so you would be next to him.

“That’s why we are spending the winter break separate.” he told you, his arm resting around your shoulder “So we don’t get bored and before we end up killing one another.”

You chuckled lightly “The thought had crossed my mind.” you admitted, resting your head on his shoulder “That doesn’t mean it won't be difficult to be away from you. You’re my best friend.”

A silence fell all over the room and took you into it, pondering over the fact that a couple of months before you didn’t even acknowledge the existence of the other. You thought fate was funny in that way, friends you made on the first days after starting your life at Hogwarts were now strangers that glared at you from the opposite side of the Great Hall at dinner, people you knew your entire life now strangers you barely knew how to start a conversation with, even greeting them represented a challenge; friends you thought would be there for the rest of your life were now gone.

You had met Regulus months ago and you couldn’t imagine your life without him, and that scared you. The feeling of not being friends with him, of not knowing if you would ever see him again broke your heart and filled you with dread. Sure, you were spending two weeks apart but you knew you would see him once the holidays were over. The thought of losing someone had never made your stomach twist and your heart race quick the way it did when you thought about losing Regulus.

“I think that’s the beauty of us.” he said, capturing your attention immediately “Time is not the core of our friendship, it’s something else.”

You smiled, relaxing against his side as you hummed “Like what?” you asked.

“I don’t know.” he answered honestly “But I will like to find out.”

“Hmm, me too.” you sighed, another peaceful silence taking over the room “Promise me you’ll write.” you said out of the blue, his chuckle vibrating all over his body and through yours.

“You’ve made me promise I’ll write a thousand times now.”

“I don’t mean just these two weeks. Anytime you need something, that we’re away from each other, or if you just saw someone falling and it reminded you of me just… just promise me you’ll write.”

With his heart skipping a beat, Regulus couldn’t believe the words that had just left your mouth, his gaze falling at the top of your head. Never would have he thought you would be scared of him leaving, that you would be scared of losing him as he is of losing you. In his eyes you were so confident, so sure of what you do every single time, you had lost all our friends and because of what. Because of you, he reminded himself.

“I promise.”

Your mouth was left with a bittersweet taste after charms class. It wasn’t every day that you and Regulus got that deep in your conversations. Usually, the matters you talked about were more sarcastic and almost on the humorous side of the aspects of your life; school work and competitions was common as you spent at least an hour of your day glued to the chairs from the library. Deep emotional conversation was just unknown. You knew Regulus didn’t like it, and yet he seemed to be the most comfortable out of the two of you. He might be your best friend but Rowena Ravenclaw knows, you’ll never fully understand him. You’ve made peace with that.

It was the older Black brother you had trouble with.

Charm class was the last one for the day, Regulus having an extra class he worked on late at night that left you with hours for you to exist by yourself. Something you silently thanked as you walked outside the Great Hall after dinner.

Standing on your toes, you moved your gaze over the sea of heads that flowed from the Great Hall, all the chat and laughter making you snap your head in every direction that sounded slightly similar to the one you searched for. The green and yellow of the robes stood out the most, your eyebrows scrunched together as you lowered yourself to your usual height. You started to move, following the students as you held tightly onto your bag. “Where are all the Gryffindors?” you asked inside your head. And that’s when you saw it, the flaring red from Gryffindor robes as they all ran and cheered down the hills. The Quidditch pitch.

*******

Sirius and James had led the Quidditch team to the pitch, their loud cheers and whistles enough to draw the attention of the entire team and drag them down to an unplanned practice. Although they referred to it as a small game to celebrate Friday night, Sirius knew James wanted them to practice.

They were all in the air as soon as they crossed the lines drawn on the grass to mark the limits of the pitch, bags and school work scattered in the ground without a care. Peter and Remus sat on the grass, chatting calmly as they watched their friends play.

“Hey, Remus.” Peter asked, getting a hum from Remus as he never broke his gaze from the Quaffle, “Do you think Sirius likes Y/N?” he asked with the shake of his head.

Remus let out a laugh, head thrown back in the air as he got a few looks from the players “Was it ever a question?” he asked back, turning to Peter.

Peter laughed, the small chuckle dying down as he stared at one single point in the distance “Yeah, that wasn’t really my question.” he said, their hair flying to their faces as the two seekers rushed in front of them after the snitch. They blinked back, following the game without actually paying attention. “Do you think Y/N likes Sirius?”

Remus’ attention broke from the Quaffle, his look thoughtful as he considered it. What were the chances Y/N liked Sirius? Not many, he thought to himself. “I don’t know.” he answered “If I had to guess I’d say no.”

Peter smiled, his eyes scanning the air as he smirked in James’ direction, the act capturing the Captains’ attention as he followed Peter’s gaze “I think she does.” Peter said confidently, “I actually think she was in the crowd tonight.”

“Right.” Remus scoffed.

“Want to bet?” Peter asked, an eyebrow raised in his direction as he extended his hand towards him.

Remus nodded, clasping his hand in Peter’s as he shook it.

The match lasted a good two hours. Both sides of the Gryffindor team started the game as a playful practice that now had them at each other's throats like the red in their robes had turned green at some point during the game. James yells and instructions could be heard over the commotion of the crowd and the team, the tension palpable in the air as the players flew in the air at top speed. They were flashes of red in the eyes of the crowd. In the end, James’ side of the team won. The entire team flying down from their brooms with grins plastered in their faces.

Peter had jumped to his feet as he saw Sirius lowered himself until he walked on the grass, the smirk permanent on his lips as he walked to greet his friends. “Great game.” Peter said, giving a subtle nod in James’ direction as the smirk he had was mirrored in James’ face. Peter patted Sirius in the back as he was in proximity, his hand holding his shoulder as he leaned on his side “Pulling you best moves for the ladies, huh?” he asked.

Sirius laughed, nodding his head when James walked next to them, nudging Peter’s side knowingly.

“Or should we say Lady?” James asked, wiggling his eyebrows in his direction.

Sirius' face fell, his lips in a line as he recognized the glint in his friends eyes. They didn’t.

“Sirius.” he heard you say, his confused look erased in the blink of an eye as he put on his best smile, turning on his place.

“Hello, darling.” he said, his tone flirtatious.

You smiled briefly, your eyes wandering over all his friends standing too close behind him with expectant eyes. “Hi.” you said to them, all three immediately a mumbling mess as they turned and pretended to fall into deep conversation. You almost wanted to laugh, but you focused on the task at hand “Can I talk to you?” you asked, looking straight into his eyes.

His smile fell momentarily, nodding his head as he made a sign to his friends, who only smiled tightly.

“You little shit.” He heard Remus hiss, making Sirius turn to see James holding Remus back, a smug looking Peter running as fast as he could once Remus got free.

He shook his head with a laugh before he focused on you, following you to a more quiet place, the buzz from the people left behind as you turned to face him “Are you alright?” he asked as soon as you stopped walking.

You let out a breathy laugh “I’m okay.” you assured him, your eyes remaining on him for a second before you recovered your voice, “I wanted to talk about this.” you turned to your side, rummaging through your bag until your fingers felt the soft material of the box, pulling it out and holding it for him to see “You can’t do this.”

He had a confused look on his face, the smirk he usually wore coming back as quickly as it fell “You’re giving me back a rose?” he asked.

You blushed, suddenly feeling stupid for wanting to give it back “No… I mean, yes!” you mumbled, cheeks darker by the second “It’s not the rose, it’s the act.”

“You want me to take back...my actions?”

“I need you to stop.”

He nodded in thought, leaning against one of the wooden posts. He held himself back from teasing you and the red in your cheeks, or the fact that you said need. The only thought in his mind was that you didn’t actually want him to stop.

“So that means you won’t be going to the party with me?” he asked, a fake pout in his lips.

“I have a date.” you said, crossing your arms over our chest.

“You do?” he asked, his back straight as he mirrored your stance.

You ignored his reaction, taking a confident step towards him. You reached for his hand, holding his palm out to you as you placed the box there. “Please, just stop.” you whispered, the volume of your voice enough for him to listen as you stood so close to one another.

He closed his hand over the box, his free hand taking a hold of your wrist as he held it back to his chest, the movement making you stand closer to him “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his eyes looking directly at yours before his gaze roamed all over your face expectantly.

Your heart started to beat hard inside your chest, your feet rooted to the floor as you stood frozen under his eyes. He tilted his head, his thumb moving over the skin in your arm “Do you?” he repeated.

His skin felt warm against yours, the feeling sending electricity all over your arm before it woke you. You shook your hand out of his grasp, taking a step back with wide eyes “That is what I’m asking you. Yes.” you said shakily, holding your arm against your chest.

He tried to suppress his smile, he really tried but in the end he broke in a grin. “I’ll stop.” he stated, looking down to his palm before he connected your eyes once more “I only ask for one thing.”

He didn’t expect you to stay and listen, your jaw clenched as your look turned into a glare “What is it?” you asked harshly.

“Save me one dance.” he said, his voice soft and rid of any teasing or amusement.

“Right.” you scoffed, turning your face to the sky in disbelief. But you were met with silence, making your arms fall at your sides with a questioning look “You’re serious.” you asked, watching the glint in his eyes light up as he smiled. He opened his mouth to talk but you cut him off, lifting one finger right in front of his face “I swear to Godric Gryffindor if you make a joke you’ll be dancing by yourself.” you said harshly.

He bit the insides of his cheeks, letting himself feel the flutter of his heart at the simple gesture of you stopping his joke, like you knew him already. “Do you accept my offer, then?” he asked, offering his hand.

Your eyes lowered to his hand doubtfully “Do you promise you’ll stop?”

He nodded his head softly and you sighed, taking his hand.

What you didn’t expect was the squeak that left your lips as he took hold of your hand, holding it to his lips as he placed a short kiss over your knuckles.

“I’ll see you then, Y/n.” he told you, turning on his place as he went back to the pitch.

“See you.” you mumbled to yourself, staring at him and cursing him for the hurricane of thoughts left in his place. That didn’t go as planned.

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Winter in the Shade

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If you're name is crossed it means I coudn't tag you :(

#winter in the shade #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x ravenclaw!reader #regulus black #marauders #the marauders #marauders era fanfiction #sirius black fanfiction

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

Text

give lilies with full hands

“Ghosts at the cemetery, why am I not surprised?” Valerie grumbled under her breath as she glanced at the glowing dots congregating near Heavenly Gates, Amity’s largest cemetery. It was just after 5pm on a Friday; Valerie should be at home getting ready for a fun and relaxing weekend. Instead, she was speeding forward in the dreary pre-rain mist about to tackle a hoard of the undead. Her life was so strange and unfair sometimes it just fueled her hatred for everything ghostly.

As she approached the cemetery, she slowed down and had her ectoweapon up and ready to shoot. Instead of a fire fight, she found an eerie, unsettling quiet that sunk deep into her bones and made her unable to move. She just hovered above the cemetery and took in the full scope of the scene. The Fentons were here, hard as they were to miss but like Valerie, they were also frozen with unease. Mrs. Fenton kept fiddling with her weapons but couldn’t manage to lift it in a meaningful way.

The fog hung heavily around the cemetery, clinging like wet paint dripping down an unfinished picture. She could make out the unnatural glow of several ghosts, a few of which she recognized. That annoying child pirate ghost none of the adults could ever see was sobbing silently, curled up in a fetal position on the ground as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible. The biker guy and girl were cuddled into each other, leaned up against a grave looked scared and worn, flickering dangerously like static on TV. Val spotted Ember looking frightened and quaking looking like she wanted to run but was unable to. Her soft glow alerted Val that there was another ghost she’d initially missed.

The ghost was more shadow than anything, the fog moving through and from them. They were a swirl of greys and blacks in the approximation of a long cloak covering their face entirely. Pinpricks of bright lights shone from underneath the cloak’s hood. They bore down on Ember as if it were seeing deep into her soul and found her lacking.

Phantom was there too, he looked almost normal compared to everything else going on so it’s not surprising she’d missed him at first. The fog dampened some of his ghostly glow and he was standing properly instead of floating. Like Val and the Fentons, he seemed unable to move. The heavy drizzle in the air flattened his normally gravity defying hair. If she hadn’t known better, she’d say he was a normal person standing there, albeit one with weird fashion sense who went a little crazy with the bleach. And if Phantom looked human in comparison then just what was this new ghost?

“Amber Jablonski,” The ghost whispered quietly within the cemetery but Valerie could hear perfectly well, as if were being spoken into her ear. From the shivers she saw come from the Fentons, they were experiencing the same thing. Ember moaned, something deep and agonizing. She fell to her knees as more of her glow faded. “An eager musician just making a name for herself in her small town. A performance at a barn had faulty wiring. The building caught fire and Young Amber was trapped by debris and unable to escape.”

The flame in Ember’s hair burst into brilliant blue flames before painfully sputtering out like a candle on the verge of going out. A wisp like ghostly hand reached out and tenderly ran a finger down the side of Ember’s face like a mockery of the tears she could no longer shed. “Cause of death was severe burns across her whole body and smoke suffocation at the age of 22.”

“Enough,” Phantom announced suddenly, stepping forward through the ghostly arm putting himself squarely between Ember and the wisp ghost. The dead rockstar barely noticed, her whole form trembling as she looked down at the cold earth with absolute horror. Val wondered if she was feeling the cold of the cemetery or the burning heat of an out of control fire. “You’re killing her.”

“She is already dead,” the ghost answered, “as are they all. They are but echoes of lives come and gone.”

“That doesn’t mean you have the right to remind them,” Phantom said, looking more ghostly again. His aura flared suddenly and his eyes lit up like angry lightning bugs in a jar. “Death is sacred, it’s private and you’re using it to hurt them.”

“It is my duty, I am the Mortem Obire. I make the restless dead confront their own mortality, remind them of what they lost.” The ghost stared down Phantom who flinched but overwise stood his ground. “It is because of you, Danny Phantom, that I have been summoned to this realm. Your life essence has made these ghosts forget what they were. They flock to you, drawn to your vibrancy, seeking what they’d lost. The dead were straying from their existence, emboldened by your example, they were forging new purposes. I am merely correcting their assumptions to preserve the delicate balance that maintains the two worlds.”

“But death shouldn’t have to define them, I mean us,” Phantom pleaded. “They can grow if they want, experience new things. The end of life isn’t the end.”

“How very human of you,” the other ghost said breathily, an unnatural imitation of a chuckle. “Your death, if we can call it that,” the ghost said, “was born out of innocence and ignorance. Nature demanded the experiment fail but your naivety allowed for the flow of life and death to be disrupted. You looked at a machine you could neither understand or control and made the attempt anyway. Your hubris consumed you in the form of electricity, pain firing through your whole body as you screamed for a relief that never came. Your old body was obliterated and remade into the abomination you are now.”

Oh god, Phantom was electrocuted. He had lived his last moments as a human screaming and in pain. She knew he was vaguely around her age but it was one thing to know a kid her age had gone through that and another to hear it described. Without thinking, she lowered her weapons.

“Yeah I know that,” Phantom said weakly. “I took out the power in the whole city for a few hours which I felt bad about afterwards. What’s your point?” His glow was completely gone, the wet humidity of the air clinging to him much like how it fogged up Valerie’s suit. The shadow of the sinking sun made his white hair look dark and the greens of his eyes had faded into a less unnatural blue/green.

The only think remotely otherworldly about him was a faint pulsing glow coming from the center of his chest. It beat like a heart, a soft brightness that seemed to dispel the overwhelming feeling of death. Ember looked up from the ground, the pirate kid uncurled himself a little, biker guy and his girlfriend became a little more solid. They looked at Phantom with such awe and envy and grief it was almost painful to watch them stare at what they clearly lacked.

“My words hold no domain over your heart now, child of two worlds,” the ghost wheezed, floating past Phantom. “But someday you will greet death properly, be made humble by it, and I will be there to remind you of how fickle and fleeting that precious life of yours is.”

“I-” Phantom defended, glowing slightly with his eyes once more an ectoplasmic green. But now it was obvious to see how much more lively and present he was compared to the others. She still hates him, will probably still hunt him but while she knew Phantom was a ghost she knew, whatever he was, she couldn’t call him dead. Not with eyes so sympathetic and expressive and alive.

“Be gone, all of you mortals, this is a place for the dead,” the ghost commanded. The ghost hovered over to the Box Ghost who had been shivering behind a tombstone the whole time and suddenly went still as stone. “Your compassion for them does them no favors. This is the price for their existence, the dead cannot and should not forget. That is their purpose and this is mine. This is not an end to their existence, merely a reminder.”

Valerie never thoughts she’d see the Fentons flee from a fight but still she watched as Jack and Maddie slowly backed up until they reached their garish assault vehicle. They fumbled for the handles, not willing to tear their eyes off the ghosts before climbing in and driving off. Phantom looked torn, grief stricken as he watched the mist ghost, the Mortem Obire, speak softly to the Box Ghost. He looked like he wanted to interfere, to place himself in-between again but his shoulders slumped as he realized the futility of the action. This was the nature of death and memory and the living were not to interfere.

He glanced up at her, wary and saddened before disappearing from view, going off to wherever it was he lived his life when he wasn’t causing her problems. Valerie swiftly turned her board around and sped quickly in the direction of home. This had left her a lot of things to think about, about Phantom, about ghosts, about what it meant to stick around once your number was up.

But that was for later, for now she wanted to get out of chill before the rain started in earnest. She wanted to drink something warm, sit close with her father and feel their hearts beating in time. Valerie Grey wanted nothing more, in that moment, to simply breathe in and appreciate her life before it was taken and those happy memories used against her. She would not die full of regret for what she had missed.

#danny phantom #what the FUCK did I just write #I am a nurse and have seen people die and its clearly affected me #alt title was Robin goes crazy with the Latin and overemotional death metaphors #i swear this was going to be f u n n y #it started with the idea of ghosts being really affected hearing about their death wheras Danny was cracking jokes about it #but that got me thinking on the difference btw danny and the dead #bc no matter what fics claim danny isn't DEAD #he had a death he has ghostly powers but he lives not just in body but in soul #there are some aspects of being a ghost he has no place being involved #his inherent humanity seperates him from those who have lost theirs #And the dead feeling Dannys life energy and being drawn to him feeling more alive #that goes against the laws of nature of life and death #thus the mortem obire which literally means to face death #and its like this weird thing of like ghosts have feeling and memories and emotions but #they're also echoes of lives long past #that memory of their old lives is as terrifying as it is vital to their afterlife #it hurts them but they also have to have it #because they're not alive #to pretend to be so #to act beyond their agency it's uguhuuhu #idk this is too metaphysical for a sunday #wrote this listening to Taylor swifts 'right where you left me' bc for WHATEVER reason it had the right vibes

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heyyyharry · 4 years

Text

Porn

(a blurb from the My Girl Series)

…in which Harry and Y/N watch porn, but he won’t touch her.

Warning: smut (duh!)

AU: older!harry, actor!harry.

“You can’t go a day without my pussy,” she had said to him after they’d had sex on the kitchen counter. She’d only come in here to get some juice while he was making coffee, and look how she’d ended up, with her panties on the floor, her skirt hiked up to her waist, her chest bare, and his cum slick on her inner thighs.

She didn’t even remember how it’d started.

He stood between her legs, a hand on the countertop on either side of her. A smirk peaked at the corner of his lips as he considered her with squinted eyes. “Is that a challenge?” he asked.

“It’s a fact,” she returned.

She expected him to tease back like he always would, but he only breathed out a soft laugh and pecked her on the cheek. “Get dressed,” he said. “The housekeeper might walk in.”

They spent the rest of the day in two separate rooms. He had a meeting with his dialect coach then locked himself in his library to study and practise his lines. Meanwhile, she did some research for her new book and tried to write as much as she could so her agent would stop bombarding her with phone calls, texts, and emails.

After dinner, he got a zoom meeting with his publicist, so she took a shower first and curled up in their bed, watching a porn movie on the telly while waiting for him.

He came in an hour later, his hair damp, a white towel draped over his shoulder. He cracked an amused half-smile when he saw what she was watching.

“When you said you were doing research, I didn’t expect this,” he said.

“My next book is a Fifty Shades fanfic. Don’t tell anyone.”

A laugh crackled out of him as she placed a finger on her lips to ask him to keep a secret.

When he returned to their bed a moment later and snuggled up against her, his curls were dry and falling into his forehead. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of boxers she’d bought for him last week. She thought he looked extremely sexy this way. Biting her lip, she continued to stare at him, momentarily forgetting what she’d been watching until he asked, “What position is that?”

She whipped her eyes back to the screen and burst out laughing when she saw the couple performing an advanced version of Reverse Cowgirl, in which the guy’s hips weren’t even touching the bed.

“These porn movies are so extravagant,” he commented, now sitting shoulder to shoulder with her. “Who moans like that? Literally no one. The sex scenes I’ve done are way more sensual and convincing.”

She scowled at him, and his mouth curled. “Sorry,” he said though he didn’t seem very sorry.

She smacked him on the arm and picked another movie with more realistic sex. It was fun watching bad porn because they made her laugh more than they got her off. She wished she had stuck with that, because although she was exhausted, the heat between her legs would say otherwise. On the screen, the couple were fucking like rabbits on the sofa. They were more about pleasuring each other than putting on a show, so it was extremely hard to watch without getting turned on.

She rubbed her thighs together and stole a glance at her boyfriend, whose attention was on the movie. He was pinching his lips unconsciously, the thing he did when he was nervous or turned on. Weird. She was sitting right here. If he was hard, why hadn’t he touched her already?

She dropped her head to his shoulder and started tracing the tattoo on his arm, watching goosebumps pimpled his skin. It normally worked. He should have pinned her down on the bed by now. And if he was tired, he would let her sit on his face or let her ride him; Harry never said no to sex.

She would just let this slide if she wasn’t so horny and frustrated and angry. She leaned in closer, intentionally letting her breast brush against his arm. She was only wearing a sheer white babydoll chemise, which she knew he loved. It was astonishing that he hadn’t made any comment about it.

“Baby…”

“Shhh! I'm watching!” He covered her mouth with his hand while his eyes stayed fixed on the screen, his brows drawn together thoughtfully.

Surprised and frustrated, she licked his palm and he immediately shrank back and wiped the saliva onto her thigh.

She batted his hand away, her gaze skipping between him and the screen. “Why are you watching porn like it’s a cinematic masterpiece?” she huffed, tugging at his shirt.

He still didn’t look at her. “You're being disrespectful to these hardworking porn stars."

She crossed her arms over her chest and sunk into the pillow. “Maybe I should become a porn star so you’d pay attention to me."

He said nothing.

"I'm sorry, okay? For whatever I did or said," she said angrily. "Can you stop now?"

Still nothing.

"This is not funny, Harry!”

This time, when he softly shushed her, he placed a hand at the back of her head and stroked her hair like she was a cat. She knew he couldn't stay in character for too long. But this wasn't enough. She wanted all of his attention.

"When I asked you to watch porn with me, I didn't mean to actually watch porn," she said, resting her cheek against his arm.

His eyes suddenly searched her face, the look made her flustered. Arching an eyebrow, he said, "You told me I couldn't go a day without your pussy. It's only been a few hours and you're already asking to get fucked. Make up your mind, Bambi."

She jolted with a start, her mouth fell open. "I said it as a joke!"

He shrugged and turned back to the screen.

She continued to glare at him while he kept a straight face and began to comment as though they were watching a documentary. "Wow, look at that. Remember when I fucked you like that?"

"Arsehole," she muttered as a smirk crept up to his stupid face. She wasn't sure if she wanted to kick him or suck his dick. Maybe both. The moaning and slapping of skin from the video didn't really help in this situation.

Back straightened, she cleared her throat. “So you wouldn’t even touch me if I was naked?”

No answer.

She bit her lip and reached her hand under the cover to feel his dick over his boxers. He showed no emotions, still playing this game, but from the way he gulped, she knew he was destined to lose.

"You're hard."

"Great observation," he said smugly. "As you can see, I'm watching porn."

"Well, I'm wet," she whispered seductively despite his indifference. "And I hate to fuck myself right here right now because my boyfriend's a dick and he's ignoring me."

When he didn’t respond, she exhaled sharply and pushed his legs apart to sit between them, leaning against his chest. He let her do as she pleased but didn’t touch her. His hands remained on his thighs, his eyes fixed on the telly. When she pulled the chemise over her head and sat completely naked between his legs, he grabbed her hips only to push her to the side so he could continue watching. She stubbornly leaned left and right to block his view until his indifference got on her nerves.

She spread her thighs, draping each of her legs over his, her head tipped back on his shoulder as she moved her hand under the duvet and started touching herself.

At first, she only wanted to mess with him, but somehow this situation turned her on. She was gasping into the crook of his neck with two fingers curled inside of her. He hadn’t made a sound. She didn’t look up to check if he was watching her getting herself off, but from the way his palm twitched before he squeezed his own thigh, she knew he was going to give in one way or another.

She moaned louder, her free arm curled around his neck, her face pressed into his hot skin as she nipped the sweet spot below his ear. If he wasn’t going to touch her, she was going to touch him and drive him crazy until he lost it and had to fuck her. She knew how to play this game. And he was already hard, his cock poking at her lower back.

Eventually, he gave in. Not entirely, but he couldn’t keep his hands off hers any longer. He started by stroking her legs. She’d been craving for his touch, so just the warmth of his hands could make her flinch and pant heavily. He shushed her, his mouth at her ear. She could smell the champagne in his breath which turned her on even more. She was pretty sure the noises she made had drowned out the porn playing in the background.

“Slow down. Do not come yet,” he whispered into her ear. She shivered, biting her lip and giving a nod. “Look at you, Bambi.” She could feel a smirk in his dark tone. “Is this how good girls should behave?”

“You...were naughty first,” she argued, her lashes fluttering. The couple on the screen was doing missionary now. The girl was wailing as she came. Harry didn’t allow her to cum, so she had to chew on her lip and fight the urge to rub her clit.

“Why?” he asked in a fake concerning tone. “Because I didn’t pay attention to you? You couldn’t have my attention so you decided to misbehave?”

“You’re a dick,” she gasped. His faint laugh made her stomach clench and her walls close around her fingers.

“That’s not how you call me, love.”

Slowly, his hand made its way up up to her slick inner thigh and then he placed his palm on her lower stomach, not touching her where she wanted him to. Her breath caught as he grabbed a handful of her breast and started toying with her nipple.

His other hand curled under her thigh, spreading it to give her more access so she could do the work on her own.

She hated him. She loved him. She wanted him.

“Eyes on the screen,” he commanded, cupping her chin gently and tilting her head upward, his lips hot against her ear. “Remember when I fucked you like that?” he asked. “Just this morning. In this bed.” The girl on the screen was lying on her stomach, arse up, as the guy held her wrists together at her back and slammed into her mercilessly.

“Yes…”

Harry chuckled. He knew how good it’d felt for her. She’d bit onto the sheet when she came, wetting his dick. The memory worked better than the actual scene before her eyes. She arched her back and pumped her fingers faster, stroking her clit with her free hand.

“Stop,” he said roughly, but she didn’t listen. She fucked herself hard and cried into his neck. His breathing came ragged. She knew he was frustrated and annoyed. A triumph grin spread across her face, then she came hard, gasping his name, his massive hand squeezed her hip as he buried his face into her neck, groaning loudly as if he could feel it, too. His chest rose and fell unsteadily against her. His cock jerked at her lower back.

She didn’t have the strength to deny him for denying her. Now that she’d made herself cum, she only wanted him more. They both knew it never finished without his cum dripping out of her.

“You okay?”

She heard his raspy voice and tipped her head back to look up. His face was right above hers, his lips parted, ghosting over hers. His cheeks were flushed, and he was taking short breaths. He grasped her wrist and pulled her fingers out of her sensitive cunt. She watched him intensely as he brought her hand to his mouth and sucked and licked her two fingers clean while holding her gaze.

She couldn’t help it anymore. She cupped his cheek and pressed her lips to his, her mouth opened, her tongue sliding against his, heat pooling between her legs as if she hadn’t just cum a minute ago. He only broke the kiss to pull his shirt over his head, and she wasted no time to free his cock from his boxers. He was leaking precum and it made her mouth water. She wanted to taste it. Suddenly, he grabbed her by the hips and lifted her off him.

“On your stomach,” he demanded.

She shook her head wordlessly and reached for his cock. He quickly caught her wrists and tugged her up so they were face to face. “Not now.”

“But I want–”

“I’d cum if you put your mouth on me, Bambi,” he rasped, sounding almost helpless.

She clenched at the words and nodded as she scooted toward him on her knees, hands on his shoulders. “Let me ride you. I wanna see your face.”

His laugh turned into an exaggerated, ‘aww’ that made her want to punch him. Instead, she shoved at his chest and he dropped onto his back, hands on her knees as she straddled his thighs. She reached out and grasped his cock, stroking him just once, just to spread her wetness over him.

“Am I a good girl now?” she asked, her head cocked to the side.

“I don’t know. Show me,” he replied with a smirk.

She hitched herself up over his lap and slid down onto his cock, so suddenly that he jolted and dug his fingers into her bum. She rode him hard, holding his gaze. The way he grinned with his mouth open made her moan and squeeze around him. She hated how she was the one riding him but he still managed to have the upper hand.

He let her have her fun for a moment before grasping her bum and thrusting into her hard and fast. She cried out and fell onto his chest, their mouths meeting with more sloppy kisses.

“You like this, huh?” he panted into her ear, her fingers digging into his shoulders as an answer while he fucked into her, taking full control now. She nodded wildly before propping herself back up with her palms on his chest. Seeing the ink on his torso glistening with sweat made her stomach flip and her knees go numb. He circled his arm around her waist and hitched her up, drawing a gasp out of her before his mouth was on her throat as he pumped her on his dick.

“Yes, Daddy, yes.”

He didn’t stop, but his hips faltered for a second.

“What was that?” he asked, dropping his head to suck one of her nipples into his mouth. She could tell he’d been wanting to do this all night. She gasped and clenched around him. She had really sensitive nipples and he adored them.

“Daddy,” she whimpered, rolling her hips. He met her pleading stare and groaned. He knew she was close.

He sighed against her lips but didn’t object when she got one hand between them, two fingers on her clit, rubbing hard the way he would. He loved to make her cum but he also loved watching her touch herself.

She came first, stars exploding behind her eyelids as he fucked her through it and cum inside her, hips jerking up off the bed. Curses spilled from his lips and her own as they both collapsed, her on top of him, his arms tightened around her waist.

She was pretty sure she’d passed out for a second or two until she felt the warmth of his hands against the cool skin of her exposed back. She opened her eyes, cheek resting against his chest as her eyes searched his face. His cheeks dimpled as their eyes locked.

“You’re so spoiled now. Always getting your way,” he said, breathless.

She propped her head up and pouted. “You have to let me win because you’re older. That’s the rule.”

He contemplated her face with an arched eyebrow. “So I have to let you win because I’m older, but I’m not allowed to call you a child when you act like one?”

“Correct.” She nodded and combed her fingers through his hair, pushing his sweaty curls out of his forehead. “I need you to include that in your wedding vows.”

“My wedding vows,” he echoed, his mouth curled.

“Only if I say yes, though,” she clarified, lifting her chin.

“Only if I ask,” he smugly replied.

She glared at him before leaning down and kissing him again. Suddenly, he pushed her away, fingers still in her hair but his eyes were on the telly. “Look, Bambi.”

“What?” She whipped her head around, slightly annoyed by the interruption.

He chuckled softly. “They’re still going at it.”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #harry styles falling #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic #my girl blurb #my girl series #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n

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danddymaro · 3 years

Text

Sweet Annoyance | Rohan Kishibe x Reader

Rohan's used to being alone, so maybe he doesn't know how to properly deal with the reader.

Reader Insert // The reader is brought into the world without any memories or recollection of the past, this makes it easier + It's easy to assume wild shit like this wouldn't happen to Rohan. (◍˃̶ᗜ˂̶◍)ﾉ”

Flashbacks are in italics: Example

Thoughts are italics in quotes: ‘Example’

Wordcount: 2735

Sweet Annoyance

She silently stood by his side, glancing down at his work with Wonder, truly amazed at his genius, finding every graceful flick his wrist performed to be awestriking. And if that wasn't enough, she was even more enthralled by the sight of his vigorous movements as he moved with more viciousness, his every stroke somehow becoming even more precise and keen during then.

'Wow,' she thought with a soft breath that could have easily been mistaken with a little gasp.

She was amazed a human could draw with such elegance and perfection. Much more, she was astonished at how focused he could be, his vibrant eyes practically glowing with fierceness, enough so that she was certain that if they found their way to hers in that passionate state, she'd be struck stupid.

‘He’s strange,’ She told herself, ‘ But all the same, he’s captivating,’ She added, knowing that there was very little that could compare to his magnetism.

'He's really amazing,' She surmised, having come to the conclusion herself, all by simply observing him.

Once again he felt a pair of eyes land on him, causing an involuntary shiver to course through him as he felt the presence near.

"...Is there anything you need?" he muttered lowly, before drawing in a low breath, his left hand's finger rimming the cup of warm tea before him whilst his right was still occupied with holding his pen upright, the inky tip hovering over the blank page that lay before him.

"...Besides of course leaving me this," he added while speaking in the same, low tone that was touched by a graze of annoyance.

'I didn't ask for it, ' he thought to himself, 'but nonetheless...it is a kind gesture,' he continued on, knowing that after all, he wasn't going to reject it, but, then again, it wasn't like he was going to praise her for it either.

'-It's not like I asked her,' He stubbornly thought to himself while dragging his index finger down the side of the cup, soon meeting the surface of the desk, tapping it with contemplation.

'However, I will admit...She's undeniably sweet.' He determined, having spent enough time around her to conclude it with certainty, 'Perhaps to a fault,' He went on, growing weary of the attentiveness she displayed towards him.

‘I mean, she could have just left this behind and preoccupied herself with something else,’ He thought to himself, ‘ Honestly, does she think these are conditions for me to work under?’ He thought while irked.

'With her here... staring at me like that...' He went on, trying not to think much about it, ‘- I mean, doesn’t she have better things to do then bother me?’ He wondered languidly, craning his head back to momentarily gaze at her.

Shaking her head she sported a soft, uncertain smile,

"That should be it..but,” She started while leaning back on her heels, rocking back in forth in a way that made her seem childish, and in a sense, cute.

“ You've been in here all day," she answered him, and all the while his eyes were stuck to her, his sharp gaze narrowed to her little figure as it fidgeted.

"um...and ...I….well...," She mumbled incoherently as she shifted uncomfortably, a small huff then being released as she tried to continue, but obviously lacking the confidence.

"Alright then ?" he slowly said back, "Well, If there is nothing else-" he started, cut off as she spoke again,

"Rohan, Are you hungry?" She asked him, soon stepping closer into his workspace as she asked the question, and he could tell that it was the one she wanted to ask before.

There was a sweet upturn to the corners of her lips that was not only genuine and sweet but relieved as she finally let the words escape,

" I can try and make you something....anything really," she insisted, her (e/c) colored eyes seeming to twinkle with anticipation.

" That won't be necessary," he said softly, his entire body now pointed to hers, and by then the pen in his hand had escaped his grasp, lying forgotten on the desk as he watched her.

' She does that so much,' he thought to himself while watching the teasing, little color that lay beneath her (s/c) skin surfacing yet again, and during then her lips begged for attention, the little nibble she executed giving them a more rosy color, enticing him.

Unblinking, he leaned out from his chair slightly, ' and it's so intriguing... so memorizing.' he mused, involuntarily taking a bite of his own lower lip.

‘I can’t help but wonder if they feel just as tender as they look’ He told himself, contemplating on whether or not her mouth was as soft as it looked, despite the abuse she repeatedly forced upon the flesh.

His body gravitated towards her even more, and before he knew it, he slid off of the seat, soon falling to his knees, his two palms laying flat onto the ground as he caught himself.

“Rohan! Are you okay?” She said with worry, immediately flailing onto her own knees, reaching out to him before he stopped her, his voice snarky and full of bite,

“Don’t you have anything better to do than pester me!?” He asked her, watching as her face immediately shifted into surprise, then downheartedness.

“I’m sorry,” She said with a halfhearted smile, slowly standing before she took a step back,

“I didn’t mean to bother you so much,” She said earnestly, having wanted to show him gratitude with her little acts, not having taken into account that until then, he’d been happy being on his own.

“- I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” She told him, “And I wanted to find a way to thank you,” She admitted, “ I’m sorry, I should have known. After all, your work is very important to you. "

" So, I’ll make sure to stay out of your way from now on,” She promised him before she traced her steps back, soon finding her way back to the door just as he finally composed himself.

"Again...I'm sorry Rohan," She said while giving him one last short live glance.

By then the man sat back on his usual seat, his eyes tightly closed as he knit his brows together in a show of frustration the woman had caught sight of before she left.

‘ - I suppose I had it coming,’ She thought to herself as she released a soft, low-spirited sigh, her eyes gazing up at the ceiling while she stood outside of the quiet room the male currently occupied.

‘I have been bothering him far too much.’ She mused with the same downheartedness, yet understanding his exasperation.

‘But I don’t know anyone or anything, but him.’ She added with a slight grimace, knowing that her neediness to please him came from a clingy part of her that had attached itself to him.

It’d been three weeks since she first woke, finding herself just outside his home, eyeing the world that surrounded her with distraught, because she remembered nothing from a few moments ago. The only thing she had to go by was what she caught sight of, and it was unsettling.

During then Rohan eyed the strange, unsuspecting woman with narrowed eyes, activating his stand with haste, not taking any chances on the trespasser, and putting his stand to work in order to find out everything he needed about her.

“Now...you little trespasser, let’s read your manuscript,” He muttered deviously, a little satisfied curl to his lips lasting only half a second before his expression morphed into one of utter surprise.

To his chagrin, she was all empty pages, something he hadn’t known was possible.

He skimmed over every page, finding everything he gazed at to be unwritten white, from start to finish.

“Impossible…” He murmured, a hand circling her wrist, the other holding the back of her head as he looked down at her slumped form while inspecting her,

“There’s nothing to read,” He said aloud, his eyes growing even more as he saw her begin to stir, her (e/c) colored eyes staring up at him with surprise, and at that, his breath hitched, the involuntary halt in breath covered up by a forced cough.

“Where am I?” She asked him with saddened (e/c) colored drops, and he swore there were unshed tears within the glimmering orbs,

“Who… Who are you?” She wondered aloud, not knowing who the man was.

“- Who am I?” She proceeded to ask, and during then he had no answer, nothing he could offer her that could give her comfort beside a look of pity and confusion.

It became easy for him to offer her solace, his curiosity being all the reason he had to let her stay,

‘Strange girl...You’re an empty book, and yet, I’m curious to skim my eyes over you, again and again, to try and find something new,’ He mused, for a strange reason drawn to her, like the opposite ends of two magnets.

His left hand trailed over to grab his cup when he felt nothing but air, the empty space bringing an immediate frown onto his features,

"Hmm..."

He craned his head back, looking behind him to see the (h/c) haired woman gone.

It had become normal to have her come around, carrying In something for him he'd end up drinking or eating later along the day as he worked, so naturally, he expected her there.

“ she hasn’t shown up since this morning,” he told himself, knowing that the last he saw of her was during the early hours of the day.

" Strange," he muttered, tapping his finger onto the desk’s surface while pressing his lips together, his turquoise eyes glued to the doorway, waiting for her to walk through.

He could feel his mouth water, lingers of sweetness present as he craved another snack, and very faintly, his stomach rumbled.

“That damned girl…” he muttered to himself.

‘She’s conditioned me to such a thing,’ He thought dryly, ‘And now, she’s nowhere to be found,’ He added with the same dull inner tone.

Again, his pen fell, and his finger tapped into the desk as he waited, soon growing annoyed as the time progressed.

“Alright,” he said aloud, having waited long enough.

“She stops all my progress, and now I have to go in search of her,” he added whilst rolling his eyes, looking up at the ceiling with annoyance,

“But….I suppose a break is in order,” He decided while slumping his shoulders, hanging his head. "So, it's not in bad timing."

He moved past his own bedroom, soon coming face to face with hers, finding it shut.

His knuckles then lightly tapped her room’s door before he addressed her, “(F/n).” he said firmly, receiving no answer in return, the very fact irking him furthermore.

“let me guess, “ He then muttered, “You’re angry at me, aren't you?” He asked her as he leaned on the door, his back pressed to it as he spoke.

“You’re angry at me, and now you give me the silent treatment,” he theorized.

“And the only thing that will draw you out is a heartfelt apology from me, right?” He went on, shaking his head at the thought.

‘I don’t have anything to apologize for though, so what do you expect from me?

Some, false, conjured up plea that will only stroke your ego...that’s all I can imagine,’ He went on.

The silence ensued and he tapped his knuckles against the door yet again, doing so more firmly,

‘Just who does she think she is?’ he wondered with annoyance.

“Hey! Come out here already!” He said with the same huff, " I'm in no mood for games!” He exclaimed, receiving no answer back.

‘If it’s a battle of wills, then I’ll be sure to come on top,’ He thought to himself, soon drawing back,

“Alright then, have it your way. If that’s what you want, you can stay in there all day long. I don’t mind one bit!” He said while glaring at the door, crossing his arms before gritting his teeth.

He lasted a total of 10 minutes in the same position before he shook his head, his hand tightened around the knob of the door, deciding that if it wasn't locked he'd make his way in, and if not, he'd leave her to come out on her own.

‘This, in no way means that I cave first,’ He assured himself, ‘ Only that...I...I ca...

- No, It means that you can’t have your way you stubborn girl,’ he went on.

The door opened, and as such he was ready to give her a mouthful before his face fell, soon finding the room vacant,

“Oh...You’re not here…” He said softly, soon falling silent.

‘Don’t tell me you really take it to heart?’ He wondered, sitting down on her bed, thinking back to the last bit of words she offered him,

“ I’m sorry, I’ll make sure to stay out of your way from now on,” She promised him, and he could see how much her face had fallen, the downhearted expression making him swallow down bitterness before he turned his sights from her.

“Again, I'm sorry Rohan," she added before she left the room, the waver in her voice almost impossible to look over.

“You frustrate me sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I want you gone,” He muttered lowly, only imagining she took everything as a sign that he didn’t want her around at all.

His hands then fisted, shaking as he stood rigidly still, thinking about the possibility of her simply running away, taking it all in the only way he could,

“And so now what..?” He said airily, his head hanging low as he uttered the words, “Do you expect me to go out?” He said while lifting up his chin, his eyes hardened,

“ …To run after you?” He said out loud. “Perhaps chase you down? Beg on my knees even?” He said as his voice grew louder, practically yelling,

“ Ha!

I, Rohan Kishibe Beg?” He wondered out loud, by then sounding deranged,

“You annoy the hell out of me!” He said while roaring out the words,

“At least now I can get some peace alone!” He called out, shutting his mouth immediately after.

His bottom lip then caught between the sharp edges of his two rows of teeth as he clamped down on it, because far, deep from within, he regretted the fact that the words that left him.

His mansion was still and quiet, the only sound he could hear being the echo of his own voice that sounded ugly and monstrous to him.

“ I'm in no mood to play (f/n)!” He yelled, again, his mouth ran, sounding vexed, and yet, his heart ran with anxiousness. “If you’re hiding then just come out now!”

“Thank you,” She breathed, almost on the very of tears, her face that brimmed with emotion, hiding close to him as she unsuspectedly clung to him, her arms wrapping around him dearly,

“Thank you so much, “ She breathed, her voice shaky before she released a sweet giggle, the small bit of sweet joy slipping through her misery.

Standing still, he stared down at the strange woman, instantly stunned by the sweet smile that greeted him as she looked up at him, it being the first of many that were to come.

She was always quick to smile at him, offering him the kind expression even during dour moments, something he’d silently appreciated because while he didn’t say it, it didn’t mean he didn’t feel it.

Her sweet, smiling face was there as he closed his eyes, and during then, he felt his fastened heart abruptly stop, the world around him going cold and desolate,

‘There’s a damn killer on the loose,’ he thought to himself,

“ He’s somewhere out there,” he said aloud before the following breath he withdrew held a tremor,

“ And If you’re out there you little, annoying brat…” he muttered darkly, trailing off as he swallowed hard, trying his best to not think about the possibility.

His long legs launched him into a hard sprint, willing to look through every crack of Miroh to find her, because, truth be told,

' You may be annoying, but I'd rather have you annoying me the rest of my life than never seeing you again!'

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