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coryoskywalker · 6 months

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Save Me (Part One) Young! Coriolanus Snow x Reader

Description - Coriolanus has returned to the capitol after his time serving as a peacekeeper with one thing on his mind…..you. (Basically Coriolanus and Reader reuniting with unspoken feelings)

Ps I wrote this half asleep so don’t mind the grammar mistakes

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Coriolanus Snow had always been one for the rules and following them, but the Hunger Games... well, it was hard to follow the rules in the games if it meant losing your life. After having cheated in the games, the Capitol couldn't let him get away with nothing. Coriolanus Snow was forced out of the Capitol, sent away from his family and forced to become a Peacekeeper. And now, months later, as he walked through the Capitol, he looked almost unrecognizable. He had a stern expression on his face, never showing more than he had to.

Coriolanus Snow walked quietly through the campus of the academy that was in the Capitol. As he walked, he heard whispers about him. He almost couldn't understand what exactly people were saying about him, but he got the gist of it. They were talking about him, Coryo, a cheater and a liar and a traitor. Coriolanus had his face in a straight expression, looking at no one. His mind was blank except for one thought... finding you.

Coriolanus Snow walked through the library, but suddenly he stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you. He looked at you for a moment, a thought crossing his mind. What if he just... spoke to you? Coriolanus took a few deep breaths and started to walk towards you. As he walked up to yourself, he suddenly cleared his throat, which almost seemed to get your attention almost immediately.

“Coryo” you whispered.

Coriolanus Snow felt a chill as you called out his childhood nickname. He turned to face you, still with that blank expression on his face, but his mind was racing.

"y/n." He said quietly, keeping his voice low so only you could hear it. "Hello." He almost wished that he could see your expression right now.

“Where were you? No one told me where you went” you expressed.

"I was sentenced to become a Peacekeeper." Coriolanus said. It sounded silly to tell you that the Capitol had sent him to be a Peacekeeper, but it was true. "I had... broken the rules in order to keep my tribute alive." He almost wanted to punch himself in the face as he explained it. He was always someone that followed the rules, even if he may not like them, why had he broken the rules just to keep his tribute alive? Did he want her that badly?

“One would assume you have feelings for your tribute, lucygray” you teased him.

Coriolanus Snow looked at you, your words almost hitting a nerve in him, making him want to punch something. If only you knew how he felt about her... it would certainly change your perception of him, but Coriolanus kept his emotions hidden. "What?" He asked. "What a strange notion." He said mockingly, shaking his head. As if he could love Lucy. You just rolled your eyes with a smile planted on your face.

Coriolanus felt his face turn red. He had never felt like this before. When you looked at him with a small grin on your face, as if you already knew the reason he broke the rules in the Games. What was this feeling? Did he care this much about a tribute, that he wanted to break the rules for her? Coryo shook his head, trying to clear himself of all doubts and thoughts. "Nevermind that." He said blankly, forcing himself to calm down.

You nod “well Coryo come sit down. Tell me everything that has happened to you in the past few months” you spoke softly.

Coriolanus Snow, or Coryo, as many calls him, couldn't believe this was happening. You were…. smiling at him. You wanted to know about him, how he has been over the last few months. He couldn't understand why he felt nervous at this, it was almost a bad feeling, but he followed by going to sit beside her, still not looking at her. "Well... what do you want to know?" He asked bluntly.

“Everything”

Coriolanus felt a chill go up his spine as you said that. Tell you everything? The Capitol, what he had done, the guilt he carried? He wanted to tell her, he didn't want to keep these secrets anymore. The Capitol was where he made a mistake, telling you would help him feel... relief.

"Okay." He said, taking a breath. "Everything is a lot to say, but I guess I can tell you..." Coryo looked at the floor as he spoke.

He wasn't ready for you to look at him. Coriolanus told you everything. From how the Capitol had given him the position as a Peacekeeper, how he didn't fit in there, to the games. To the fact that he had broken the rules in order to keep Lucy alive. He expected you to walk away then and there, tell him what a monster he was, and never look at him again. But instead, she stayed, listening earnestly, then spoke quietly.

"I still think you did the right thing, Coryo." The words came as a shock. You didn't judge him. Instead, you... approved him? “You were willing to sacrifice everything to keep her alive. I find it admireable. I wish I was brave enough to do the same for my tribute” you spoke with admiration.

Coriolanus wasn't sure if he should feel flattered by her words or disturbed. His actions weren't something to be proud of. He had broken the rules in order to keep his tribute alive. While, in some way, you were telling him it was alright... Coriolanus thought back about his actions. He couldn't bring himself to feel proud nor shame for what he had done. Instead, he just felt... empty. "It was wrong to do it, y/n" He said, his voice soft. "I should have stayed loyal to the Capitol."

“The Capitol is corrupt Coriolanus”

Coriolanus felt a chill go down his spine as you spoke those words. You were right of course, the Capitol was corrupt. He knew it, had always known it, but there was always a part of him that believed the Capitol was just and right. But then, as he met your gaze and felt your steady eyes on him, something in him changed. "You're right. It is corrupt." He said, more to himself than to you.

#coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #the hunger games #tbosbas #Spotify

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matthewtkachuk · 4 months

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bad at love

Breaking your brother's only unspoken rule—don't date his teammates—has never been an issue in your adult life. Until now.

pairing: jt compher x reader

warnings: angstttt, smut, a minor car accident with mentions of injury (broken bone/concussion), and the usual (alcohol, swearing, etc. etc.)

word count: 4.9k

a/n: hiiiiii @comphy-and-cozy i'm your super secret fic exchange writer! sorry this is a day late and a dollar short. one of these days @wyattjohnston is going to perma-ban me from participating in exchanges. until that date she remains my ever loyal editor. mad thanks to @thomasschabot for reading it first and telling me they loved it even though they're contractually obligated to do so and for physically being there when the fic idea popped into my head <3

It’s not the first time you’ve shown up at your big brother’s house with a face full of tears and a couple bags full of all your worldly possessions. Despite your best efforts and well intentions—if you had to guess—it likely won’t be the last.

It is the first time you’ve done so with him being a married man, and so it’s your sister-in-law whose comfort you really seek and are expecting to pop up behind the slowly opening door in front of you.

Unfortunately for you, and for the poor soul you really don’t know that well, it’s not Kenzy who opens the door but the over-the-summer pick-up from Colorado.

If it had been any of the other, more tenured of your brother's teammates, you might have been waved inside with nothing more than a sympathetic glance and an unspoken ‘again?’.

Instead, JT’s look of utter confusion has quickly evolved into something more akin to a quiet rage, and you’re reminded that he is a big brother himself. The look is familiar to you, having inspired a similar one on Dylan’s face more times than you can count.

It’s been a really fucking long day, and you don’t have the emotional bandwidth to have any sort of reckoning with some guy you barely know in your brothers drive way.

JT’s in the middle of some sort of sentence that begins and also ends with “What—” as you none too gently push past him in order to finally gain entry to the house.

The mix of sympathy and feigned disinterest that greets you on the faces of your brothers teammates who occupy the large sitting room has your stomach rolling uncomfortably. It seemed like the entirety of the Detroit Red Wings were always around to witness your spectacular failures. What must they think, watching you disappear with the next great love of your life, only to reappear once again with bags packed in a manner of months?

You could hazard a guess at what your brother thinks, the variants of ‘I told you so’ that live and die on his tongue without ever leaving his lips. He wraps you up in an infamous Larkin hug that serves to fix a tiny crack of your broken heart, and so you revel in it like you used to revel in the comfort when the pain you felt was because of falling off the monkey bars when you were a kid.

But, he has a house full of hockey players to entertain and Kenzy has a glass of wine with your name on it. Dylan returns to the living room and you slide out to the back porch with your sister-in-law, briefly catching the eye of the one who let you in. You don’t see the telltale signs of judgment reflecting back at you, but maybe something else entirely.

Outside you pour your soul alongside the Malbec. Curled up on the wicker chair under a blanket you tell Kenzy about Owen and the promises he failed to keep. She oohs and ahs at the appropriate times, commiserating without belittling you.

By the end of the night your heart—and the bottle of wine—feels a little lighter. There’s a little less shame as you make yourself at home in the spare bedroom that might as well permanently be yours.

Owen visits you in your sleep, breaking your heart again and again until his face morphs into one with a ginger beard and kind eyes.

Those kind eyes become a fixture in your post breakup life. If he’s not hanging around your brother's house, he’s bumping into you at the local coffee shop you frequent when you’re in Detroit. If he’s at neither, he’s obviously at the games you attend in support of Dylan alongside Kenzy.

At Dylan’s, you barely speak to his teammates and friends beyond simple pleasantries. At your coffee shop, it starts at small talk but grows to be considerable conversations that dip just below surface level.

It’s at Little Caesars Arena where he really endears himself to you though. Warm ups are arguably your favorite part of the games you attend. You like to look out at the signs, from the heartwarming to the obscene—picking out your favorites and giggling about the latter with your sister in law.

Dylan’s always been really good about tossing kids pucks, and his big bleeding heart only grew larger when he got the red C strapped to his chest. Some of the other guys, even some of the so-called vets are less good about it.

JT’s just like Dylan, maybe even a little kinder hearted. He takes the time to read the signs that are meant for him, never turns down a trade for a puck and even gives a stick to a kid whose sign says he came all the way from Denver to watch him, his favorite player, play in Detroit.

It warms your heart.

So much so you don’t even notice you’re staring until Dylan’s slamming himself into the boards in front of you to startle his wife. She rolls her eyes and calls him a name not worth repeating while you try to pretend like you weren’t just fixated on his teammate.

The thing is Dylan has never outright said his teammates are off limits. Not since you were a teenager making eyes at his USNTDP teammates anyway.

The memory keeps you from looking JT’s way the rest of the warmups, but once the puck drops your eyes can’t help but wander.

Wandering appears to be your specialty, considering you’ve gotten yourself lost in the underbelly of the arena.

Your first mistake was leaving Ken’s side—she was your ferryman, guiding you down the River Styx, and without her, you were lost in Hell.

Were you overdramatic? Maybe. Were you lost with no hope of getting out? Still overdramatic, but definitely a possibility.

The walls begin to look the same, and you’re half worried you’ve accidentally fallen into a back room or something stupid when you stumble upon the one who caught your eye earlier.

‘Stumble upon’ is a gracious way of saying you absolutely smack into him and fall on your ass.

He hauls you up effortlessly with one hand and your skin burns beneath his grasp.

“What are you doing?” you both say in near unison before he laughs.

“I was getting my shoulder checked out, what are you doing all the way over here? Are you lost?”

Regardless of what he was doing, JT obviously has more of a reason to be found wandering the halls of the arena. And he’s right, you’re most definitely lost but you play it off like he’s crazy.

“Me? Lost? No, I know exactly where we are,” you bluff.

JT’s eyebrows raise and he nods slowly. “Which is…?”

Well, he’s called your bluff but he also gave you a key context clue. “Near the athletic trainer, obviously.”

He laughs again and it has your cheeks feeling hot.

“Okay fine, maybe I’m a little bit lost and maybe I was contemplating how I’d be trapped down here forever before you knocked me over.”

“I’m sorry, but you ran into me.” You roll your eyes and begin to argue, but he doesn’t let that happen. “Doesn’t matter, I can help you find your way out.”

You swoon dramatically, only half joking as you reply “My hero.”

Now that you’re no longer focused on navigating your way out of Pan’s Labyrinth, you’re free to focus on your close proximity to JT. Based on the way his eyes dart between meeting your own and staring at your lips, you assume he’s just as aware.

Is this not what you’ve been wanting since you knocked on Dylan’s door? But that’s part of the problem, and you’re sure JT is thinking the same. Not only is your brother his teammate—and you’ve always been off limits to your brother's teammates to your chagrin growing up—but he’s JT’s captain, too. There’s a million ways this thing could go wrong and blow up in both of your faces.

You could get caught, and be forced to sit with Dyl’s disappointment. You could hurt the one person in your life who consistently showed up for you and loved you and cared for you.

Not to mention you could risk it all for nothing—could crash and burn spectacularly as you were wont to do. Could fuck it all up with not only your brother, but JT too and be left with nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gone behind your brother’s back, but you had a sneaking suspicion things would be worse than they were when you were 15 to his 16.

Ultimately you decide fuck it, because what’s life without a little risk?

Tentatively, you slide your hand over the rough beard covering his jaw. When he doesn’t flinch or move away from you, you lean in closer.

He’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving closer, letting you make the first move.

It’s probably a terrible fucking idea, but you’ve never been accused of being someone who makes good decisions when it comes to romantic partners.

The first press of your lips to his is cautious, barely a brushing of your mouths, just to get a taste. Quickly you become a woman obsessed. Unable to get enough, the kisses turn frenetic, bordering on sloppy.

He reciprocates in kind, his mouth hot and heavy on yours while his hands grasp and pull and hold. His very essence consumes you, taking over all of your five senses and pulling noises from you that you didn’t know existed.

If your arm burned from his grasp earlier, your entire body has caught fire.

You’re unaware or probably more accurately uncaring of your public nature, despite your earlier hesitance. Now you just want more and more and more of JT, as much as he is willing to give and maybe even a little more.

He seems to be on the same page, entire body wrapping around you and pulling you deeper and deeper.

Unconsciously your hands begin to pull at the waistband of his pants and it’s then that the two of you finally separate.

You’re worried you’re going to find regret in his eyes and excuses on his tongue, but he’s just looking at you intently.

“Not like this,” he says. “Not here.”

“I don’t want to wait,” you protest, but he shushes you with his mouth.

“It’ll be worth the wait.”

And worth the wait it is.

It's sexy at first. Clandestine meetings in dark hallways, sneaking in and out of JT’s apartment that’s on the same floor as Jake Walman’s, covert texts and quiet phone calls where you get off on the sound of each other's voices.

It doesn’t take long for you to want more, though. To fantasize about not just what his calloused hands can do to your body, but what it would be like to hold one in your own while walking down the street. To show up at a home game and have everyone know you were there to support not only your brother, but JT too.

It’s a fantasy that is only stoked by the comfort you feel walking around JT’s apartment in just his t-shirt with his number on the shoulder. By nights spent together at his dinner table, on his couch, in his bed. By sweet texts and stupid memes and random photos of things that made him think of you.

You don’t dare speak your desires out loud though. For fear of JT not wanting the same thing or for fear that he would, you’re not quite sure.

It’s a tough situation to be in. One where you’re worried you're heading to a fork in the road that has JT on one side and your brother on the other.

You have no delusions about the two paths eventually forging back together again, know that you’ve come dangerously close to that intersection marked with a big fat caution sign.

Probably you should speak to JT, get on the same page about where you’ve been and where you’re going. Following that, assuming he secretly yearns for the same thing you do, you should probably then come clean to Dylan.

Probably you should do a lot of things, but unfortunately what is done in the dark always comes to the light and sometimes it happens quicker than you can make your mind up.

A road win presumably has JT in a good mood. He’s texted you letting you know he’ll be home before midnight, requesting your presence in his bed.

It’s an easy yes, considering you’re already in the aforementioned bed. It’s nice to get out of Dylan’s house, of the suffocating feeling that you’re intruding in someone else’s home, on someone else’s life.

There’s really nothing particularly sexy about the way he finds you, but his eyes darken upon finding you curled up in his bed just the same. You’re not attempting to recreate a sexy pose from a boudoir photo shoot, and one of JT’s shirts and a pair of boy shorts aren’t exactly fancy lingerie.

That doesn’t stop him from dropping his bag dramatically and stripping from his dress shirt and pants.

“Awfully presumptuous,” you say as if the very fact that you’re in his bed in not much more clothing than he is.

He shrugs, “Not presuming anything. I’m fine if you just want to sleep, but I’m sure as shit not going to sleep in those dress pants. Bad enough I had to sit through a plane ride like that.”

His tone is teasing, but the implication that he would be just as fine falling asleep beside you as anything else pretty well takes all the fight out of you.

“C’mere,” you say instead of a catchy comeback, lifting the covers and inviting him into his own bed.

He wastes no time sliding in beside you and curling up around your body. “Hi.”

You snort and hide your face in his neck. “Corny.”

“I’ll show you corny,” he says, but you shush him by pulling his face closer to yours until your lips brush.

“Thought I was presumptuous,” he says upon breaking the kiss.

You roll your eyes—“Shut up.”—and kiss him again.

He doesn’t manage to keep his mouth shut, but at least this time it’s to slip his tongue into your mouth.

The temperature of the room rapidly increases—between the weight of his body covering your own and your body’s reaction to his fervid kiss, you feel the need to lose at least one item of clothing.

“I need—“

Luckily he quickly understands what you’re trying to accomplish by pulling at the hem of your shirt, lifting off of you long enough to assist in removing it from your body.

He makes a noise of appreciation at the bare skin revealed to him before diving back into your lips, this time with one hand cupping your right breast.

Appreciative noises of your own build in your throat when that hand slides down your body to dip into your underwear. It’s teasing touches at first, until you reciprocate by cupping him through his boxer-briefs.

Finally you both shed that last remaining layer, uncaring of where they end up in the bedroom. There’s a brief pause while he rolls on a condom and then he’s entering your body like it was made for him and him alone.

There’s no rush about his pace, just gentle thrusts and soft moans and sweet praises.

Sex with JT is so good, better than with anyone else you’ve ever been with. He’s the very opposite of a lazy, selfish lover. It’s like your needs and your pleasure come first, and you certainly do too.

The positioning of your bodies is so intimate, bodies close, mouths slotted over each other with intermingling breaths.

You worry you’re getting too caught up in that intimacy, possibly running in a direction not quite warranted and so you seek to depersonalize it a touch.

“Let me,” you say softly while gently pressing a hand against his shoulder, indicating you want him to lay on his back. He moves willingly, even helping you climb atop him.

It feels just as good with you on top, and the bit of distance between your upper halves means you can breathe a bit better.

It’s easy to get lost in the feeling, to tilt your head back and focus on your movements and the feel of his bruising grip on your hips.

Feeling the pressure build in your stomach, you slide a hand down your abdomen to where your bodies meet while the other grasps your breast just for something to hold on to. The added friction to your clit is pulling you closer and closer as you move on top of him.

He’s staring up at you with lust filled eyes, mouth open in a mix of awe and pleasure. A look of almost disbelief on his face. His hands are still on your hips, now helping the movement of your body on his when your body lights up like the fourth of July with your orgasm.

It’s hard to keep moving while in the throes of pleasure, but it’s like JT can read your mind, gripping your hips and thrusting up into you until he finishes too.

Your whole body tingles as you collapse on top of him, relishing in the feel of his arms wrapping around your body. Leisurely you kiss for a minute, until your heart rate returns to normal and you feel like you’re not likely to fall over when going to the bathroom to clean up.

When you return, you’ve slipped on one of his shirts once again. There's a soft look on his face as you crawl into bed beside him. It only cracks when you quietly whisper, “should we order pizza?”

“I think you’re the girl of my dreams,” he laughs.

The room is quiet, filled with only the sounds of your breathing and occasional kissing as you wait for the delivery.

Finally the doorbell rings. “I got it,” you tell JT and pull on a pair of discarded sweatpants before pulling the drawstring so they don’t fall.

You don’t bother to check the peephole, certain it’s your food which turns out to be a giant mistake.

Not only is it not your pizza, it’s also the last person you want to catch you with sex hair in oversized clothing that obviously belongs to the guy you’ve just had sex with.

Dylan’s mouth has dropped so far down it would be comical if it wasn’t also horrifying.

“Dylan I–” you start to explain yourself but pause midway through. How could you even begin to explain?

“I can’t believe this.” He shakes his head, hands curling at his side. “Actually no, I can’t believe this from JT, I can definitely believe this from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap.

Your brother laughs sardonically, “Well you’re not exactly known for making the right decisions when it comes to relationships.”

JT exits his room, no doubt lured by the loud voices and the lack of food. “Hey man, come on, let's talk about this like adults.”

“Like adults?” Dylan is incensed in a way you’ve never seen before. “Now you want to talk about things like adults? The time to talk was before you started sleeping with my sister behind my back.”

“I’m sorry you found out like this–” JT continues to try to defend himself, defend you while you stand there speechless.

Dylan interrupts, “Sorry I found out or sorry you got caught?”

JT goes to respond but Dylan cuts him off again. “I trusted you dude. I told you she was off limits, and not only did you ignore me, you went behind my back.” He then turns to you. “And you? My teammate? Seriously? You couldn’t have chosen literally any other douchebag to treat you wrong?”

That snaps you out of your stupor. “JT doesn’t treat me bad!”

A different kind of look crosses your older brother's face then. “Well when he does, don’t come running back to my house and crying to me.”

Dylan slams the door and you sit in the quiet of the room for a minute with your ears ringing.

The reality of the situation hits you.

“I can’t stay there, God not only am I a fuck up but I’m homeless too.”

“You can always stay here,” JT offers and it really bothers you that you can’t tell if he wants you to, or if he’s just offering because of his hand in the most recent blow up of your life.

“I’m pretty sure his baby sister shacking up with his teammate he doesn’t want her with isn’t exactly going to win me any favors with Dyl,” you reply.

“Well I’m pretty sure he’d rather you be here than living on the street.”

Ordinarily you think that would probably be true but the look on his face when you opened JT’s door is seared into your mind. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

In the end you do move your things into JT’s apartment. Kenzy is the accomplice to your crime, helping you pack your things while the team has practice, wrapping you in her arms and telling you that he just needs some time.

“He loves you,” she says.

You’re not so sure.

That’s probably overdramatic. You’re sure he loves you, and you sure hope he forgives you. You’re just worried that this time you’ve both done and said things you can’t take back and you’re not sure how things will move forward from here.

It’s not all bad though.

Living with JT is surprisingly easy, even right one might say. You fit directly into each other's lives like perfect puzzle pieces. His strict routines of practices and morning skates and games—both home and away—allow you the space to complete your own work on your own time. Cooking pregame meals together and curling up beside him when he takes his pregame naps quickly become some of your favorite activities.

You dance around the feelings talk, never quite broaching the subject. But it can’t feel this right if it’s all one sided, all in your head, right?

He’s even kind enough to let you drive his SUV even though the price tag makes you nervous every time you’re behind the wheel. You’re not a bad driver, as evidenced by the fact JT lets you drive the Audi, but you are possibly on this side of over cautious as a result of a bad car accident in high school.

Three home games after your fight with Dylan and approximately zero words or text messages exchanged between the two of you, you find yourself in the passenger seat.

“I could have taken the bus,” you protest weakly, almost knowing exactly what JT’s response will be.

“Over my dead body,” he laughs, eyes flickering over to you before focusing on the traffic in front of him. “Just pick me up after practice or text me if you’re still out and I’ll find a ride.”

“I’m not gonna leave you stranded at the arena, of course I’ll be there after you’re done.”

It’s oddly domestic, kissing JT across the console and then sliding into the driver’s seat that he vacates. You wait as he grabs his gear and walks away, you do really love watching him walk away.

The moment is cut short by catching a glimpse of your brother's vehicle. He’s not in it, obviously already inside the arena, but the sight of it makes your stomach clench all the same.

Thoughts of Dylan and his disappointment and worry that he’ll never forgive you flood your mind the entire drive. So much so that when the next light turns green, you let off the gas without realizing that there is a larger SUV running the red.

It all happens so fast. The screeching of tires, the crunching of metal, the pop of airbags going off and then a blinding pain in your wrist.

In the end, you’re pushed into the wrong lane of traffic, the other vehicle damn near in the passenger seat you occupied only fifteen minutes ago. There’s a distinct ringing in your ears and you offhandedly wonder if this is what it feels like to get boarded.

“Are you okay? I’m calling 911.” The words sound like they’re underwater, and it takes you several seconds to realize they’re being spoken to you. Turning your head to the side, you try to get the words out to say you’re fine, but you’re blocked by the airbag that has gone off near your head.

Emergency services come quickly, a perk of living in Detroit you suppose. Embarrassingly, it takes the jaws of life to peel off the driver's side door to get you out. A cop takes your statement and then you end up in the back of an ambulance. Despite your assurances that you’re fine, one raised eyebrow from the female paramedic and the idea that you’ve probably broken your wrist has you agreeing to the ER visit.

It’s then that someone asks you if there’s anyone you want to call. Heartbreakingly, your first thought is Dylan and your second thought is you’re not sure he’ll pick up.

Your third thought is JT and his SUV that you’ve probably totaled.

One of the paramedics helps you dial the equipment manager’s number, the one you were instructed to only ever use in case of emergencies. If ever there was a reason…

When he picks up the phone, you have to explain that you’ve gotten into a tiny fender bender and if you could please speak with JT and yes I mean JT not Dylan.

“Are you okay?” JT all but demands when he picks up the phone.

“I’m totally fine,” you fib, and then concede based on that same female paramedic once again raising an eyebrow. “Okay so I might have broken my wrist but–”

“Which hospital are you going to?” he interrupts.

You tell him, but try to say, “It’s okay you don’t have to–”

He interrupts again, “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up quicker than you can ask how he’s going to get there without the car that you’ve wrecked.

True to his word, he’s sitting on a chair in your hospital room when you return from getting an x-ray. He stands abruptly upon your entrance and takes the three strides to stand in front of you before hesitating, like you’re made of glass.

You take matters into your own hands and slide your good arm around his back, careful to not jostle your injured wrist. There's a slight tremor to his body that you feel run through yours.

“I’m okay,” you say comfortingly, rubbing your good hand along his back before pausing. “Your car though….”

The tears are already starting to pool in your waterline as he pulls back.

His hands slide to cup your jaw as he speaks seriously, “I don’t give a damn about the car. It can be replaced, you can’t.” A tear slips out before you can stop it and he brushes it away with his thumb before kissing you softly. “I care about you. So much. And that phone call scared the shit out of me.”

Despite the less than stellar background and circumstances, his words have your heart leaping in your chest. “I really care about you too,” you whisper and kiss him again.

“Where is she?” you hear coming down the hall and it occurs to you that your brother is still your emergency contact.

“Did you tell him?” you ask JT who promptly shakes his head.

You don’t even have time to step back from JT’s embrace before Dylan comes crashing into the room. JT wisely pulls away and gives Dylan the space to place his hands on your shoulders and scan for any signs of injury.

“I’m okay,” you reassure him but the words feel hollow considering they’re the first you’ve said to him in more than a week. “Broken wrist they’re gonna cast and probably a concussion. Can’t say the same for the car.”

Eerily similar to JT, Dylan replies, “Cars can be replaced–”

“But I can’t,” you say in unison with him. “I know, JT said the same thing.”

It’s like Dylan remembers his teammate then, eyes sliding over to where JT stands and then back down to your slowly purpling wrist.

The room is silent except for the sounds of medical equipment and the faint sounds occurring outside the door.

“I’m sorry,” you say in unison with your brother again.

“No, I'm sorry,” he says first. “I’m your big brother and I’ve seen you get your heart broken too many times. I’m always going to worry about you but I was out of line.”

“I’m sorry we went behind your backs and I’m sorry you found out that way. We should have just talked to you, I should have just talked to you.”

“Truce?” he asks, like you’re 10 and 11 again, fighting over something silly and trivial.

“Truce,” you confirm, hissing when you knock your broken wrist as you pull him in for a hug.

Later, when you’ve gotten over the guilt of totaling JT’s barely used Audi and the cast on your wrist is long gone, it’ll be a fun story to tell at parties. About how it took an idiot running a red light for you to define your relationship with JT and to reconcile with your brother.

#nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #nhl fanfic #nhl x reader #jt compher fic #shelb writes

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hotchnerxo · 2 months

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Make a difference

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x single mom!reader Words: 1.8k Summary: You're feeling insignificant and overwhelmed. Aaron's making sure you never forget your worth. Warnings: Anxiety and some intrusive thoughts. Nothing major, a bit of hurt/comfort and fluff A/N: This can be read separately, but also if you're familiar with my 'The chances you take' fic, this is set between chapters 13 and 14. This is dedicated to everyone who’s been having a hard time lately and days are a struggle. I am very proud of you <3

Join my taglist here

~~~

You watch steam rise from the coffee you’re pouring into your thermos. It’s probably your sixth cup of today, but you fill it anyway. Once satisfied with the amount, you screw back on the purple lid and grasp the mug in your hands. Its warmth is grounding and you admire the watercolor lavenders on its surface. But despite all that, your mind has wandered far off.

You’ve been a part of the team for quite some time now and you couldn’t be happier with the way they have welcomed you into their family. You’re thankful for every single one of them and you wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else.

But still, this moment feels off. It’s overwhelming and tiring; it’s confusing. All of the sudden there’s a harsh voice in your head screaming that you don’t belong. That no one would notice if you just walked away from this. You’re not sure whose voice it is in your mind, but it is eerie. Thoughts like this have been with you for a long time, but whenever things get overwhelming, your self doubt gets stronger.

You’ve come to lean on the kitchenette counter, nursing your warm coffee between your hands. The bullpen is loud, but blurring in your mind. There’s no conversation to follow, just a lot of sounds coming from all around; chatter, typing, rustling paper and so on. But the racing of your thoughts keeps you too busy from paying attention to things around you. You couldn’t even hear the footsteps coming closer to you.

“Left some for me?” he asks, but gets no reaction from you. Few seconds later you hear your name being called which distracts your mental spiral.

“Huh?” you hear yourself asking instinctively. How long had Hotchner been standing next to you? You have no idea, but when you turn to look at him, he already has concern written all over him. Apparently he’s been there long enough.

“Left any coffee for me?” he repeats his question, giving you another moment to get your thoughts together. Your attention moves towards the pot of coffee, just to see there’s only a drop left in it.

The thoughts of self blame start to raise their head again. There is sort of an unspoken rule in the office: whoever takes the last cup of coffee, needs to make a new one. That way there’s always something for the next person coming in. You’ve just now broken that rule and the guilt of it is strong. Way stronger than what it should be. It’s such a minor thing, but it feels more like you’ve majorly screwed up and should be fired on the spot.

“Sorry! I’ll make a new pot, it will be just a few minutes” you apologize quickly, interrupting your brain from catastrophizing the situation.

“It’s alright. I think I’ll be fine” he reassures with a gentle smile. Your tone must have been more panicky than you thought as he does his best to diffuse your anxiety so quickly. “Here, let me help you” he says softly and goes to grab a filter and the coffee grounds before you get to them. You thank him quietly as you fill the machine with more water. You watch him measure the grounds and within a few seconds, your mistake no longer exists.

Your cup is back in your hands and your eyes follow the man as he puts the ingredients back into the cabinets. You lean to the table, leaving the rest of the office behind you. At some point during the day, he’s taken his suit off and rolled the sleeves of his light blue shirt. The stripes on the shirt are barely noticeable from afar, but you enjoy the small detail.

“You’ve seemed really distracted today” his warm voice brings you back to the present moment. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks before you get to reassure him that you’re fine. He looks sincere and with your time at the bureau, you’ve learned how easy he is to talk to. And ever after the christmas party at Rossi’s a week ago, you’ve craved for his company.

“It’s nothing” you sigh and you both know that isn’t true. But he doesn’t argue with you. Instead, he falls quiet and waits. He waits for you to find the right words to sum up the storm in your mind. “At times I just feel~” you pause, turning your eyes down to your hands. “~I don't know, insignificant”. You can feel his eyes burning on your skin, but you’re too afraid to look back up.

He wants to say something, but he closes his mouth before any words come out. He can tell there’s still something else that you haven’t been able to word yet.

“I just don’t feel like I make a difference” you continue. Few seconds go by until you gain courage to look back up towards him. It was his turn to fall deep into his thoughts, trying to find something meaningful to say. You see him fidget with his left hand fingers, which you’ve learned he does when he’s nervous or carefully thinking something through.

“You know” he begins after a moment of consideration. His gaze lifts up again and only the way he looks at you makes all of the self doubt fade away. He doesn’t need words, his presence alone is all you need to calm down, but he continues nevertheless “when Ella was over for a sleepover with Jack, she asked me what my favorite color is”. You’re not really sure how that connects to the subject at hand, but you’re curious. “but before I could answer, she really wanted to guess. After some time of thinking, her whole face lit up and says purple. She was so sure about it and there was no way I could deny that”.

“Why are you telling me this?” you ask and take a sip of your coffee for the first time

There it is again; the small smile that you’re sure lights up your whole day. You love the way his whole stoic exterior melts away: his brow softens and a warm sparkle appears in his eyes again. And when he smiles, you can see dimples forming on his cheeks.

“I’m telling you this because after that, everytime I see the color purple anywhere, it makes me smile. And it makes me think of how proud and happy she was” his tone is so soft and sweet it almost makes you tear up after all the anxiety “What I’m trying to say is, that no one is insignificant. Everyone makes a difference, even with such little things that we ourselves aren’t even able to tell”.

Both of you fall quiet for a moment. It’s as if your eyes are so drawn to each other and you both forget everything else around you.

His voice lowers down to a whisper as he continues “I could list a million things you’ve done that have permanently changed my life. How a joke you told three weeks ago still makes me smile whenever I think about it. Or the way you sing your favorite songs when they play in the radio while driving you home” the affection is so thick in his voice, it’s almost hard to believe. The way he speaks makes something click inside of you, like pieces of a puzzle finally falling into place when just moments ago it all seemed a mess and meaningless. “and trust me, the meaning you have in so many people’s lives goes way beyond words. Think of the way Ella looks in the mirror every morning, feeling like a princess because her mother complimented her. Or your dad being grateful you brought in the mail on your way to your parents’, just so he doesn’t have to walk all the way to the end of the driveway when his knee is acting up again. Or a victim in a case, who you helped calm down from a panic attack”.

He lists a few more things and you feel heat rising to your cheeks. You didn’t realize that the people around you actually notice these things. You didn’t think they’d hold such importance to anyone.

“What I’m trying to say” he adds almost shyly after having rambled on for way longer he intended to “your impact is everywhere. Just like fingerprints. Your importance can’t be wiped away clean from all the kindness you’ve shared in your life”.

It’s not often you’re left speechless. But you no longer can find words to match your gratitude. If you were anywhere but the office, you’d hug him. As you’re about to open your mouth to thank him, you hear steps coming closer to the kitchenette breaking the moment between the two of you.

“Does the line start here?” Rossi asks from beside you “For the coffee?” he clarifies as both of you give him puzzled looks. Your conversation had made both of you forget where you are and for how long. Coffee no longer was a priority, and you hadn’t even noticed it being done.

Aaron clears his throat and goes to grab a new dark blue mug from the shelf “Yeah, one moment” he says and fills his own cup before offering to fill up the one in Rossi’s hand.

“Did the M.E. reports from the Seattle case come in yet?” Rossi asks, forcing the unit chief to turn his attention back to his duties.

“Yes, it’s on my desk. I’ll be right there” Hotchner’s tone is back to his normal at-the-office voice and you can tell he’s forced to get his focus back on his to-do list, no matter how he wants to stay in the moment with you as long as possible. David nods and leads the way. Aaron follows his friend a few steps behind but stops once he’s by your side.

His hand raises to your arm, landing on it softly just for a few seconds. His thumb rubs soft circles on the fabric of your sleeve and his eyes fall to find yours. There are a million things he wants to tell you, an apology for the interruption being the strongest one. He wants to tell you that his door is always open for you and he’s only ever a text or a phone call away. He wishes to tell you just how much you mean to him and to everyone else around you.

But instead of saying a word, he smiles at you softly. As he turns to leave and continue his workday, his hand lingers on your arm for as long as he’s able to. He goes to follow Rossi to his office but you swear you can still feel his touch on your skin and it makes every last bit of your anxiety melt away.

You wish he knows just how much he’s changed your life for the better, just by being himself.

@ssahotchsbitch @mayasreadingnook @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @ssamorganhotchner @kajjaka @reidsbookmark @thenewnormalforensicator @wheelsupkels @thedancingnerdmermaid @agirlinherhead @tonystarkscumslut @itsmytimetoodream @marvel-marauders @mintphoenix @whoreslovehotch @mrslizzyolsen @louderfortheback @newlydevouthotchgirl @pandorasdreamings @anlin2058 @alexxavicry

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #fanfiction #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch imagine #hotch x reader #hotch x y/n #hotchnerxo fic

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ineffablebookgirl · 10 months

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I also haven't seen anyone talk about Aziraphale and Crowley's dance or routine of spats and breakups and reconciliations and second chances, which we talked about in season 1. There was always an offer from Crowley, a rejection by Aziraphale, time apart, and then a second outreach from Crowley which is then accepted. Even though they don't communicate, they have this pattern, this unspoken language, which they adhere to pretty well.

And we see it again with the smaller fight at the beginning of season 2, over how to handle naked amnesiac Gabriel showing up. Aziraphale says my way or the highway, Crowley storms off, Crowley storms back in, makes a ritualistic apology, Aziraphale accepts the apology, they move on together as a team.

(I actually really liked seeing the little moment where they're trying to figure out how to hide Gabe, where Aziraphale suggests the half miracle each, and Crowley considers this and then agrees, that could work, and falls into line, shoulder to shoulder with Aziraphale, let's do this together. It's this little glimpse into how they actually do work together as a team.)

With the big fight / love confession at the end, Aziraphale has zero time to process any of what's going on -- escaping the wrath of Heaven & Hell yet again, this bonkers offer out of left field from the Metatron, Crowley breaking *all* their rules and actually communicating? in words? about feelings? Like, this is A Lot, and we *know* Az needs time. He doesn't make decisions quickly, he can't handle when things go too fast. Even without the millennia of religious / family trauma, he would not have handled this situation well.

The pattern has been broken, and creating a new pattern of behavior is hard and requires intentionality and presence. Aziraphale does not have the opportunity to choose to be intentional and present, because it's thrown at him all at once, with the urgency to decide Right Now.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale apologist #good omens meta #good omens 2.06 meta #gos2 #gos2 spoilers #good omens season 2 #gos2 meta #spoilers

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thegoblinboy · 5 months

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So like I am not huge on prison aus, it’s not my personal cup of tea but I just watched Shawshank redemption (and idk if anyone else gets like this where they see a movie and idea fill your head but that’s what happened to me)

A scared, barely twenty year old Eddie Munsons life ends with the clack of the gavel. The eyes of the judge staring and judging down at him, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as the guards on either side of him move forward and take his left and right arm.

He’s in shock.

He didn’t do it.

Eddie Munsons world ends when he’s stripped naked, sprayed down, ass checked and tossed into a cell with his new identity in his hands. The hoots and hollers of other men echoing into his cell as he puts a brave face on.

His father didn’t raise a bitch, even though he barely raised him at all.

Eddie becomes what society wants him to be, after so many years of trying to prove them wrong he becomes the crook that everyone has seen since his birth. Not necessarily a monster but not necessarily an angel either.

The first two years in prison he finds himself in solitary confinement for numerous reasons. Looking at a guard wrong, making the wardens breakfast wrong, getting into a fight, caught fucking around, or his personal favorite talking too much.

The next two years he becomes pretty popular amongst fellow cellmates. Known to be able to entertain when things got boring. Not in a sexual way, as much as that sounded like an innuendo Eddie Munson actually made everyone laugh. With his story telling, jokes or charm. His talkative nature earning friends amongst the crowds.

Which was a good thing, he was living here for life.

Eddie’s twenty five when his world starts spinning again. His brown eyes landing on a newbie. A man whose name was currently blasted all over the radios.

Steve Harrington was a peculiar man. Walked around like he owned the place, something that most men around here didn’t appreciate. Whenever his eyes landed on Eddie, his stomach did flips. The guys joked about how he was pretty much drooling, twirling his hair and kicking his feet all at once when prissy boy was around.

It was no secret that Eddie had a thing for men, it was also no secret that Eddie never fucked around with anyone who didn’t give consent.

It must have been some sick joke from one of the guys, who must have pulled some strings to get the joke done. Eddie had a bunk mate already, one that slept above him and had ever since he got there. So when it was announced he was transferring out Eddie was suspicious.

His suspicions were answered when a certain brunette landed in his cell.

Neither of the say anything to each other the first three nights of sharing the cell. Eddie had taken over the top bunk, an unspoken rule that whoever was there first got it.

Steve slept on the bottom and didn’t put much fight to switching. It’s on the fourth night when the radio silence was broken. It was one of the guys from the cell next to them.

“Do you think they’re silently fucking in their frank?” Whoever had said it purposely made it come out louder so that both men could hear it.

“Nah, you know how loud Eddie gets his men. He’s been caught how many times by the guards?” Another voice returns, it’s further down the hall and Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Shut the fuck up frank! Or I’ll make sure the guards hear you choking on my fist!”

“Is that a promise pretty boy?!” Laughter goes through out the hall. Eddie’s rolling his eyes before he moves to glance down at the man below him. Who seemed a little red in the face and a bit scared, this was the first time Eddie’s ever seen him hold any obvious emotion to his face.

“Don’t worry sweetheart you’re not my type if I ain’t yours.” Eddie assures. Watching the others shoulders relax a bit.

Eddie’s hair is falling forward, hanging down as he grins a little. Moving his hand forward to the other. Careful not to fall as he holds his balance with the other. “Names Eddie.”

Steve hesitated before he moves forward and shakes his hand carefully. His hands smooth like he’s never worked a day of his life.

“Steve.”

“I know.” Eddie grins as he asks, “so how long you in for. Need to know how long I got before I get a new face coming in here.”

“Oh- uh two years.” Steve answers gently.

“Oh that’s a cake walk, you’ve got this princess.” He winks before he moves to lay back on his own bed.

“How long you have?”

“I’m here until I stop breathing Stevie,” Eddie chuckles as he messes with the guitar pick he had. Scratching at it gently as he listens below him carefully.

“Oh.” A pause, “what did you do?”

“They say I killed a cheerleader,” Eddie answers easily. No longer bothered by answering that question. There wasn’t any point in trying to fight anymore. He was stuck in here forever anyway.

“Did you?”

Eddie snorts gently, “Nope. But lesson number one darling, we’re all innocent in here. Never gonna know who’s guilty until you get to know them, and even then that’s difficult.”

Silence falls over them once more before Steve asks, “how long have you been in here?”

“Going on five years,” Eddie moves and hops down from his cell. Moving to the built in shelf they had and grabs one of his comics.

“That’s a long time,”

“That it is.”

After that conversation things went more smoothly between the two of them. Casual conversations here and there, neither of them bothered bringing up the jokes that other cell mates made about them.

They don’t start to really get close until a year later. When Steve starts to grow out of his own shell and not the manufactured one his father made him. Eddie can feel the slight movement of his life going again, moving a few centimeters every couple of months.

It’s not until eight months after that when he starts feeling alive again. The hidden kisses, the silent moans and gentle touches of Steve Harrington fuel every beat of his heart.

It’s close to six years since Eddie’s been in here, and now he can confidently say that his father didn’t raise no bitch, because he didn’t raise him at all. It’s Wayne Munson who didn’t raise a bitch, he raised a lover.

And boy does Eddie love Steve Harrington. Every time the others hand carefully slides into his pants he feels like he can explode in more ways then just the obvious one. The way he tilts his head back and lets his mouth fall open, he doesn’t let a sound leave his mouth. Not wanting this place to claim anything else from him.

Though it’s not the prison that ruins it, it’s time. Steve’s last night comes way faster than either of them had expected. Both of them lay in the bottom bunk, carefully holding each other. Stars started to dim in both of their eyes as they talk about everything they wished they could do together.

Neither man knows what to do with themselves.

Eddie’s world stops spinning again when Steve leaves, his life leaving with him as he walks out of the cell and doesn’t return. He comes to visit once or twice but it hurts both of them more than it does any good.

Two years pass and it’s Eddie’s eighth anniversary of being in this cell. Cellmates coming and going.

It’s when a man comes to meet him when things start to change. Claiming to work for the innocence project who has gotten evidence (from another case similar to his) that proves Eddie didn’t do it. Eddie doesn’t know all the basics but he does end up walking out the door of that prison two years later. After a lengthy legal battle.

It’s been ten years and Eddie’s now thirty and unsure what to do with himself. Finding a job and place was difficult before he finds himself back at home with Wayne Munson.

Eddies life and world begin again when he hears the knock on his trailer door at the age of thirty five. When his eyes meet Steve Harringtons, whose eyes now have crow feet.

And as they land in his bed minutes later like they were at their prime Eddie lets the world, his world, Steve Harrington hear him for who he truly is.

#Eddie Munson is falsely convicted #what if Eddie Munson went to jail #prison au #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #bxb #steveharrington #steveddie #eddie stranger things #steve and eddie #unedited

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eggymf-archived · 1 year

Text

the art of persuasion;

ft. ominis gaunt x f!reader/mc (one-shot)

themes: revenge, cheating, 6th year, slytherin!reader/mc, dark!reader/mc, cheater!sebastian, implied dark!ominis, subinis (for now), one-sided pining, slytherins being slytherins

warnings: nsfw, pwp?, smut, toxic behavior, manipulation, no romance, blowjob, cowgirl, p in v

summary: you discover your boyfriend's illicit little escapades in the restricted section with another girl. you plan to destroy them both using a certain potion, and a willing volunteer. amongst the array of selections at your disposal for your plan, you had your eyes on one specific person – his own best friend.

word count: 4.3k

a/n: romance is dead and horny is alive. there’s a part 2 for this – don’t ask why. *sweats* (for some reason that sounded like a damn poem i–)

main masterlist || series masterlist || AO3

It has been more than a month since the truth behind your nagging doubts and restless nights finally revealed itself. Like any other woman with a keen intuition especially towards their grimy, unfaithful lovers, you were unfortunately right about your suspicions towards your boyfriend of almost a year, Sebastian Sallow.

To say that you did not have the slightest idea that he'd do such a thing was a complete lie — sure you weren't an academic wonder, but you certainly weren't that daft.

Alana Crowley — a fellow 6th year student from Slytherin. A friendly, seemingly unproblematic young lady at first, until she decided to latch her claws onto your boyfriend, that is. She had been awfully clingy around Sebastian for the past two months, and that foul git of a lover had no qualms with her blatant display of her not-so-subtle forms of affection. In fact, he seems to thrive in the attention, much to your dismay.

You've seen the looks he had given her. You've felt the all-familiar sparks between them during their seemingly harmless interactions and stares. As the woman whom he loved first, you were aware of Sebastian’s irresistible ways of communicating with his eyes: his longing stares, the way it twinkles when a mere glance was spared towards him, and how its warmth enraptured the entirety of your being the moment he gazes upon you with raw adoration.

He was doing the same tactics he had used in capturing your poor little naïve heart during one summer getaway after your 5th year. He might as well just slap you on the face for using the same tricks on another woman — it all hurts the same either way. But the fact that he had been doing all these scandals right under your nose however? Absolutely unforgivable.

What you hadn't expected was how you ended up finding out: witnessing him doing the deed with his little side piece in the Restricted Section. It was the day when the both of you had planned a study session together for your NEWTS with Ominis Gaunt, his best friend. Sebastian was uncharacteristically late, thus you and Ominis went looking for him, and unfortunately ended up stumbling upon the scene.

“Wait! Hngh–! What will you do if your girlfriend finds out— haaaah! A-about this?”

“She won't. She doesn’t even suspect a thing. Everything’s under control, lo— oh fuck!”

Those were the exact words both you and Ominis had heard as they engaged in their explicitly raunchy little act while you pathetically watched behind the bookshelves. Betrayal was a brutal weight, and it had clasped itself around your ankle within that moment, submerging you within the icy depths of bitter realization.

You thought he’d be faithful to you like he had promised. Hell, the both of you went through that absolute shitstorm during your 5th year together. Surely that accounts for at least some form of loyalty and honesty about each other's feelings and intentions, right? But alas, he had broken that simple unspoken rule, and your trust towards him was no more.

While you were right to trust him with your secret regarding your unusual magical prowess, you've made a fatal mistake of entrusting your heart to his bloodied hands. Yet despite the gravity of the situation, no tears, hysterics, or even any form of hints were shown of how utterly devastated you truly were.

There was no way in hell that you, (Y/F/N), the famed wielder of ancient magic, would crumble over a mere cheating bastard who couldn’t keep his own filthy little flobberworm in his pants.

Perhaps Sebastian didn’t know you that well after all, because if he did, he wouldn't have dared to incur your anger the second time around. It was fair to say that you’d let him have a taste of his own ignorance and foolishness, and you weren't afraid of forgoing the brakes and letting your unbridled rage hit him like a Graphorn on a wild rampage.

Thus, here you were, currently standing in front of the potions station within the Room of Requirement. You’ve been keeping a watchful eye over the bubbling concoction that you had been secretly brewing for nearly a month.

Three measures of boomslang skin… One measure of bicorn horn… High temperature for twenty seconds…

Upon stirring the thick, mud-like mixture, you quickly set your stirring utensil aside, letting the potion brew within the cauldron. There were two remaining pieces left in completing the little set-up that you've constructed out of your own pettiness, which consisted of this particular potion and a willing volunteer.

For the most part, the former was complete. But the latter? That was an entirely different problem on its own, but you had your ways.

An echoing creak resounded throughout the magical space as the doors of the Room of Requirement swung open, revealing your fellow 6th year Slytherin friend with slicked back blonde hair, holding up his wand which was blinking red at the tip. The opal-eyed male sauntered towards you carefully, avoiding any possible objects he might collide against.

“Glad you made it, Ominis,” you welcomed. You gently grabbed his arm as you guided him towards the nearby chaise lounge. He sat comfortably at the rather cushy seat, a smile present on his face.

“I came here as soon as I got your owl, and I apologize for the delay too. Sebastian's been quite slippery as of late,” he sighed. You plopped down beside the male while a floating tea set poured you both a cup of tea, to which Ominis accepted with utmost gratitude.

“Not surprised,” you nonchalantly drawled as you savored your Earl Grey tea. “He doesn't loiter around his usual spots as of late. I wonder why.”

The pure nonchalance of your sarcasm caused a chuckle to arise from him before partaking in his own beverage. Your eyes trained towards his unseeing ones that seemed to have this knowing glimmer. With the countless vexations that both you and Sebastian had brought upon him during your 5th year, it was now Ominis' second nature to detect your devious little plans from a mile away, ready to reel you in whenever you got too far.

Which brings you to the oh-so-burning question that was living rent-free within your mind: why is he, out of all people, helping you?

Setting his teacup aside to the nearby side table, he reached for the inner pocket of his coat, grabbing a vial containing several strands of dark brown hair.

“Managed to nick it off him this morning before he woke up. Thankfully he slept like a log,” he hummed. You grinned at him, levitating the vial to the nearby cabinet beside the potions station. Ominis leaned back against the backrest of the lounge with his legs in a figure four lock.

“Also, I believe we have pressing matters to discuss, (Y/N)?” his posh-toned query cuts through the momentary silence. “Surely you didn't invite me all the way to the Room of Requirement just to deliver several strands of hair.”

“Perceptive as always,” you smiled mirthlessly, eyes and tone getting slightly darker as your teacup floated off to the nearby table. “You’re right. We need to talk.”

“...Go on.”

“I’ll be frank with you. I’m not quite sure as to why you’d even agree to this little request of mine in the first place,” you admitted. “So kindly enlighten me, Ominis. You're far from the type who would engage in petty little acts of vengeance. Why exactly are you helping me?”

Ominis bit his lip, silently cursing within his head as he racked through his mind for a valid excuse. While he couldn't blame you for your cautiousness given that Sebastian himself was his closest friend, this was a topic that he had desperately avoided out of fear of rejection and for the sake of preserving his friendship with his oldest friend. That’s right — he was in love with you, and has always been eversince you’ve deemed yourself worthy of his trust.

You’ve always had him wrapped around your pretty little finger even before he became aware of the butterflies. He loved you enough to forgo his own wants and needs of having you; to keep you close yet far enough so that he'd never be able to claim you for himself out of the bare minimum respect towards you and his best friend. He settled for your presence, pining hopelessly for the real thing, and he wasn't about to let his demons run rampant and ruin everything no matter how strong his urges were.

Or so he thought.

“A mere extension of my own good will towards a dear friend. Nothing more,” he answered stiffly with a trace of longingness evident within his misty orbs. This minute detail, however, doesn't go unnoticed by your sharp, calculating eyes.

“Whether Sebastian's my best friend or not, infidelity is deplorable. Whatever acts of vengeance you have in mind is both warranted and well-deserved,” he added firmly.

You hummed in response, seemingly satisfied yet not entirely convinced with the purity of his intentions. Your eyes gazed upon him coyly, your lips curling upwards.

“Perhaps. But that's not your only reason now, is it?”

Ominis froze as you chuckled knowingly, an underlying dark tone present within your seemingly innocent display of amusement. His exhalation was slow, feeling your presence come nearer towards him. Much to his surprise, you pushed his leg that rested atop the other, lodging your knees in between his lower limbs. Dainty hands rested themselves gingerly upon his shoulders, your lips dangerously close to his ear.

“Surely you have your own motives, Ominis. You know what I’m brewing, yet here you are, giving into my little whims…” you trailed off with a hint of smugness in your whisper. His heart hammered at the featherlight touch that trailed itself along his prominent jaw.

“Now, let me word my question differently this time. What exactly do you hope to get from all of this?”

The sudden calloused allure of your tone caused the blonde-haired lad's breath to hitch. He gulped, breathing slowly and deeply to calm the raging tempo within his chest. His lips remained pursed — this was obviously not a good time for a romantic confession, and silence was the best option if he wished to keep his pesky little feelings under wraps.

The madness within him was less noble with its intentions, however. It was a perfect opportunity to whisk you away at your most vulnerable emotional state — to steal you from Sebastian after that unsavory stunt that he had pulled. He’d do anything to have you. Anything. But alas, the demon itself was constrained by the chains of his strong morals, never to see the light of day.

Unfortunately, you were a lot more quick-witted than he thought, capable of putting two and two together: the way he’d comply to all your requests, how he instantly comes to your rescue, his willingness to put up with this ridiculous plan, the rosy hue that was slowly creeping up his pale complexion — all of it finally made sense.

“You like me, don't you?”

His silence was more than enough, and the frown that was once on your pretty face morphed into a satisfied smirk. You leaned back, letting your eyes feast on his flustered state. A devious improvised plan formulated itself within your head and a sultry giggle escaped your lips.

His thin lips were soon parted by your thumb. The said digit invaded his cavern, to which he welcomed by lightly grazing his tongue against your skin. He yelped as you gripped his chin harshly with your thumb hooked within his mouth, forcing him to look up while you gazed down upon his face with cold (E/C) eyes.

“Well?” you teasingly whispered, the pad of your thumb smearing his own saliva onto his lips as you await his answer. “Do you?”

“... Yes… Yes, I do,” he rasps, his morals finally consumed by the wildfire of his own desires.

“Good.”

And just like that, he fell right into your trap.

You gently lowered yourself onto Ominis’ lap, straddling him while your lips claimed his into a searing kiss. The opal-eyed man softly whined, dragging his palms along your thinly-clothed thighs before resting his hands on your derriere. A delightful purr erupted from your throat before biting on his lip as he snuck his fingertips under the thin layer of your knickers, giving the soft flesh a firm squeeze.

Feeling your lungs burn for air, the both of you parted, gasping and heaving. Your (E/C) orbs were hazy, clouded with both carnal desire and smugness. The way your soon-to-be ex-boyfriend's best friend looked so helplessly eager to give his entirety to you gave you a dizzying rush of prideful feminine arrogance.

You sat upright while his hands drifted to your waist with evident impatience. Your clothed slit was now aligned right onto the stiff tent on his trousers. A breathy, euphoric moan escaped his lips, throwing back his head slightly as he was reduced into a shuddering mess. God, you were so warm — to think that he was feeling it through layers of clothing was downright maddening. The throbbing ache within his trousers was growing unbearable, and he wanted nothing but to relieve himself from this sinful agony.

He has waited for so long. He has fantasized about you during his lonely nights, spread out and his for the taking — without Sebastian in the equation. He'd love nothing more than for you to strip him bare and do as you please with his body. The mere notion was enough for his stiff erection to twitch within its confines, leaking droplets of liquid desire.

Your lips curled into a gleefully sinister smirk. It was akin to witnessing a valuable gift unwrap itself; a revelation of how atrociously needy Ominis Gaunt gets once the correct buttons were pushed.

“I think it's only fair if I give you a little taste of what you want, no?” you chuckled. A quiver raked through his lithe frame upon feeling the thin skin of your lips tracing itself along his prominent jawline.

“Ah…!” he gasps with unbridled delight at the delicious suction against the delicate skin of his neck. Merlin, he never expected you to be this bold. A giggle erupted from your cherry red lips, drinking in the scrumptious sight of his flustered state.

Oh, you were going to have fun with him for sure.

He felt his legs part as you slid in between them, metal faintly clinking as deft fingers began to unbuckle his belt. His heart pounded against his chest, taking a gulp to soothe his now parched throat. His shaky fingers wandered to his vest, unbuttoning the garment while you palmed his stiff appendage through his underwear, kissing the weeping tip through the cotton thin fabric.

His pleasure-induced whimpers successfully stroked your ego, and you allowed yourself to indulge deeper within this abysmal erotomania. Your hands creeped up along your own legs as you stood up, brunching your skirt all the way up until you reached your own lacy undergarments.

While stripping the flimsy article off your being, you relished in the sight of the opal-eyed male loosening his own necktie and shortly unbuttoning his white shirt. You bit your lip upon witnessing his bareness: his soft, alabaster skin teasingly peeking through the undone clothing.

God, he's beautiful.

"Hmm. Keep those on," you sighed breathily before he could take the articles of clothing off his frame. Ominis smirked lightly at this, putting his hands up as he laid back on the backrest of the chaise lounge. You knelt before him once more, slipping both his trousers and undergarments off him at the same time. He hissed at the sudden cold air nipping against his heated skin while you purred in delight, nuzzling your face filthily against the thick, leaky appendage.

"Please, (Y/N)..." he whimpered as you traced the tip of your tongue lightly against a thick vein at the underside of his shaft, clear globs of precum leaking from the tip at your teasing ministrations. The slick muscle eventually wandered towards his blunt tip, and a hiss of unadulterated pleasure escaped his bitten red lips as his fingers ran through your (H/C) locks; all in hopes of grounding himself from this euphoric high.

"Yes... That's it...! Darling— Oh, fuck...!" he groaned through gritted teeth as his fleshy head was enveloped within the warmth of your mouth. The pleasant vibrations from your moan further stimulates his already sensitive, twitchy organ. The flat of your tongue moved at every suction, resulting in every possible form of salacious sound being torn from his mouth with little to no mercy.

He writhed at all the sensations that engulfed his senses; his pale, veiny fingers intertwined with strands of your (H/C) hair while his other hand gripped the armrest of his seat. Fire scorched him from within his loins while his toes curled, his brain in a state of mush and primal frenzy.

Your own slender fingers wandered towards your own weeping hole, running the pads of your fingertips along your own heated flesh. Your mind was beginning to blank out as you began to take in his increasingly heady scent, audibly gurgling as he pushed your head deeper to accommodate his entire length.

He gasped, heaving a lungful of air as the blunt tip mercilessly hit the back of your throat. All you could do was to acquiesce to his desires as he brutally bobbed your head up and down his stiff erection. Your scalped burned delightfully at his iron grip on your hair, tears beginning to well up in your eyes.

“I’m close… So fucking close…!” he groaned. His pace quickened, bucking his hips up this time, your throat instinctively tightening up at the repetitive intrusion. The sound of gurgles and squelches turned increasingly audible as he bucked his hips up wildly with his mouth hung slightly ajar.

A salty taste soon engulfed your senses, spurts of his hot seed flooding your abused mouth. He let out a shuddering groan at the suction as he was milked dry by your mouth. You pulled your head away with a pop before swallowing his essence, licking the sides of your lips to clean up any remaining traces.

Before he could even come to his senses, he felt your lips on his once more, instantly snaking your tongue into his hot cavern. He whines, tasting himself whilst running his slick appendage against yours. His head was still spinning from his release, his sightless eyes in a daze as he inhaled through his nose, taking in your addictive scent as much as he could. As soon as your lips unlatched itself from his, he let out a soft, needy whine, to which you responded with a giggle.

“Lay down,” you instructed softly, and he complied, letting you hover over his willing body.

Tracing your fingertips along the center of his frame, you pushed the layers of clothing aside, revealing the expanse of his smooth pale skin — he was truly a work of art, rivaling that of marble statues. He hissed as your leaking hole descended dangerously close to his shaft, which was pulsating with anticipation as it felt the warm droplets of your essence drip upon it.

Without a warning, you pressed your soaked core directly against his member. As soon as you began rocking your hips, Ominis absolutely lost the remaining traces of his sanity, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped before gasping for air. Your warm slick coated his now throbbing member, and the intimately lewd sensation effectively fried the remainder of his rationality. A loud groan rumbled from his chest upon placing your hole against the tip, moving your hips in a circular motion.

Fuck, he was so close to entering you.

He wants to be inside you. No, he needs to be inside you right now.

“Ah-ah-ah,” you teased disapprovingly as Ominis tried to slide his member within your aching core. You pressed down harder against his twitching shaft, earning a pleasured whimper from him in response.

“I didn't say we could go all the way, love,” you grinned, a hint of malicious amusement present within your eyes. “But with how desperately needy you are right now, perhaps you should… Convince me.”

He groaned impatiently, the pads of his fingertips sinking onto your fleshy thighs. He shifted under your weight pathetically, his nether regions craving for the deliciously warm friction against your slicked lower lips — the addictive sensation that you had cruelly deprived him from all of a sudden. You remained still, letting out a mirthless chuckle.

Dainty fingers wrapped around his neck, followed by a slow, open-mouthed kiss at the side of his lips. Shifting yourself slightly, you reached for his stiff erection, guiding the tip to your drenched hole. The fleshy tip merely prodded your entrance, never going past the head, much to Ominis' sheer agony.

“F-fuck… (Y/N), please!”

Oh, you loved the sound of that: the way he begs and grovels like an animal in heat just to engulf himself within your warmth — truly a boost to your already inflated ego.

“Please, what?”

“Please let me have you… Fuck, I need you so badly right now...”

His eyes widened at the painfully slow, inching intrusion; his eyes glassy with wanton tears. There was a raging urge within him to just snap his hips up, but he dared not to cross you — he was taking no risk in ruining everything, not when he's so close to obtaining his filthiest desire of finally becoming one with you. With one hand, you removed your necktie, your eyes never leaving his vulnerable, quivering form.

“How badly do you need it, love?” you asked mockingly while he let out a shuddering gasp; your warm juices slowly trickled down his shaft, pooling at its base.

“So fucking bad… I'll do anything. Please…” he whimpered.

A smug, menacing grin broke out of your lips.

“... Anything?” you repeated.

“Anything. Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Good boy.”

The wind was knocked out of his lungs the moment you descended on him, your walls fluttering around his thick, twitchy appendage. You bit your lip as you began unbuttoning your shirt while gyrating your hips, much to his sinful delight. Blood was rushing to your head, trapping you within a dizzying frenzy of lust and desire, only to be fueled further when his hands gripped your bare waist, guiding you along his shaft.

You felt so full, and he was prodding and brushing at all the right places, making your eyes roll back at every slam of your hips upon his. Your juices were dripping everywhere, and the sounds of filthy squelches and wet slaps of skin filled the room along with the shaky, breathless little moans that escaped your sweet lips. Ominis panted, snapping his hips up occasionally in hopes of drawing out a more feral response from you, to which he was successful.

You were a wreck — disheveled, legs quivering, covered in a sheen of sweat, inner thighs drenched solely with your own juices, and a drunken grin on your face while you rubbed your sensitive little pearl.

“Fuck— R-right there!” you cried out as he brushed against a spongy spot that made your thighs shake, your domineering façade slowly disintegrating. Every thrust from him had you choking on air with how rough he slams his hips, reducing you into nothing but a moaning mess.

This was genuinely one of the few instances where Ominis is upset about his lack of sight. All he ever wanted was to see you unravel before him — to look into his eyes pleadingly, writhe in pleasure as he brought waves upon waves of pleasure on your submissively sensitive body, and to present yourself to him in every debauched position possible before he fucks you into oblivion.

Oh, the extent he would go to just to even catch a glimpse of you, especially when you're bare — he'd worship the ground you walked on, and treat you like you were the most prized person within the entire world with no questions asked.

He'd do anything for you. Anything.

“Fuck, I'm close…!” you mewled, feeling your walls slightly spasming around his cock, causing the male to hiss at the velvety grip of your core. Your thighs began to tremble, and you heaved as you began to move faster, chasing your high.

“Cum for me, darling. Oh fuck, you're amazing,” he pants, his mind in a drunken haze.

He pulled you into his arms, thrusting his hips wildly while breathing in your heady scent as if it's the last time he'll ever inhale a lungful of air. An airy, shuddering moan tickled his ear, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. Your walls had finally convulsed around him, and you felt spurts of his warm cum flood your long awaiting pussy.

A sharp exhale escaped his dried mouth as you shakily let your worn-out body lay on top of him. He was still inside you, but the growing soreness in your thighs was preventing you from moving. Your heart was still hammering in your chest while your limbs felt like jelly, the exhaustion evident within your body. Ominis hadn't moved a single muscle either, his mind wandering into places, deep in thought.

As soon as you attempted to get off him, however, his arm snaked around your waist, holding you in place. You glanced at him with tired, confused eyes.

“...Stay,” he whispers, his embrace tightening around you as if you'll disappear from his grasp anytime. The underlying neediness within his tone caused you to give into his harmless request, sinking back into the warmth of his embrace.

“...Okay.”

You nuzzled in his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat with a sigh of comfort. A serene smile was present on your face as you relaxed, slowly getting lulled into a well-deserved nap in the comfort of his arms.

Willing volunteer? Check.

part 2: all’s fair in love and war >

#ominis gaunt #ominis smut #dark!ominis #sub!ominis #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x f!reader #ominis gaunt x f!mc #ominis x y/n #hogwarts legacy smut #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy dark mc

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victoriadallonfan · 2 months

Text

I saw a really funny meme about Victoria’s interaction with Gong, and it made me think…

There’s probably a LOT of unexplored potential in bias and prejudice against Cauldron capes, right?

What kind of micro aggressions can form due to this? How does it interact with capes in the same team, politically?

For context:

- Dying 15.3

Victoria gives a pretty well explained summary of Shaker-Movers, helping to explain why the cape is acting like she has PTSD (which is why Vic’s orders work and Gong’s didn’t), and Gong’s simple response is that she is a Cauldron cape.

Ergo, she wouldn’t have these issues like “real” capes. Right? Victoria wants to argue against it, but she has no real proof of this. She has theories but that’s all they are. Theories.

But WE know the truth. Victoria is correct in that vial capes get powers based off of their personality and mental states!

Battery was a passionate and fiery person who uses memories of staying calm, using breathing techniques from her past to help her manage her fear and pain, which gave her the power to become untouchable so long as she forces herself to remain calm and unmoving to charge up.

Newter was insensate with pain, delirious, and his body torn apart when given his vial, and he gained a body that deals with damage, heals, and induces delirium in others.

Sveta was trapped, torn to shreds, skin peeling off in ribbons and trapped metaphorically in a body that wasn’t right for her. She was given ribbons that could get her out of danger, that would provide and protect her with minds of their own, and a body that was what she wanted while still not being hers.

And WB did a great breakdown of the travelers:

There’s more to explore like how Alexandria had a desire to remain young, a mind foggy from drugs and a body sensitive to pain etc etc, but the gist is that cauldron capes DO have power issues related to what they can do. And according to Battery, they experience mind boggling amounts of pain with each drink of a vial.

However…

Would non-cauldron capes even care?

When Taylor learns about cauldron capes, her first reaction is disgust that these people didn’t earn their powers. That they didn’t suffer like REAL Parahumans did.

Even Victoria is offended when she learns Dean was a cauldron cape, as the intimacy of sharing their trigger events was seen as the next step of their relationship.

When Legend explains how they all should have had trigger events, but didn’t, it falls on deaf ears. No one responds to him and Taylor doesn’t give his words much thought at all.

And why should they? Cauldron capes are liars. They’ve been lying all this time. Nothing they say could be taken at face value. Eidolon could give a huge public speech about being born disabled, suffering from seizures, and his suicide attempts… and it would mean nothing.

He LIED to them about his origins. An unspoken rule has been broken. He didn’t suffer enough to earn his powers.

It’s interesting to me that the Undersiders nor Breakthrough had someone who was a voluntary cauldron cape. Sveta was an advocate for C53’s and hated Legend for being part of Cauldron, but we don’t hear her thoughts on people who simply bought powers. Taylor never knew Accord and Citrine were Cauldron until the very end.

I don’t know how to end this, but his line sticks out to me:

- Blinding 11.5

#parahumans #wildbow #ward #ward web serial #worm #wardblr #victoria dallon #antares #glory girl #wormblr #worm web serial

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madelynraemunson · 2 months

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I’m not sure if you’re taking requests atm but if you are, would you be willing to do an Eddie x reader oneshot/short series based on Sober + Sober II by Lorde? The idea is stuck in my head but I trust you to execute it more than anyone else <3

hngnngh comfort eddie please save me comfort eddie

music is such an important part of life, and a vital part of story-telling in my eyes. so thank you for this!!<3

will you sway with me? go astray with me?

bartender!situationship?eddie x fem!billy's girlfriend!reader

CW: alcoholism, mentions of heavy drinking/alcoholism, fluff, angst, established abusive relationship btwn reader & billy, reader has a bruised face, eddie getting touchy feely; city divider by @emeraldurafreak

WC: 1.4K words

12:00 MIDNIGHT

Oh how fast the evening passes…

“Do I need to cut you off, Munson?”

“Funny. I thought you already did.”

Eddie had been drinking with customers all night and — to his surprise — so have you.

He was shocked to see your face. Especially since you've spent all week avoiding him (and The Hideout) like the plague. For a moment he even thought you ditched him for a cooler bartender and some cooler pub down the way. But the reason behind the week long absence soon registers with Eddie — when he sees the black and blue that decorate your cheekbones, poorly hidden by your blotchy layers of cheap, Dollar General concealer.

God fucking dammit, Eddie thinks to himself. He hit her again.

The grip on his washcloth tightens as he watches you saunter over, looking for your vice to band-aid the problem (like you always fucking do).

Unfortunately as a bartender, it's Eddie's job to deal you some cheap booze, strike up a superficial conversation, and cut you off only when he saw fit. He was to cater to your drinking needs whether he thought it was a good idea or not. And for a while it did start out that way. Until his smitten ass got to know you. Now Eddie always your best interests at heart. And it appears like he's the only one who seems to.

“Your usual, sweetheart?”

“Yes please,” you drunkenly slur. “If you don’t mind...”

He's always going to be more than a bartender to you. And you're more than just a patron to him. Often times, when you get in a fight with your abusive fuck of a boyfriend Billy, you'll find yourself at The Hideout, in the comfort of Eddie's arms, slow dancing to all your favorite songs two hours past closing time while Billy blows up your phone.

A cocktail for disaster for sure.

Eddie knows not to ask. It's a rule in his doctrine pertaining to you, an unspoken loyalty — communicated through swift eye contact — that implies YOU KNOW that EDDIE KNOWS what’s up.

And the more he's gotten to know the complexities of you, the more he's fallen in love.

Despite you breaking all of Eddie's rules about the notion though, Eddie knows that you two could never work. You're gonna keep forgiving Billy. And Eddie will keep picking up the broken pieces... waiting agonizingly long periods here and there wondering if you made it out unscathed or not. It's part of the reason he drinks so much as well, but he'll never admit it. It's a vicious fucking cycle. Eddie's accepted it at this point.

Still doesn’t make it hurt any less. And as much as Eddie wanted to figuratively storm the castle, run up to your tower, and break your ass on out of there, Eddie knows that leaving Billy is ultimately up to you.

The bartender goes to pour you your usual neat shot of "Jack Daniels" while you sit across from him. He's most definitely cutting you off. And when you're as wasted as you are right now, Coca Cola tastes just like liquor.

"Mm!" you cheer as you sip the soda-in-disguise. "Hits the spot. Thank you Eddie."

Amused with himself, he snorts. "Anytime, darlin'."

He goes to clink your glass with his beer bottle, then makes an effort to tell you it's his fourth Wildflower Ale, a sour beer that definitely did not seem like something he would like.

“Odd," you observe. "Always thought you were more of a mead guy.”

He smirks. “Oh yeah? Why is that?”

You shrug.

“I dunno…” a flirty hum escapes your lips. “It’s very… medieval times-y. I can picture the knights in shining armor going to their pubs. Grabbin' mead with one another…"

His cheeks a tinted pink now, Eddie chuckles down at the counter.

"Jesting with one another… preparing for battle…"

“I’m a knight in shining armor?” Eddie blushes at you.

You trail off there, hoping that he gets the rest of the picture.

“I should stop talking.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, confused and a little disheartened by the way you shut yourself down simply for explaining yourself again. “No. No, I like when you talk.”

King and Queen of the weekend.

As the last of the five drunks stumble out of the bar, Eddie begins to wrap up his closing, finalizing everything at the register and cleaning up the champagne glasses. You watch him as he pops his hip to the right in attempts to switch on the stereo that he had authority over at the end of every shift.

Atmospheric music sounds through the speakers. Meanwhile, Eddie's enamored eyes trail back over to you.

"I can think of another way to get your mind off things," Eddie smiles. "And they don't involve alcohol. Don't involve talking either if you aren't up for it."

Heat settles at your cheeks "Our usual?"

"On the house," he insists.

He nears you now, extending a hand to you to guide you off the elevated bar stool and safely to the ground.

"M'lady," he jests.

You fall into him almost immediately, giving all of you to him in the form of a long overdue hug. The musky pine and cool mint of his fragrance seduces you, his beer breath strangely giving you the same amount of comfort that a warm blanket would. For the first time in days, you finally felt safe.

There’s a distant gaze in Eddie’s fawning eyes as he stares dreamily at your lips. Grazing the small of your back as you two sway, he allows you to nuzzle your head against the crook of his warm neck.

“I hate when you make yourself small," he croaks against you.

You draw a shaky breath, allowing the music and booze to liquidate into your bloodstream as you continue to melt into Eddie. He squeezes you tighter, delicately resting his chin atop your head.

“I’d ask why you do it, but… I think I know the answer.”

“Yeah," you mumble.

“You guys gotten better?”

"Not exactly."

It eats at him, knowing he can't save you unless you wanted to be. You've always been a regular who drank often, but watching you full on spiral into alcoholism as a form of escape gnawed at Eddie's conscience. Especially since he felt like he was feeding it. The guilt of going behind Billy's back probably consumed you on top of everything else you had to deal with.

But Eddie doesn't know the real reason behind why you drink. You drink to go back in time. Back to when you feel okay. Because every time alcohol touches the tip of your tongue, you're whisked back here. Where you feel most safe. You've broken so many rules to be in the presence of Eddie Munson, but you never regret it when you look back because you've never felt this good when remaining 'compliant'.

The cheeky bartender proceeds to go lower, testing his boundaries as the song continues on by softly squeezing your hips with his calloused hands. A tear escapes his eye, quite possibly due to his fear that he probably won't remember this when he wakes up tomorrow afternoon.

"Just say the word and I'll back off," Eddie says to you.

You swallow hard. "Never."

Eds cracks you another smile before luring you further into his grasp.

“Leave him,” he whispers. “Be with me instead.”

"When I'm ready," is what you end up telling him all the time. It still feels like the very first time whenever you say it though. "And when I'm sober."

That's another thing about rules. They're made to be broken. And no memorable hero was ever well behaved.

You end up staying for a couple of hours again. Billy, for some reason doesn't call, and your brain shuts down the desire to even know why. All you were focused on anyways was Eddie and how safe you felt beside him.

"This never happened?" he questions you, scanning the look on your face for an answer.

"Nope," you shake your head discreetly. "Never."

And when you two sober up, you turn the music off, help Eddie stack the chairs, give him a passionate, grateful peck on the lips before heading out...back to home...back to familiarity.

Eddie watches you leave, taking a long anxious drag of his cigarette as your car drives off. When you're out of sight, he rests a hand over his heart, praying to whatever is out there to make sure that there will be another opportunity dance again in the near future.

We pretend that we just don’t care.

But we care.

What will we do when we’re sober?

#maddy’s mailbox ✨#maddy’s requests 🍸#eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #bartender!eddie munson #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson

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musings-ofthe-unamused · 9 months

Text

The Rules of Simon Riley (COD)

Pairing: Ghost x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Panic attacks, some violence

A/N: Ok wow, y'all ate up the HCs. Good to know.

Simon "Ghost" Riley was a difficult man to deal with. Everyone knew this, and you weren't a stranger to it either. There were a set of unspoken rules to dealing with Ghost. But rules were meant to be broken, whether it was intentional or not. Besides, you were human. You made mistakes. And Ghost made you nervous. So obviously you had broken maybe one or two… or all of the rules.

Rule #1: Don't ask about the mask.

This rule was probably broken the most and without harm. It wasn't like you see a burly, beefy, mountain of a man walking around with a skull mask everyday. All day. At first you were too scared to say anything. You were a new recruit to Task Force 141 and you sure as hell didn't want to be here with all these bloodthirsty veterans.

Eventually, you had settled in. Gotten used to the antics, training, and eventual missions you were sent on. But you hadn't gotten used to Ghost. You sat in the mess hall, picking absentmindedly at your food as Ghost and Soap had a conversation. Ghost's tray sat untouched in front of him while Soap shoveled in heaping forkfuls into his mouth. You watched Ghost as he scoffed, his brown eyes piercing into Soap's blue ones.

"That's fucking stupid."

Soap shrugged his shoulders. "I don't make the rules."

"I do. And I say if you don't like tea, you're a traitor."

Conversations like this were normal. Ghost and Soap bickered over idiotic topics like siblings. Honestly, for a Lieutenant and a Sergeant, they sure acted mindless. Still, you didn't say anything. It was pretty entertaining in between killing people for a living. So you stared and listened. Mainly at Ghost.

"Oi." Ghost huffed, turning towards you. "You got a problem?"

You perked up. "Me? No. Why?"

"Because you're staring."

You pursed your lips and looked away. Of course you're staring. It was lunchtime and Ghost was just sitting there with food in front of him as if he was going to eat. But he never did. Unless looking at food filled him up, he was just wasting food. Not that you cared but it was just weird. He was weird for wearing a mask all the time. It made him look even more intimidating.

"Yeah."

Soap's face turned from playful to cautious. "Uh.. let's just get back to eating."

"Why do you not take off your mask while you eat?"

Ghost huffed, rolling his eyes. "Why the fuck is it your business?"

"I-I'm just curious."

"Then stop being curious. Mind your own damn business."

Ghost got up and took his tray, storming away. You didn't realize it was a sensitive subject. You slinked back in your seat and continued to pick at your food. Soap let out a sigh and moved to sit next to you. He patted your back, hard, causing you to wince.

"Don't worry about it, alright? Ghost… just has some things he's sensitive about."

You groaned and closed your eyes. "I was just curious."

"It's not your fault, kiddo. We've known each other for so long that we all know what to do and not do. You're new, so don't blame yourself."

"Any other rules I should know about?"

Soap gave you a smile. "Let me give you a rundown on Ghost."

It was about as you expected. Five main rules with little tidbits sprinkled in there. Ghost was what everyone thought someone in special forces was: mysterious and gruff. A hardened soldier that had no time for shit. No time for making friends or being happy. Of course, you couldn't blame him. You couldn't even imagine the things he's been through to become a practically emotionless man.

It was late at night. You were restless and needed to tire yourself out to be able to sleep. So you did what you always did: headed to the training room. You expected it to be empty. There weren't usually people up at this hour and normally everyone was asleep. Yet, as you walked into the training room, you saw someone using the bench. You couldn't exactly see his face but decided to speak.

"Looks like someone else can't… oh."

You trailed off as the man set the bar back and sat up. You hadn't seen this face before. You would have definitely remembered a face like his. Strong jawline, stubble, several tiny scars scattered across his face, and hardened brown eyes. His sandy brown hair fell over his sweaty forehead as he glared at you. It wasn't until he raised his tattooed arm to wipe his face that it registered who it was.

"Ghost?"

"Are you just gonna keep fucking stare at me?"

Your eyes immediately averted from his. Fuck, he was hot. He was so hot. Soap was right. You swallow thickly and walk over to Ghost, your head down. You didn't know what to do in this situation. So you just awkwardly held your water bottle without saying a word. He sighed and pushed it away.

"What are you doing here?"

You mumbled out, "I could ask you the same."

There was a silent warning.

"I couldn't sleep so I wanted to exercise to wear myself out."

The corner of Ghost's lips quirked up in a smirk. "I can help with that."

You felt your face heat up. Seeing his face for the first time, his smirk that you could've only imagined is when you knew you were fucked. Totally and completely.

Rule #2: Don't call him Simon.

Ok, so maybe you had gotten a little crush. It could be a farce. You only saw his face once, after all. Maybe you had gotten a good look (you had). There was no way you could fall for him with only one look at his face. Besides, you had to worry about the other rules and not breaking them.

You waltz into Ghost's office without a care in the world. "Hey, Simon. Can you help me with-"

"Stop."

You froze in your spot. Ah. Another rule Soap had mentioned. It completely left your mind. Everyone in the taskforce had their nicknames. You had a couple of your own, though they weren't as cool as some of the ones you've heard in passing. In fact, some of them made you feel small and weak. But you'd never admit that out loud.

And for some unlucky reason, you decided to not say Simon's… Ghost's. Maybe it was the fact that you and him spent more time together since that night in the training room. You had become somewhat of workout buddies. So maybe your brain had unconsciously thought that it was time to take the friendship to the next level.

"Uhm, Ghost, I need help with uh…" Your mind went blank. You can just tell from the way he towered over you with his arm crossed that he was not happy.

He stared down at you. "Don't call me Simon."

"I'm sorry."

"With this mask on, I'm Ghost. Don't make the same mistake. Do you understand me?"

You lowered your head like you were a scolded child. "Yes, LT."

He let out a sigh and ruffled your hair. "Alright. What do you need help with?"

Despite Ghost's initial annoyance with you, you had definitely grown on him. There was something refreshing about you. You weren't trigger happy, you paid attention during missions, and you never acted out of line. You were a good soldier. Not as strong as the others, but you worked hard. And Ghost appreciated that.

Over time, he had stopped correcting you whenever you accidentally called him Simon. He had stopped glaring at you and acting like you were a worthless rookie. You two had grown close. He might even say that you two were friends. But only if he didn't actually think about it. He'd never admit it otherwise.

"Simon!!"

There it was again. He groaned, and yet there was a flicker of light in his eyes. "Do you have to sound so… happy all the time?"

"Of course."

"God, you're annoying."

"So I'm growing on you?"

"Don't push it."

Rule #3: Don't touch him.

This one should have been obvious. And honestly, you didn't mean to touch him so suddenly. It was a mistake, but it was one that had big consequences. You two had grown closer and so he was much more comfortable around you, but not this comfortable. You were also comfortable enough to the point the rules had all but flown out of your head.

Ghost wasn't a bad guy. At least in the sense that he wasn't an asshole. Like everyone else in the military, he was tired of shit and didn't want to socialize. Understandable. It wasn't like you thought you could break down his walls. You weren't the type of person to go around with the need to "fix" people. You just so happened to get close to him and he just so happened to let you in little by little. And you didn't want to betray that.

Ghost's breathing was heavy as he pinned you against the wall. his forearm was pressed firmly against your throat, eyes wide and almost crazed looking. The mugs you were holding were shattered on the ground, coffee spilled everywhere. You just stared at him in shock.

"Don't ever fucking do that again."

That was walking up beside him and bumping your hips into his side. You had wanted to give him a cup of coffee because you knew it was going to be a long night of paperwork. But before you knew it, you were pinned against the wall. Your heart was practically in your stomach at this point. But all you could think about was how hostile his tone was.

Definitely not doing that again.

Rule #4: Don't ask about his past.

An easy to follow rule. Simple. It was something unsaid in the military. Everyone has their scars, both mental and physical. It's best that most of those are kept secret. The incident from two weeks ago was just an example of that. You didn't blame him. In fact, you ended up apologizing for not being more aware. And it fixed things. Kinda.

Being in the military sucked. Being in the special forces sucked even more. You had thought you were strong. I mean, you were working with one of the best teams in the world. That meant you were strong. And yet… your mind felt like it was breaking. You couldn't take it anymore. Everything you've witnessed, everything you had to do kept replaying in your mind over and over.

A storm raged outside. You curled up on the couch in the breakroom, a blanket wrapped securely around you. The power had gone out long ago and everyone decided to call it a night. You didn't want to be alone. Everything was so loud. The thunder, the rain, the wind. It filled your ears with an unbearable cacophony. Breathing became hard as you stared off into nothing. Images flitted across your brain, jarring and vivid. It won't stop. Why won't it stop?

"Hey. Look at me."

You were drawn out by a soft, deep voice. And when your eyes focus, you see Ghost kneeling in front of you. He had his balaclava pulled off, revealing his concerned gaze. You didn't know you had even been crying before you let out a sob and covered your face with your hands. Ghost was by your side in an instant. He grasped your wrists lightly and pulled them down.

"Look at me, alright? We're gonna take deep breaths."

You nodded and kept your eyes trained on him. In and out. In and out.

He gave you a rare smile. "There we go. Are you alright?"

Your voice got caught in your throat and you shook your head. "Everything is so… I can't stop thinking about-"

Simon's arm wrapped around your shoulder, bringing you closer to him. "I know. I know."

There was something so comforting about being in his arms. The way it felt like security. Like it was safe.You listened to his heart. Nothing else existed in this moment except for that sound. A steady thump, thump, thump. You closed your eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

"I know it's hard." He murmured.

"Have you ever had something happen to you and you just… can't forget it?"

For once, he didn't try to back away. He didn't scold you or get angry. He opened up. "Of course I have. There's some shit I've seen and I just wish I could erase it all."

You leaned into his arms. "How do you deal with it?"

"You don't. At first, you just gotta let it go… And run its course. Eventually, you'll grow numb to it."

"I don't want to be numb."

Ghost didn't respond. He just pulled you in closer. In that moment, something had changed between the two of you. He wasn't one for giving comfort. And yet he didn't hesitate to make sure you were ok. He didn't care that you had asked him about his past, no matter how vague. For once… he just let himself feel.

Rule #5: Don't try to get close to him.

Ghost watched as you sat angrily on the training floor mat. Your arms were crossed and you had a pout on your lips. Yes, you were acting like a child. But you were beyond annoyed at Ghost. For the past couple of weeks he had done nothing but berate you over and over. At first it was your uniform being too messy. Then it was being too slow. And now it was just not being good enough.

He had forced you to train every day. Even after missions. You loved working out with him as much as the next guy, but damn it. He was acting like a god damned drill sergeant in basic training. There was something wrong and your relationship with him went to friendship to something… bad. He just stared down at you and sighed.

"You done yet?"

"No, I'm not." You stood up. "I am doing perfectly fine. Do you have to nitpick everything?"

"Fine isn't good enough. You need to be perfect."

You let out a frustrated noise. "But why?! My performance during missions is good. No one is complaining, not even Captain Price!"

"Does it look like I give a shit?" Ghost took a step towards you, towering over you. "You're acting like a pathetic child."

"And you're acting like an overbearing asshole."

That was enough to make him snap. He grabbed your arm and dragged you out of the training room, away from prying eyes. You silently cursed yourself. You were really in for it now. He was gonna take you in his office and yell at you. And you did not feel like you were in the mood for a lecture. Once you arrived, he shoved you inside and slammed the door behind you.

"Apologize. Now."

"For what?"

"Insubordination and getting on my fucking nerves."

Your eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Seriously, LT?! I didn't do anything!"

"You have an attitude."

This was enough. You had enough. "I don't have a fucking attitude! I've been improving every single day but that's not good enough for you! I thought we had gotten close and become friends, but you just started acting like a hard ass! What did I do, huh?! Why am I such a fucking nuisance to you!?"

"Because!" Ghost walked forward until your back was against your desk. "You made me care for you! No matter how fucking annoying you were, you still somehow managed to squeeze your aggravating ass into my mind! Every time you overstepped, you apologized immediately and made sure not to do it again! You cared for me in ways no one would notice! You became a constant in my life and I'm scared I'll lose that. So yes, I'm a hardass! But only because I won't be able to stand it if you suddenly died!"

"I won't die!" You yelled, your hands gripping the edge of his desk. "Of course our work is dangerous, but I trust you and this team! And so what if you started to care for me?! Newsflash Simon, people care about each other! It's normal!"

"What did I fucking say about calling me that?!"

"You didn't seem to complain for the past couple of months, Simon."

"Shut the fuck up! You're so fucking annoying!"

"Make me!"

You had pushed down your feelings for Ghost and told yourself it would never happen. It would be stupid of you to think it would, right? And yet here he was, tugging down his balaclava and trapping you against the desk. His lips smashed against yours, drawing a pained gasp from you. And yet you pushed back with just as much force. Your arms wrapped around him as the kiss softened. His lips felt perfect around yours and he tasted of cherry gatorade. You drank him in, letting the feelings you had grown free.

The kiss seemed to last forever. It was like Ghost was hungry for your touch, for your love. Not that you complained. He had let you break one of the most important rules of all: Don't try to get close to him. Yet here you were, pressed against him and kissing him like he would disappear.

"You're such a fucking brat." He breathed against your lips.

You laughed slightly and pulled away. "And yet, you can't let me go."

"No, I can't." His hands moved to your waist and squeezed. "I don't want to let you go."

"I won't leave you, Simon Riley. I promise."

"Please don't break that promise."

#x reader #fanfic #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty #cod #cod x reader #cod ghost #cod ghost x reader

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oneshotnewbie · 1 year

Text

In love with my best friend - Spencer Hastings x Reader

Authors note: This short story is not related to a request but is something I came up with that I couldn't get out of my head. Maybe you like it anyway! 🙈

Summary: There is one unspoken rule between best friends; never fall in love with them. But like most rules, this was made to be broken. You fell in love with Spencer and as luck would have it, she was dating Toby. But when you confess your love for her, everything turns out differently than you thought.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Spencer Hastings was undoubtedly your best friend. Not that you had many friends, although there were plenty of people you got along with, you trusted nobody as much like Spencer. You had no siblings but a sister could hardly have been closer to you- you knew that.

It was odd. After all, you did only known each other a few years, but you assumed that time played less of a role in friendship than the experiences shared. And fighting side by side against a common enemy was certainly something that could bond two young girls together.

Yes, Spencer Hasting was a great woman; smart, kindhearted, brave, super loyal and absolutely reliable. And that is exactly what started growing butterflies in your stomach. However, there was one flaw that let you know you will never get to call her your girlfriend- when she could not stop babbling about her boyfriend.

"Oh, come on, Y/n!" she wailed in a tone that made you want to squeeze your hands into fists and dig your fingernails into your skin. Just a little, it would hardly hurt. "Do you not want to know what he got me for our anniversary?"

"No, I do not want to" you hissed as you dropped the fork with a clatter into the bowl.

Spencer seemed taken aback for a moment, but then her face lit up and she waved the necklace in front of your face again while you stared grimly at the piece of tomato that jumped out of the bowl. "Ha! You are only saying that because you do not know how great he is!"

Then your patience, which is quite thin by nature, snapped. "Damn it, Spencer!" you lifted your eyes to your best friend, who had moved intrusively close to you. The brunette was not exactly known for keeping a distance of discretion. "I do not care how great your fucking Toby is, okay?"

She slowly slipped her hands off the chain around her neck and the wide grin faded from her face as if the harshness you displayed tonight had wiped it away. However, she did not seem offended. On the contrary, she seemed extremely worried. "What is going on, shorty?"

"Nothing is wrong," with shaky fingers, you tried to lift the mushy tomato between your nails and shove it into the sink. "Just because I do not want to take a closer look at that gold chain around your neck that you bother me with all the time does not mean something is wrong"

Inside, you were despairing. You would most likely to want her to yell at you. Would love to hear her say how bad of a person you were, not enjoying their happiness. Maybe then you would feel less like a monster than you already did.

"There must be a reason for my best friend´s grumpy face though. You are never usually like that"

This almost made you laugh out loud. You were in the midst of a terrible war of emotions and feelings that were raging inside of you. Love and hate were close together and fought flawlessly in your soul for the rightness of them. On one hand, you were happy that the brunette had found someone who loved her with all her faults and flaws. However, you had hoped that you were the one who could offer all of those things to her.

You sighed deeply and got up to dump your dinner into the trash; your appetite was completely gone. Spencer´s face changed from a deep confusion to a frighteningly serious one that sent a chill down your spine. "It is about Toby, is it not?" In your stance, you flinched slightly and did not let a word escape your mouth, but she instantly knew that her guess was correct. "Ever since I told you it was serious between the two of us, you seemed completely lost in thought and distanced"

You still retreated in silence, but your hands were shaking so much that you dropped the empty bowl into the sink. And the youngest Hastings had noticed that too. Quickly, she jumped out of her chair and put her arm comfortingly around your shoulders while you clutched the marble, knuckles already turning white.

"I love you.." you began to speak in a low voice, looking down at your fingers scraping the stainless steel. Emily had previously advised you to stay away from the subject and try to shut off your feelings. She had warned you urgently, yet you had ignored every word and walked into a circular saw with open arms.

And worst of all, you did probably jeopardized the friendship with your stupid revelation.

"I did not mean to develop feelings for you but I did not stop them the first time I felt it and-" Spencer could clearly hear the uncertainty in your restless voice and stopped you to catch your breath. She pulled you closer and if you did not know her better, you would have assumes that she would want to kill you for ruining her relationship with the boy she fell in love with. "You have to stop,"

"With what?"

"Wanting to explain yourself," she paused for a moment, biting her lip as the front of her body gently pressed against your back and her head hovered over your shoulder. A clearing of her throat escaped her before she continued to speak. "Y/n, look at me"

You turned your face to her and saw a strange sight, two adult friends standing close together, one pulling the other into a tight and loving embrace. You, aware of how close Spencer was to you and how your heart started pounding violently in your chest, could not help but smile. "If Toby would see us like this.."

The older one seemed confused for a moment, then laughed out loud until her body shook with yours. Gently, she wrapped both arms tightly around your body and her face moved dangerously close to yours, your lips almost meeting. "I do not care"

With a mixture of curiosity and nervousness, you looked into her large and brown eyes, the color of which had darkened and was almost unrecognizable through the enlarged pupils staring at you.

"May I..?" Her gaze dropped to your lips with the warmest, friendliest smile you had ever seen and you nodded as your heart started leaping with excitement in your chest. As her soft lips brushed yours and kissed them gently, you felt the almost unnatural warmth that spread through every single fiber of your body.

As Spencer unintentionally pulled away from you, there was silence for a long moment before she began to whisper barely audible. "I have been waiting for this moment for so long, I did not think it would ever happen" her lips slammed back onto yours, slowly kissing their way down to your chin and shoulder before nibbling at the tender skin of your neck.

The sensation you felt overwhelmed your senses, letting you moan briefly before you laid your head back and thus allowed her to dive further with rough bites. Your hands settled on her hips, gently pulling her closer to you. They roamed her whole body until they caught on the buttons of her expensive blouse, that you were feverishly trying to open.

Spencer and you were so busy with each other, that you did not realized you were being watched from the patio door.

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heliza24 · 11 months

Text

Wilhelm closing the curtains

I know people have varying opinions on the moment when Wilhelm closes the curtains in 2.5, but to me it’s always felt really special, in a way that goes beyond a reaction to past trauma. There is something about that action that feels really sacred to me, but I was struggling to articulate what until I started talking with @bluedalahorse about it. She said something so great that it sparked a bunch of ideas in my head: what if we thought about Hillerska, not just as a school deeply entrenched in the class system, but as a panopticon?

A panopticon is “a disciplinary concept brought to life in the form of a central observation tower placed within a circle of prison cells. From the tower, a guard can see every cell and inmate but the inmates can't see into the tower. Prisoners will never know whether or not they are being watched.” Basically, it’s a conceptual prison where because you could be observed at any moment, you behave as if you are always being observed.

Now obviously Hillerska isn’t a literal prison; this is a metaphor more than anything. But I think it’s a useful way of examining the dynamics in the school. Because the adults at Hillerska aren’t the only ones enforcing upper class values and hierarchy. The students are also policing each other as well. That means that any student could be observed “breaking the rules” established for upper class kids at any time. An important part of the unspoken rules you agree to at Hillerska are to follow the traditions set out for you, and to keep the authentic, vulnerable version of yourself hidden. It’s very important that you only show vulnerability in sanctioned ways, and to the correct people.

There are a lot of tangible ways this system of self-policing manifests. There’s the “get on the table” tradition, which allows the Forest Ridge boys to monitor each other’s hookups to make sure that everyone is picking appropriate partners. There’s the pledge that August makes Wilhelm take after his initiation, to “never betray the proud traditions of Forest Ridge House”. And there’s the system of prefects, where one student is elected to explicitly control and discipline the other students.

I would say that the royal family and the court operate in much the same way. The members of the royal family are always policing each other for good behavior, and the apparatus of the court and the royal staff works to cover up any deviant acts and reinforce the status quo. The royal family is always being observed by the public and the media, so they are always careful to act with propriety. So between the palace and Hillerska, Wilhelm has lived his whole life being observed. He’s never been free of the panopticon.

Thinking about Hillerska in this way can really help us understand August’s actions in season 1. When August records and posts the video, he’s acting in the way that he’s been trained to do. Wilhelm has broken the rules in a few ways: by having sex with another boy, by falling in love outside of his class, and maybe most importantly, by being intimate with someone who lives largely outside of the panopticon and can therefore not be controlled by it. As Nils tells us in season 2, the rules about who you can be intimate with are very image-dependent. You can have gay sex as long as the person you’re sleeping with will be discreet. But Simon is an outsider. His ties to his family and Marieberg mean that he’s immune to the Hillerska panopticon in a lot of ways. So it makes total sense that August would act almost without thinking (he’s intoxicated when he records the video) to reinforce the rules and punish Wilhelm for stepping out of line like this.

To return to the royal family for a minute, I am continuously fascinated by the way that Kristina reacts to Wilhelm threatening to post on social media that he is stepping down as Crown Prince. The most powerful threat that Wilhelm can make is to remove the power of his immediate observers (the royal family and of the court) by exposing his true self to the general public. The panopticon relies on your close circle observing and controlling you, but as soon as you reveal your authentic self publicly, the power of that circle disappears. When Kristina tells Wilhelm “you have to realize that there will be reactions when you threaten us” in 2.2, she basically draws a line between Wilhelm the Person and Wilhelm the Prince. Wilhelm the Person was threatening Wilhelm the Prince, and by extension the whole royal family and circle of observation.

Because of that I think it’s important to remember that Kristina leverages therapy not as a genuine solution for Wilhelm’s mental health struggles, but as a tool of the panopticon. Therapy is supposed to teach Wilhelm how to better control and suppress his emotions, so that he can act more controlled while he is being observed. I know some people like to speculate that Erik was also struggling under the weight of the crown before his death, and that may be true. But I also think it’s important to recognize that Erik was using coping skills that were explicitly approved by the panopticon system. Wilhelm never knew he went to therapy, which meant he was likely using it as Kristina intended, as a way to help him maintain a perfect princely image. He was having hookups with sex workers, who could certainly be controlled and paid off enough to ensure that they never threatened his image. And he was (at least) casually drinking, a form of self medicating that might be seen as more acceptable by his family and the court than relying on actual pharmaceuticals. (There’s certainly a longer tradition of princes and kings drinking than taking antidepressants). I think that if Erik had lived, he would be sympathetic to Wilhelm’s plight. But I also think that he would have encouraged Wilhelm to deal with his problems through officially sanctioned methods, which ultimately wouldn’t have been enough to help Wilhelm.

So now let’s finally return to the window and the curtain. The idea of a window through which the prisoner is observed is crucial to the concept of the panopticon, and I think it’s really interesting to contrast the way that August and Wilhelm react to it. August takes the call from the palace, where Jan-Olaf maps out his future to him, standing naked in front of the window. August is comfortable with this system of observation and control; he’s consenting to Jan-Olaf’s demands without argument and is unafraid to be seen while doing so. He’s a part of and protected by the system, so it doesn’t matter if anyone sees him.

When Wilhelm closes the curtain for him and Simon though, he’s effectively taking himself out of the panopticon. He’s taking away the pressures that come with being observed and freeing them both to behave genuinely. I think that’s a really big deal for Wilhelm, who was raised in the royal system of control and is now living in the social hierarchy of Hillerska. As much as closing the curtains is a reaction to what August did, it’s also a revolutionary act. Claiming privacy in that way is a really big step in Wilhelm’s journey, and I think it’s something he had to do first before he was ready to publicly claim his queerness and relationship with Simon at the end of Season 2.

#young royals #my meta #wilhelm young royals #prince wilhelm #august horn #august young royals #how many times can I say the word panopticon before it loses all meaning

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quinloki · 6 months

Text

Eustass Kid - Honesty

Reader style - she/her AFAB Time slot - After Hours Client Name - @swampstew CW: Shibari, fingering, pet names

“Keep talkin’ sweetheart.” Kid commands, turning your arm behind your back and wrapping rope around it.

“Nothing hurts.” You reply, voice a little tense.

“Don’t just tell me if it hurts, tell me how it feels.” He insists, chest pressing against your back as warm breath tickles the back of your neck. “What’s stretching? Flex your fingers and toes.” One large hand wraps around you, opening wide against your belly. “Tell me you’re wet before I find out on my own.”

“Haa, shit, I wasn’t until you said it like that,” you huff, squirming against the ropes. “Fuh-fingers and toes are good, and… and there’s definitely a stre-stretch in my shoulders - Kid, Kid!” You gasp as his hand slowly travel further down your stomach.

“Keep talkin’.”

“Ah-aaahhhmmmm-bout what?” You whimper, squirming against knots you couldn’t hope to undo on your own.

Kid’s teeth caress the turn of your ear. “How it feels. Be honest, lil’ mouse. What’s the rope against your skin like?”

The question seems to bring the sensation to the forefront of your mind. “Sah - soft, soft for the most pah-part, but also there’s pruh-prick-prickly bits.” You stammer, squirming and gasping. Every movement is a reminder of how well you are bound, how exposed you are, and how much more exposed you’re becoming.

“Please, please, touch me,” you gasp, trying to bring your aching pussy closer to his fingers.

“I’m already touc-.”

“My clit, Kid, please make me cum!” You cry.

“Ooooh? You’re usually so shy,” he purrs, turning you around easily and letting you fall onto the pillows beneath you. The frog-tie shibari rope work as your arms bound snug against your back, the heels of your feet tucked against your thighs, ropes triple and quadrupled to keep them from biting into your skin, while still holding you easily in place.

The new position puts you face to face with him, and that sure, cocky, leering grin isn’t cutting you any slack. “You like the way I make you cum?”

You nod. “Yes.” Blood rushes through you, need winning out over embarrassment.

“You don’t see other escorts.” He muses, pressing his index finger against your clit. The pressure sends a shiver through you, but he doesn’t move it. “Just me.”

“Is, is that bad?” Your eyes aren’t on his now, fixated on the single, deep dark crimson painted finger pressed against you.

“Nope.” He assures you, finger finally starting to make lazy circles against the throbbing bundle of nerve. “You don’t just like the way I make you cum though, do you? Be honest, and I’ll reward you, Mouse.” You can feel another finger slipping along your slit.

You nod again, gasping as the snaps of pleasure as he rubs you the right way. “I… I lie-like you! I like you, e-even if I shuh-shouldn’t! Oh fuck!” You throw your head back as two thick fingers push into your pussy, and Kid’s thumb starts rolling against your clit, applying more pressure than his finger had been.

“Why shouldn’t you?” He questions, voice even, grin crooked.

“Y-you’re… I mean, ri-right there, gods,” Pleasure addles your thoughts, skilled fingers bringing you close quickly.

“I’m what, Mouse?”

A strained whimper beats against your teeth, and tears garble your vision. Fear twists your guts, worry that this might be your last session with him, your last words. As though you’ve broken some unspoken rule and you can’t take it back.

“Perfect. You’re perfect,” you gasp, struggling to speak against the growing orgasm. “Who the ha-hell am I, tah - ta’ be me an’, an’ want you?”

You don’t notice the look on Kid’s face, not that you can make out much with your eyes wet. His fingers and thumb move faster, and you can feel him leaning over you.

“Cum, little mouse, cum like the good girl you are.” He demands, and despite your blurred vision you swear you can see those amber eyes crystal clear. The only thing clearer are his words, and they travel straight to your loins like lightning.

Sucking in a breath as the orgasm crests, Kid’s lips crash into yours suddenly. His name, your moans, are all devoured by hungry lips, and a tongue intent on stealing sense and sound from you. Dizzy from pleasure and a lack of air, your flushed face and heavy breaths are a mix of embarrassment and afterglow.

Once your eyes focus on him, you see that devious grin slip along his lips. “We’re gonna hafta have an honest talk, you and I.” He says, softness coming into his eyes and smile. “But if yer gonna be my Mouse? You can’t talk down on yourself like that again.”

One Piece Host Club AU drabble event runs through December 2023

#One Piece Host Club AU #December Drabble Event 2023 #One Piece Fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #eustass kid

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flamemittens · 15 days

Note

For the bhaalspawn asks:

OK but how does Durge actually view relationships and romance?

From the 9th Edition DU asks here!

Gortash x F!Durge. 900 words.

A/N: So...this got a little out of hand. I'm not even sure if I've answered the question as I got lost in the sauce™, but have this silly thing anyway :)

The weather could have been better tonight.

Admittedly, the trellis that facilitates the climb up to Gortash’s chambers is more difficult to scale in the heavy rain, but she completes her ascent with relative ease, dropping onto the terrace.

There is no need to pick the locks on the doors—in a touch of perhaps foolish confidence he tends to leave them open these days—thus the only challenge is to enter quietly. She slips inside through half-drawn curtains, and pulls the doors shut behind her.

The light in here is low, but her eyes make the adjustment.

Then she sees him.

Enver is fast asleep on one of the large chaises by the fireplace, head back, feet planted on the floor, chest rising and falling. Free of his usual finery, he is simply dressed in a half-open black shirt and trousers. She pads softly over to him intending to wake him up, but…something stays her hand. She stands there frozen in place, a tightness in her chest, and imagines the lifeblood flowing through his veins. Considers him in his vulnerability. Considers them.

She has no point of reference, no guide for how all this is supposed to go. It was never meant to be like this. It’s been an evolution, a negotiation. Communication shifting from parchment to in-person, from neutral locations to between his sheets. Gifts viewed with suspicion at first, then reluctantly accepted. An unwelcome distraction—and indulgence—morphing into a welcome one. A meeting of minds, a push and pull. It is both delightful, and confusing.

She wonders if this is what it is like for everyone.

Truthfully, Enver Gortash is the only friend she has ever had. She smiles, thinking of what Sceleritas would say to that statement—the butler is devoted, and not fond of her Banite.

Her reverie is broken however as Enver chooses this moment to wake up; he gives a brief start, then relaxes, as he looks up at her with a level of softness she’s never seen before.

Something twists painfully in her chest as she realizes he is relieved the interloper is her when he should be afraid—it digs in alongside everything else she carries. She is struck once again by the thought that he has not been afraid of her for some time now. If he ever was. He’s not even surprised.

“Good evening, my dear Bhaalist” he says calmly, voice still raspy from sleep. He reaches out a hand and pulls her closer. “Why are you wet? You’re soaked through.”

“It’s raining outside. I was caught in a downpour.”

A resigned sigh signals his acceptance as he runs a hand across his face. “When it comes to you, it could be worse, I suppose.”

He stands up. “I shall call the servants and have a bath drawn for you.”

“There’s no need. Do not bother them.”

“Nonsense, I insist. For the sake of my new rugs, if nothing else. And I do so enjoy you smelling of my soaps.” He leaves the room, returning a moment later.

“Good. They are seeing to it now.”

“Enver?”

“Yes?”

“Why?”

He frowns and then turns to the fireplace, tossing another log into the flames. “Why what? My dear, as much as I enjoy puzzling you out, you’re going to have to give me more to go on.”

“Why do you care for me?” The question is neither simple nor complex, and it slides off her tongue like liquid before she can stop it. He has his back to her, but she catches how he briefly freezes, a sudden and subtle tension in his shoulders that he expertly dismisses before he continues. She has cornered him—not something that she achieves often with this man who is always several steps ahead—and bent their unspoken rules.

“So, you have decided to ask me all the difficult questions tonight, hmm?” He has opted, of course, for deflection.

“Oh, it’s a difficult question, is it? Should I be offended?”

“You know that’s not quite what I meant.”

“But that’s what you said.”

“Gods below. Well, it certainly isn’t because you infuriate me with disconcerting regularity.”

“No.” She grins slyly. “It’s in spite of that.”

He barks a laugh, then regards her for a moment before continuing.

“Now, while we wait, how about I show you what I’ve been working on today. And after we’re all done, perhaps you can give me the pleasure of your company until morning?”

“Lord Gortash, do you say that to all the guests you host in your personal chambers?”

He closes the distance between them, and gently grips her chin in his calloused fingers, tilting her head from side to side. She hopes to pass the inspection. Granted, there are times when she wants him to be the Chosen of Bane, but others where she prefers him to be Enver. Tonight, she finds she wishes for the latter.

“No” he murmurs after a spell, releasing her. “Only the ones who show up at near midnight drenched from head to toe, drip all over my upholstery, force me to call the servants to prepare a bath, and ask me questions.” He smiles down at her.

Enver it is.

She mirrors his expression. “That sounds awfully tiresome. You must suffer so.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Very well” she replies, leaning closer and patting his chest. “Tell me about your day, if you must.”

#durgetash fluff :)#asks #dark urge asks #oc: morgayne #the dark urge #enver gortash #durgetash #flamemittens writes

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 3 months

Text

The Bird And The Man

Chapter Ten

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: None

Ao3

Chapter Nine | Chapter Eleven (coming soon)

The Baron of the Oletus Manor is an anonymous individual, an enigma, it only seems like Hastur has a connection to the Baron but cannot speak to how deep that connection is. He controls the games, rarely showing his hand when he deems fit, like the time Joseph had sent a letter requesting the game to permit permanent deaths. The Baron only allowed this because he knew the Photographer was not going to fulfill his own request.

Human hearts are fascinating, often capricious, and often selfish. Yet, there are moments like those and many other heartfelt bonding moments within the Oletus Manor, a story with no end, but with plenty of plot twists and on the edge of one’s seat scenarios.

The Baron is quiet, his posture different from others as he wears a blue suit, the color is warm instead of the dark colors the villain would wear in dramatic stories. He brushes off the bit of dust that landed on him as walked out of the Golden Cave exit gate to meet the raven monster lurking in Lakeside Village. The one called ‘Nightmare’ is standing there looking up at the clear starry sky when the Baron approaches in quick strides, he does not like the mud getting on his brown dress shoes.

The only hint of acknowledgment is the way Nightmare crosses his arms and stands up straight to his full height.

“Thinking of the ghostwriter while stargazing. Romantic.” The Baron breaks the silence while lighting his pipe to take a smoke, “You dreamt of them again.” Spoken as a matter of fact.

No response to that, Nightmare uncrosses his arms noting the way the tone is not harsh, cold but not a blizzard.

“You are aware we share dreams, correct?”

There is no response at first but then a slow nod, he is now waiting for the lecture one gets from a father for eating too many sweets or in this case: playing in the honey jar.

“You should know better than to have relations, creature.” Annoyed, a puff of smoke in the air was blown away by a little breeze.

“No. Rules. Broken.”

The Baron glares, a frown on his lips that is holding up the pipe, he takes the pipe out of his mouth as he replies once more, “The unspoken rule of Hunters and Huntees not having personal relations should not have to be explicitly said, Nightmare.” Shaking his head. “I have been too kind in allowing these connections to form.” Not just Nightmare. Miss Nightingale had fought the Baron for these events, the dressing up, and the different match settings. This is to allow the human mind to handle more than it can handle. The survivors were picked for a reason, a mix of various types of people put into a dangerous situation that seems impossible to escape一 Well, it is so long as the Baron wants them to be here.

“The. Heart. Wants. What. It. Wants.” Nightmare says as his head turns to the Baron, the purple eyes behind the plague doctor mask narrow, “I love them.” The Baron looks away when he hears those words, how easily those words come from the creature. The pain of speaking is something he can endure to state his case, “As. You. Will.”

“Orpheus has written enough doomed relationships with his novels for you to know better than assume that.” He refuses to believe he will fall for a Huntee, a person he is using for these games, “This will end tragically.”

The Baron looks up at the starry night sky, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I detest you.” Those words bitter and resentful, venom that could kill a snake. The nights of late have been infested with dreams of you rather than dreamless nights, no longer is it cold and empty. He can vividly see you, a smile that does not match the situation of the manor. Groaning as he shakes his head before smoking his pipe again.

“Detest. Yourself. As. You. Need.” A deep breath is taken in slowly and let out slowly, “We are fools.” A chill in the air is enough to get him moving towards the exit gate and leave back to the manor.

The Baron remains there until he finishes smoking his pipe.

The Baron allows for celebrations, New Year's and the Lunar New Year among them, but none of them specify a year. That is to keep the mystery of the manor, the timelessness, and endlessness going.

The celebration goes on, and the Baron is far away from the events but close enough to see all the participants from survivors to hunters partaking of the drinks and being civil. Miss Nightingale often complains about how well-behaved Jack is during events much to her annoyance.

The Baron allows Miss Nightingale to place judgment on who comes or does not come to join in these events.

A list drawn up and approved by the Baron upon review.

The banned ones due to how unstable they are: Smiley, Undead, Sculptor, Breaking Wheel, and a few others.

As watches close by but hidden, the gathering of the survivors and hunters, the main event soon to start.

As to be expected, no Nightmare.

The creature hates loud noises and this celebration is full of flashing with loud noises, plus a lot of people given no one misses events (Lady Nightingale can be demanding at times).

But there is no you, your first New Year here and you are nowhere to be found.

Orpheus may not be looking for you but the enigma that is the Baron is. Looking for the aspiring author who foolishly fell into his trap like many others here.

The countdown is starting, Orpheus is speaking with Jack while the others mingle with one another. The Lady Nightingale is there watching from the sidelines, her mask pointed toward the dark clear winter sky.

Another year, five years since the Oletus Manor opened its gate to the Nightingale’s song that fateful night.

The Baron looks with Orpheus towards the sky as the fireworks go off.

#idv #idv x reader #identity v #identity v x you #orpheus x you #idv orpheus x you #orpheus x reader #nightmare x reader #idv nightmare #nightmare x you #identity v x reader #idv reader insert #idv orpheus #idv novelist #reader insert #idv x you #fanfiction

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gaybananabread · 7 months

Text

TickleTober Day 29 - Wake Up!

@hexalianrebel-blackfeathers - Definitely 29 (Wake Up!) with Hobie getting tickled awake one too many times by Gwen, Pavitr, and/or Miles. I admit I wouldn't be able to pick just one.

Why choose? I’ve got a feeling it’d probably take all of them to get his ass good, and why not revenge it? Got a little carried away with this one, but I’m pretty happy with how it came out! Used a few of Panda's hcs too! Sorry for the all the lateness recently, it’s been quite the month (O_Ou) Anyhow, I’ve loved writing these spider sillies for you, and I hope you Enjoy!

Lee: Hobie, brief Gwen

Lers: Miles, Gwen, Pavitr

Summary: There’s one golden rule in Hobie’s house boat; don’t wake him up. His friends always break that rule. Deciding to be brats, the spider kids tickle Hobie awake once again. After he recovers, he takes a little revenge.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!

In Hobie's boat, there was a spoken and unspoken rule. One that his friends could never seem to follow, no matter how many times he snipped at them for it.

Don't wake him up.

Every single time he lets one of them crash at his place, he winds up awake way before he wanted to be. Sometimes it's an accident, like a loud sneeze, broken cereal bowl or random floor squeak. Other times, though, it was 100% intentional. Times like that one.

Hobie was peacefully sleeping, draped over his couch. The other three had stayed the night, so he of course offered up his bed. The punk was tall, meaning he needed a bigger bed. The mattress comfortably fit the three of them, and he could live on the couch. He'd rather have his friends be comfy anyway.

He was planning on sleeping in. True, noon is a bit late, but he had goofed around most the night with the other spider kids; couple that with a full day of patrolling, and you'll know that he deserved a nice rest.

Gwen had been the first to wake up, her father's old work schedule sticking with her. It was nearly nine, but still. She quickly got bored, and not wanting to be the only one awake, poked Pav's sides. He slowly woke, grabbing at her hands and giggling.

Giggling... Bingo. It would probably get her killed, but Gwen had a wonderful idea. "Hey Pav, how much do you value your sanity?"

He rubbed his sides, still a bit put off by the light tickling. "Uhum, it depends? What do you have in mind?" The mischievous look on her face, while endearing, sent a small chill down his spine. That look only meant one thing, though it wasn't aimed at him this time.

"I think Hobie deserves a special good morning. For letting us stay over, you know?" Pavitr sighed, knowing exactly what she had in mind. “Are you even a small bit worried about his revenge? He has told us many times over to just let him sleep.” He wanted to add that her idea would only get them “tortured,” but the thought made his cheeks go pink. It wouldn’t be that bad...probably.

The next to get roped into her plan was Miles. He got a much nicer wake-up call; Gwen was a bit too flustered to tickle him awake. She opted for poking his cheek until he groaned. “Mmmph…wah?” The boy slowly sat up, immediately picking up on the playful vibe in the room. Should be fun, whatever it was. “What’re you two planning, and can I get in on it?”

One hushed, giggly conversation later, they had a plan. A very stupid, silly plan that would undoubtedly backfire, but a plan.

Pavitr inched towards the sleeping punk, regretting his offer to pin him. If even one floorboard squeaked, or if Hobie’s spider sense went off too early, he would be a dead man. A giggly dead man, but a dead man nonetheless. Slowly, he raised his wrists, firing off a few webs at Hobie’s long arms. The punk shifted, but other than that, he didn’t react. Whew…

Miles and Gwen, the cowards, crept into the room behind him. Now that Hobie was restrained, they had no chance of being punished for their actions. “Nice job, Pav. You wanna do the honors?” The bubbly teen shook his head, backing away. “Oh no. I did the dirty work. You seal your own fates.”

Chuckling, Miles approached Hobie; he was feeling brave. He could feel the anarchist stir as he straddled his waist. It was clear he didn’t want to get up, regardless of what was happening. Miles placed his hand on Hobie’s stomach, slowly curling his fingers on the taunt skin. Hobie’s eyes fluttered open, a small glare on his face. The teen just smirked. “‘Sup, Hobie.”

The punk growled, tugging at his arms. Gwen giggled, Pavitr moving behind her to avoid his gaze. “You little shits… What’d I say ‘bout waking me up?” The hell…? Oh. They pinned his arms with web fluid. They were double dead now. “Al’ight, which one a’ yous planned this?”

Pav, ever loyal, pointed to Gwen behind her back. She swatted his hand away, laughing. “Ihit was a group effort! Morning, Hobs!”

He huffed, looking down at Miles’ fingers for just a second. “You lot are dead as doorknobs.” That would have been a believable threat if a smile wasn’t threatening to come out. Just thinking about the slow fingers on his stomach were getting to him, though he’d never admit it.

“Sure, sure. Who’s the one pinned under who, Hobie?” Oh, that cocky little- “Miles, I would not push our luck!” At least Pav had some sense. He would go easy on the teen when he took his revenge. Maybe. “It’s cool. Hobie isn’t going anywhere.”

“When I get outta this, you’re all gonna-” Miles cut him off with wiggling fingers, finally attacking the hero’s midsection. Hobie suppressed a squeal, snapping his mouth shut to block the silly sounds from escaping. He thrashed and tugged at the webs, almost bucking Miles off him. The smug teen yelped, hanging onto the couch for dear life. “Hey guys! Little help?”

Gwen quickly ran over to assist, knowing what would happen if Hobie got free; she wasn’t ready for their fun to end so quickly. Hopping on the couch, she sat on his thighs, back-to-back with Miles. “I gotcha! Here, lemme just-” She skittered her nails along his calf, knowing softer tickles worked better on his legs. The stoic boy cracked, bass-sounding giggles rumbling in his chest. Even his giggling was cool…

“Y-youhuhu aharse! Gehe’ ohohoff!” He tried kicking his legs out, but with Gwen on his thighs, he could only squirm. Miles was wasting no time, digging into his stomach and scribbling on his navel. Gwen, on the other hand, was being torturously gentle. It was a small mercy that Pavitr hadn’t joined them, still hesitant on whether or not the punk was okay with it all.

Why did he have to be so nice? Hobie wouldn’t say he was enjoying the silly interaction. He would never, ever admit say something like that. The teasing teens were just enjoying a small joke with him. A joke they would be paid back for, with interest, but a fun game all the same. Who was he to deny them that small pleasure? “Y-youhu’re wahastin’ prehecious time thehere, Pavi! Ihihi’m gohonna kill all ohof you whehen I gehet loose, mihihight as wehehell have sohome fuhuhun!”

The concerned teen needed no more encouragement. He practically bounced over to where Hobie’s arms were pinned, ready to wreak havoc on his nervous system. Pav knew that Hobie had to be in the right mood for them all to tickle him; thankfully, he was. Ten eager fingers dug into Hobie’s hollows, pulling a squeak from his full lips.

Okay, he was regretting that decision. Hobie tried to curl up, tug his arms free, anything to gain the upper hand on the teens “attacking” him. Pav’s webs held strong though, Gwen’s hold on his legs surprisingly sturdy. While he was completely occupied, Gwen was growing a bit bored with the sort-of-loud laughter. She felt like being a menace; the big reactions were what she was after.

Hobie’s eyes widened when he felt Gwen messing with his boot’s laces. “GW-GWEHEHEN! DOHON’ YOUHU FUHUHUCKIN’ DAHAHARE!” Two pairs of eyes quickly moved to Hobie’s legs, the boys wanting to see what would happen next. Pavitr knew that was a bad spot, but Miles was the most inexperienced with Hobie. It would be funny to see his reaction.

Gwen, knowing he would do anything to get her off, laid across his legs. Hopefully her weight and strength would be enough to keep him down. The anarchist could handle tickling almost anywhere else. That spot, though? He was screwed.

Miles and Pav each stopped their teasing fingers, figuring he could only handle so much at once. The first boot came off, thunking against the wood floor of his house boat. “Gwehendy! Gw-gwehen, c’mon! Enough’s ehenough, mate!” She didn’t share his opinion. One finger dragged up his socked sole, making him muffle a squeal. “Really, Hobs? Plaid socks? And you say I’m a monster.”

“F-fuhuck ohohoff! Miles, Pahav, get her!” He looked to his friends, silently hoping they’d see how evil that was. Both teens gave him an apologetic smile, just holding him down. “Sorry, big man. We won’t let her kill you, promise.” Those little fucking- “GYAAH! GWEHEHENDYHIHI! NAHAHAO!”

Boisterous, loud, frantic laughter flew from his lips, quickly filling the room. He thrashed like a lanky worm on a hook, kicking and twisting in every direction possible. It tickled so fucking much.

Miles was taken aback by the intense reaction. He had never seen Hobie laugh that hard before; it was just one foot, with the sock on. Mental notes were definitely being taken. “Damn Hobie, you’ve got some pipes on you.”

He wanted to flip the boy off, yell at him, do anything other than laugh his ass off; yet he couldn’t. The spot was that bad. Tears of mirth grouped in the corners of his eyes, his dark cheeks stained a bright red. He could barely form a sentence through his laughter, much less escape. Pride crawling in a hole for the moment, Hobie did the one thing he said he’d try his hardest to never do: beg. “PLEHEHEASE! GWEHEN- STOHOP!”

Just like that, the devilish nails left his socked sole. Miles and Pavitr quickly put some distance between themselves and the punk, valuing their lives. Gwen cut the webs on his arms, freeing him to curl up and giggle his head off. And he did just that; his arms wrapped around his midsection, one hand going to rub his poor foot as his knees went up to his chest. Gwen jogged to the kitchen, getting him a glass of water.

When offered the liquid, Hobie sighed, downing the entire cup in seconds. His cheeks had calmed a bit, breathing slowly returning to normal. Miles whispered to Pav, not knowing that Hobie could hear every word. “Never guessed Hobie would be a ticklish-feet guy. Hell, I never thought he’d be that ticklish, period.” The punk groaned, making Pavitr giggle. “Why do you think he wears those big boots? Tickle deterrent.”

Okay, that’s enough of their shit. Hobie stood, one booted and ready to enact his revenge. “I suggest you lot run now.” Miles needed no more warnings, turning invisible and darting away. Pavitr ran for the bedroom, locking himself inside. Gwen tried to do the same, but one of Hobie’s webbed snagged her and brought her into his arms. “Hey there, Gwendy. I fink some payback is in order, yeah?”

Trapped in the backwards hug, Gwen couldn’t do much besides squirm and plead with him. She was regretting not changing out of her thin sleep top. “H-hobie, come ohon! I was just trying to make you smile! It- it worked, didn’t it?” Okay, check on the obvious lies. “Y’know I don’ like liars, Gwenny. Time ta pay your penance.”

He dug into her stomach, paying special attention to the small amount of pudge below her navel. She squealed, her knees quickly buckling as loud laughter poured out of her. She really couldn’t handle the taste of her own medicine. “H-HOHOBIE NOHOHO! IHIT- NOHO FAHAHIR!”

Hobie snorted, loving her immediately crazed reaction. “Not fair? You kiddin’ me? This is 100% fair, ya shit.” He decided to be a bit mean, using both hands to claw at her ticklish tum. Snorts started to break up her laughter, her cheeks growing red as cherries. It was worth waking him, but damn, why did his hands have to be so big?!

A creak came from the floorboards behind him, making the lanky boy pause. He webbed Gwen’s arms to her sides, scanning the room. “You. I’m gonna be back for you.” Hobie turned his full attention to the rest of the room, watching as his old floorboards shifted near the bathroom door. Bingo.

Hobie spent the rest of the afternoon hunting the perpetrators and making sure they learned their lessons. By the end of it, all three superpowered teens had rosy cheeks, dopey smiles and tired eyes. They were currently in a cuddle pile on the couch, the punk being used as a communal pillow. And you know what? He wouldn’t change a damn thing.

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