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summermoonshine · 8 months

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It was late August ;

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader.

Click HERE for the AO3 version. Synopsis: the tale of a summer... and its end. Content: angst; romantic; bit of fluff; slice of life; GhostxReader; Note: I cried, bye.

It was late August ;

But before that, it was a peaceful May night that turned into June when your eyes met for the first time, and with June came the bright stars, the clean skies, the colourful flowers, the heat that turned into warmth on his torn and tattooed skin, the fresh nocturnal wind and birds chirping a less harsh dawn than the winter one.

A dawn shared, after so many years, with someone by his side.

His shoulder dropping its weight lightly on yours, and that crisp, new feeling of possibility.

In mid-June his first laugh; a real laugh, not a smile, not a smirk: a sincere laugh that made his eyes shape like two crescents.

Your heart skipped the first of many more beats, and when your hands found each other for the first time �� when you two were sitting on the hood of his SUV looking at the lights of the sleeping city – you knew not to have been born by chance, and that you didn't want to spend that night alone.

After that one, many others followed.

Your clasped hands were enough, though; there was no need for anything else if you had each other.

His insomnia, always present, had become almost a gift: your profile illuminated by the first summer moon, your hair ruffled by the silk pillowcase, your little kissable nose; his arms around your little body.

''Get away from me, doll. There's still time'' - he whispered in the crook of your neck at the end of June.

Each night, every night; softly.

''Go, get away from me. You know I don't deserve you.'' He held you tight, kissed your round cheeks, full of life and sweet as juicy peaches.

''Run away, hurry, I don't have to see you…” He used to say.

“But how, how can I do it if – even if I wish you would leave me – I don't want to lose you?'', and he held you tight and close again, like no one had ever done, kissing your back.

Again, again, again.

''I'm not what you believe me to be, forgive me, doll. I didn't fall from the sky: I re-emerged from the underworld. I'm only capable of losing the ones I love the most'' – he said one night in mid-July.

His perfume, his big body curled up and sweaty stuck to yours, so gentle, healthy and clean compared to his, full of scars, cuts, history: was he sobbing?

Your long, black eyelashes, your big eyes, your relaxed face.

They were the only things that kept alive that man who had been believed dead for years, perhaps since ever, during these months.

Your delicate hands, so tiny, soft – healings, were saving him with every touch of yours.

"Touch me only with your eyes" he had whispered one evening on your doorstep with his camo still on and the tiredness of a day spent in the barracks written in the eyes, but you knew well that what he meant was something else.

So your sweet and full lips had touched his above the mask fabric and it had slipped away, his shampoo-scented dark blond curls had welcomed your hands as if it were natural, and his skin, when you began to taste it in every corner of his body, had become your favourite flavour in this universe.

"I only know how to deceive, make people suffer and make them cry. Stop before it's too late, doll", but you wanted him; and he wanted you.

You knew it and he knew it too.

That strong pain in the centre of his chest suggested it to him whenever he looked at you, whenever he loved you at night, between the creaks of an old creaky bed and a distant, barely lit, strawberry and mint scented candle; lit just like that small - but still alive - flame that lit up the big broken heart of that so big, so sad, but so damn good man for, to and with you.

The first nights of August were a continuous fire.

And there was no sun that could compare with what you and he had created: you were explosive.

Your lips spoke a sweeter and warmer tongue; the pain you didn't know was now infinite pleasure, and his kisses cured everything you thought your body couldn't handle - but in the end you always made it, and this ending was the most delicious ever. Your moans were the fuel of that tireless man and his coaxing sweet, pillow talk.

“I have no eyes, no heart for anyone. None but you, you…” and a warm tear ran down his cheeks and settled on your abdomen. He remained embraced by your hips, your pale hands in his now freshly buzzed hair for the upcoming mission.

It was almost, but his 100 kg resting on your lap reminded you that it wasn't time yet, that it wasn't the time yet, that he was still talking to you.

Because yes, he talked, he always used to talk to you at night. He thought you were asleep, but you were not.

But how? How do you do such a thing? What do you say back and why? The sunlight hardened him, pushed him away from you; the night joined your paths and his heart seemed able to beat, to come back to life. And so you had always kept silence in those moments just to hear his voice, even though you were the real chatterbox - his favourite one. A real relentless talker, always with something to say and that bright smile ready to pain his heart.

He, collector of your speeches, your words, your fears, weighed the words as if they were dangerous, but how many times would he have wanted to tell you that you were his truth, his tranquillity and his cure; that you were saving him, that there was only you, that he had placed his destiny in your hands; because he knew it would all end - that it would have to end, that he had to save you, that all this was an illusion, a delirium, the most difficult torture he would have had to face at the moment of saying goodbye, because he knew he didn't have much time left in his favour.

“Before time runs out, I want you to know that you’re the love of my life. I owe you this, I owe you everything, my doll’’ –

Simon would have wanted to tell you this each and every time that you were next to him, that you were away from him, that you crossed his mind, that he smelt your smell or just imagined it, but nothing like that had ever crossed his lips.

Too hardened as he was by the life itself, he did not feel worthy to speak of love, nor to be worthy of being loved.

It was late August when you, the girl with her head on the moon and up in the clouds, were hit by the biggest pain bomb you've ever experienced and which - you were sure - you would never get over.

Silence had stolen all your words, and that strawberry and mint candle went out at the exact moment in which the house intercom had rung and that man in a uniform, who was not YOUR man in uniform, had handed you the box that now – at this precise moment – you have in front of you, on the low wooden table in the living room crafted by none other than the man you’ve been missing for the past 3 weeks; the table where you lean as if under anaesthesia in search of support; your heavy eyes wear out at the sight of those objects rigorously placed next to each other, as if by keeping them close you could piece together a puzzle whose pieces are burning in front of you.

A crumpled, bloodstained envelope.

Inside of it: a small photo of you and a yellowed sheet: just a couple of short sentences written on it.

On the table, next to this letter-like hurtful bomb, a plastic bag with a metal plate with some letters engraved on it: a military dog tags.

''Lieutenant Simon Riley ''Ghost'', RH+, 237509, Unknown, other''.

You re-read the sentences written in black ink on the blood-stained sheet of the letter: the endearing handwriting that you loved so much and that will never again be able to hatch words, and yet another hot, stinging tear scratches your face and breaks your soul into dust:

"I know you've always been awake. I will come back to hug you every night. I promise, doll.

I am sorry, thank you and… I love you.

Yours forever,

Simon."

It was late August when silence devoured your life, when the wind turned cold and life became a distant diary memory;

It was late August when his heart stopped beating – and so did yours.

It was just late August…

🥀

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smallestapplin · 2 years

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umm. ftm ingo + emmet hcs maybe w a lil bit on nsfw..............<- projecting

IM ASCENDING!!! THANK YOU FOR THIS!! I’m in love, I hope this my all. I apologize for being all over the place with this, I just got so excited.

🔞18 at the end!🔞

In general!

- they both socially transitioned in their teen years.

- Looking up ways to look more like guys.

- Their parents were extremely supportive and did all they could to help! Using their correct pronouns and names, buying them clothes that made them feel comfortable and confident.

- The only issue they faced was hiding their chests.

- They did everything from multiple sports bras, compression shirts, even things you aren’t suppose to do!

- Their mother got their measurements and ordered them binders.

- The twins were so happy to open that package!

- The two tried on their eighteenth birthdays. They parents surprised them by taking them to get everything on paper, their licenses, and other important documents now say ‘Ingo’ and ‘Emmet’.

- They sobbed happily in a large family group hug.

- Both started going on T as soon as they could.

- Emmet was vibrating in place in excitement! He had been waiting so long for this!

- Ingo kept fidgeting, he had to get the energy out somehow.

- After they moved to Nimbasa city and started working at Gear station, the two started saving up for their surgeries.

- They planned it all out too! One would get top surgery, and then the other would take care of him, and vice versa.

- The twins are so happy to finally feel like themselves.

Onto romance!

🔲Ingo🔲

- Not much changed romantically. Your Ingo is still as polite and as loud as ever.

- He’s such a gentleman!

- Surprising you with flowers, your favorite treats, a stuffed toy from Gear station he thought you’d like, anything!

- You likely already know he’s trans from forming a friendship first.

- He doesn’t keep secrets, but he made sure it was safe first.

- Of course you’re a safe person to tell, and you understood.

- He held you crying, he was so worried and had been stressing himself about telling you.

- Your friendship continued and it turned into a sweet relationship.

- Always making time for you, taking care of you (even if you argue that he has to eat too-) and of course! You making him get all bashful with your affection.

- He truly does love your attention and touches, but he gets so flushed thinking about it.

- Though Ingo is the most vocal of the two brothers, during his time of the month he’s usually quiet about his pain.

- His cramps are bad, but you often just see him curled around Chandelure, asking if you can get him some more midol, or anything.

- He just wants some back rubs and to be told he’s a brave man.

- He hurts, please just cuddle him.

🔳Emmet🔳

- Much like his brother, it’s not that big of a secret. Sure he doesn’t announce it, he’s just living.

- And how can you not love this affectionate man?

- He’s always smothering you with kisses, taking you out on dates, winning all the stuffed animals you want at the amusement park, anything.

- He gets so excited seeing you too, especially if you visit him at work. His face lights up, he’s glowing with joy before running to you and twirling you in a hug.

- You are his light, his saving grace when his period strikes.

- Yes he knows white was a bad idea, hush! He looks great in it!

- But he is in agony, you hear him before you see him, just groaning heavily.

- He can’t move, please get him some pain relievers, thank yoooou.

- He’s also doing the grabby hands at you, he wants comfort.

- If you have any fire type Pokémon no you don’t, that’s his Pokémon now, sorry.

- He doesn’t call out of work, but man he’s straight up not having a good time.

🔞18+Only! NSFW BELOW!🔞

🔲Ingo🔲

- Ever the service the top.

- His face is made for you, his tongue is made to please you.

- You two have a select few strap ons, he isn’t wild with what he gets by any means, but he does have quite a few other worldly ones.

- While he loves pleasuring you, as your pleasure is his pleasure, and if that means he’s on his back, folded in a mating press, squealing his heart out? Then yes, he will absolutely do it.

- It’s so cute how reactive he is to your touch.

- And don’t be fooled by his more prudish nature, for you? He’s anything you want him to be.

- Ingo is a softer man, he likes the intimacy and closeness of love making. You speaking so sweetly to him, thrusting into his dripping pussy with such care, telling him he’s such a good boy, a sweet boy, just for you.

- He can cum just from your praise alone.

- But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it rough.

“Fuck! Please! I-I’ve been so good! Ah!”

He doesn’t even remember how he got himself tied to the bed, cunt on display for you. All he knows is he wants to do it again.

You lay between his spread legs. Pulling your mouth off his drooling cunt, you gaze up at him.

His chest heaving, eyes watering, and face red.

You ponder for a moment before shuffling your weight to one side, you bring your hand up towards him.

Smack!

Ingo arches his back, crying out at the harsh smack you land on his cunt.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

His slick splatters against your hand.

His upper half is twisting with each hit. His squeals raise in pitch, he’s so close to cumming!

“My aren’t you demanding? Such a naughty boy you are.”

“M’sorry! M’sorry, please, I-FUCK! Mmmso close!”

You grind your thumb against his clit, smirking at how your boyfriends juices coat your hand.

His hips keep twitching as his silver eyes begs for more.

He’s so cute like this.

🔳Emmet🔳

- He has a very large, very impressive toy collection. His pride and joys are his various strap ons, and he pulls out all the stops! Want to be fucked by some alien dick? He’s got you! Want to be fucked by some demon dick? Absolutely he has that! Anything and everything in any color, he’s got you.

- Most of the time he tops, you will have to fight him for that right.

- He does have his moments where he’d like to be just a little pampered. Those are few and far between, again, unless you wrestle him for it.

- Emmet is in love with fucking your face, he just loves seeing you choke on his cock, no matter which one it is.

- He usually puts a bullet vibrator inside him before putting the strap’s harness on. This way you both get more pleasure!

- He wants to keep going until you’re both in tears and too sensitive to continue.

Emmet feels so lucky to have you.

Especially when you’re fucked stupid like this, and all for him too!

The vibrator inside him is set on his second pulsing speed, giving him just enough pleasure while he fucks his strap on into you.

“Aww darling! We’ve barley even started! And look at how messy you are.”

You barely process his words.

The fat blunt tip of his strap slams against your sweet spot without mercy.

Watching you moan out and squirm is always a beautiful sight, but he can make it better.

He takes one hand off your hip, grabbing the remote for his vibrator and setting it to max speed.

You practically scream, which overshadows a cry of his own.

His hips speed up, twitching at the rush of pleasure on his insides.

He slams his hand back on your hip with a bruising grip. He leans over you, his chest flushed against yours.

Emmet slams his lips over yours, moaning into the kiss. You only break it to toss your head back with a long squeal.

“Emmeeet! S-so gooood!”

The silver haired man whines, you look so fucked out and perfect! Your eyes rolling back with drool dripping down your chin.

It has him cumming once again over the vibrator.

He wants more.

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ensnapemysenses · 2 years

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19 on the angsty/suggestive sentence starters post, a Lucius x male reader (if you don’t write male, fem is okay too)

When Lucius and the reader(who is a half-blood) were at Hogwarts, they used to be in a Secret relationship, but Lucius had to get married and all that, and The reader still in love with him

Please💙

Some Things Are Hard to Quit

Pairing: Lucius x Male Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI! 18+ Only!, Sex, Sexual Language, Cursing, Male-Male Relationship, Infidelity in Marriage

Masterlists

Prompt: "I loved you. Past tense."

Even though Lucius was married, he still called you on rare occasions. Each time he beckoned you responded to his call with great haste, dropping everything to be there. Usually, he just wanted a quickie and you happily obliged. It reminded you of the time back at Hogwarts when you two would slip off in secret for some quick alone time together. Back then, you had been in a secret romantic relationship, that was until Lucius ended things.

Being one of the last purebloods he had a duty to his family that he had to carry out; get married and produce offspring. As advanced as the magic community is compared to the muggle one, there still is no way for two men to have biological children, and you yourself are a half-blood anyway, not that it mattered much in the grand scheme of things. Lucius was and still is determined that he must continue in the ways of his family before him and he broke your heart in the process.

Deep down, you believe that he holds some form of love for you still. Otherwise, why would he continue to call you up for sex every now and then? You hold out hope that maybe one day he will accept his feelings and leave his wife, leaving you to raise his child with him alone.

You know that hope is slim, he seems relatively happy with her, but every time he corners you, your hard cocks rubbing together as you grind into each other during a passionate make-out session, you can’t help but think that maybe she can’t satisfy him the way you can. Maybe, just maybe, that is enough for him to one day realize that he would be better off with you.

Tonight was no different. Lucius had called upon you, for the third time this week, in fact. Now, he was thrusting into your hole violently, his cock pressing up against your prostate each time. The sensation was both painful and pleasurable, just the way Lucius likes you to take him.

“UH! Lucius! I’m coming! Lucius!” you scream in pleasure as you near your climax.

“Shh now, my prince. You need to last a little longer for daddy. Can you do that?” Lucius says, slowing his pace just a bit.

“I’ll try,” you say through gritted teeth as you attempt to hold back your floodgates.

Lucius caresses your head, running a hand through your hair before gripping it and pulling your head back. You groan in pleasure at the sensation.

“Such a good little whore,” he tuts. “You will come when I command you, got it?” he sneers.

“Yes, sir!”

“Good boy,” Lucius says with a smile.

The next moment, Lucius is pounding into you again, his long white hair disheveled and falling into his face. By the change in his force and rhythm you know he’s going to finish soon, but so are you. You hold back your orgasm with all your strength, you don’t want to disappoint him.

“You can come on the count of three. One. Two. Three.”

Both of you orgasm at the same time, Lucius groaning as his hot seed flows into you and you scream his name as yours gets all over his freshly washed white sheets. As you near the end of your climax, ‘I love you, Lucius' falls from your lips. You regret saying it the moment it does as Lucius stills and rolls away from you.

“We aren’t boys sharing in the pleasure of a secret romance anymore, (Y/N),” Lucius sneers.

“I - I still love you, Lucius! What is this all about if it’s not love?” you question.

“I loved you. Past tense. We are over now. This, all of this, is just simply a means of pleasure!”

“What about your wife then? Does she know about your other means of pleasure?”

“Actually, yes she does.”

“And she's fine with it?”

“More than fine, in fact, she’s got her own little playmates on the side as well.”

“I’m just some playmate to you! Fuck you, Lucius!” you scream. You hurriedly gather your things and redress. “Don’t bother calling for me again. I won’t come.

“I think,” Lucius starts, a hand trailing down your face causing you to shudder, “we both know that you will.”

Rushing away, you apparate back to your home, deep down you know that Lucius is right. You will return when he calls you again no matter how much you hate it. Some things are just hard to quit.

#lucius malfoy #lucius x reader #lucius x male reader #lucius smut #not sfw #lucius malfoy smut #ensnapemysenses

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catkibbleeater · 1 year

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His body has undergone terrible and wonderful transformations. He feels infinite pleasure as well as infinite pain. Infinite pleasu-pain!! HE IS SO HAPPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Quick, give him your wallet to bite down on!

#markiplier #yames #discover my body #psychological horror #bro underwent the flowering process

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carolinemillerbooks · 2 years

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/self-evident-truths/

Self-Evident Truths

Most of us remember January 6, 2021, when Republican Senator Josh Hawley raised his fist to indicate support for insurrectionists gathered outside the Capital. Many of his fellow Americans were shocked by his gesture, but not all. Recently, Hawley felt enough wind at his back to try rabble-rousing again, this time with a Bible in his fist. In his words, Without the Bible, there is no modernity. Without the Bible, there is no America. “Hold on, buckaroo. Your facts are wrong, I wanted to say. But The Editorial Board of The Kansas City Star had a better response. They reminded Hawley that many of our founding fathers weren’t Christians but deists. They pointed out the many times Thomas Pain attacked the Bible. Thomas Jefferson, they added, cut out parts of the New Testament to create a spiritual guide that eliminated superstition and nonsense. In 1785, James Madison charged that Christianity had been on trial for “fifteen centuries.” In his Memorial and Remonstrance, he opposed a Virginia legislative proposal to establish a state religion. Given our country’s history, The Editorial Board had no recourse but to regard Hawley’s remarks about ours as a Christian nation to be the “ramblings of an arrogant, partisan senator.” Hawley may be arrogant. Nonetheless, there is a method in his ramblings. Like the rest of The Republican party, he strives to divide our nation along religious, race, class, political, and economic lines. His endgame is to preserve a model of political and financial power that harkens back to slavery, an era where much of the nation’s wealth depended upon free labor. In the short run, slavery was a benefit to a privileged class that was willing to blind itself to the misery the system caused. These short-term gains withered over time, however, leaving the nation morally bankrupt and with a wealth gap we have yet to solve. One consulting firm speculates that the aftermath of slavery in the coming decades will “cost the U. S. economy $1 trillion to 1.5 trillion in lost consumption and investment. (“The Hierarchies of Weakness,” by Amitav Acharya, Foreign Affairs, July/August 2022, pg. 78.) Those who see themselves as the beneficiaries of that former system appear willing to foment division to preserve it. That might be good for them but the majority of Americans would fare better if those divisions were healed. As the matter stands, 1% of the world’s adult population controls 43% of global wealth while the remaining 54% controls 2% (Ibid pg. 77) If wealth were shared equitably, allowing women and minorities to move out of poverty, the resulting entrepreneurship and consumerism would secure America’s financial power. It would also grow the world’s wealth by $28 trillion over the next five years. (Ibid, pg. 81.) In that economy, no one would go to bed hungry. Contrary to the evidence, Republicans like Hawley advocate for a system that subjects large swaths of the population to discrimination. The result is violence and disruption. (Ibid, pg. 80.) No nation can long endure instability. At the moment, we are a country at cross-purposes. How do we save ourselves? We might begin by challenging old assumptions. Are democracy and capitalism inextricably linked, for example? As it stands, capitalism seems to work against the democratic notion of equality. Consumerism, the cornerstone of capitalism, requires purchasing power. Like a great Ponzi scheme, it appears to favor those who spend more. It also requires perpetual growth. The concept defies nature. Even the universe, scientists speculate will end. My blog on the fast fashion industry illustrated the harm of unbridled consumerism. As a society, we should examine its value. Last year Forbes published an article that listed the 4 best uses of money: 1) purchasing experiences rather than things; 2) concentrating on small pleasures. Data shows small pleasures provide greater satisfaction than big-ticket items; 3) spending money to buy time to enjoy small pleasures; 4) engaging in charitable giving. Studies show that being generous to others is one of the top six predictors of satisfaction. If governments pursued Forbes’ brand of consumerism, we would live in a different world. Capitalism may not be at odds with democracy. Our standards could be the problem. If so, what needs to be changed? Ever curious, scientists have studied the values of peaceful nations. Those with the greatest internal harmony promote public spaces and events that bring people together. Civic leaders rather than military figures are memorialized in statues. The media offers news without hyperventilating to gain attention. More statues to honor women and minorities, more green spaces, and a press that doesn’t monetize violence seem doable. Or, we could return to basics. We are a government of all people, by all the people, and for all the people. When we honor equality, we will be the masters of this system we call democracy

#Anita Acharya #are democracy and capitalism compatible?#consumerism a Ponzi scheme #deism #fast fashion #Forbes magazine #James Madison #Jan. 6 insurrection #Josh Hawley #Memorial & Remonstrace #money lost to social inequality #Republican party seeks social divisions #slavery's legacy in democracy #The Editorial Board of The Kansas City Star #Thomas Jefferson #Thomas Paine #U.S. & Christianity #unequal distribution of wealth #values of peaceful nations

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lupitalover · 4 years

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youtube

#lupitalover #black girls #azealia banks #black madonna #pleasue and pain #Youtube

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teejaysnow · 3 years

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I know the traditional birthday gift is birthday smut, but since I can’t write smut to save my life, here’s some birthday fluff in celebration of @ghostcat3000

(Thanks to @modestytreehouse for checking that I haven’t insulted anyone too much [apart from Sean Connery, sorry not sorry] - and to point out that I need to put a bit of a spoiler warning for some of Ghostcat’s fics. Consider yourself warned...)

Anyway, Happy Birthday, D, from Grumpsak, EBN and me.

“Yeah, and then there’s one where you’re a robot.”

Isak pushed himself up on his elbow and gave Even an offended look.

“Excuse me, where I’m a what?”

“A robot. Or a pleasurebot, if you want to get technical about it.” Even hesitated before continuing, “Well, if you want to get really technical about it you’re not really a robot. Or, well, you kind of are? That is, you you have built a robot you. And I fall in love with… well, both of you, I guess?”

“What’s a pleasu… no, don’t tell me, I really don’t want to know,” Isak decided with a quick headshake. He flopped back onto Even’s chest - causing Even to let out a pained huff - and wriggled into a more comfortable position, nuzzling his nose into the opening of Even’s bathrobe before tilting his head reflectively as an idea hit him. “Although do you think I could borrow one of those robot things to do the Graham Norton interview next week? Sana booked us on the early morning flight again, because she’s a horrible, horrible person who enjoys my pain way too much.”

Even scrunched up his nose and moved the obstinate curl that was tickling his chin out of the way before dropping a kiss to the top of Isak’s head.

“Sana is the nicest person we know,” he tried to argue before meeting Isak’s scandalised look and wisely abandoning the subject. “Anyway, probably not. But you could always leave the bot here so I won’t get lonely while you’re gone?” This suggestion was met with an indignant huff and a retaliatory poke to his stomach, but Even decided it had still been worth it. “Anyway, in another of her stories you’re in a school play.”

Isak stared at Even with the expression of a person who knows he’s about to ask a question he really doesn’t want to know the answer to.

“Ooookay…?” he prodded cautiously.

“Yeah. Romeo and Juliet. Magnus made you audition with him.”

Isak groaned, because…

“Of course Mags will fuck up my life in every universe, even the fictional ones.”

“So you play Juliet-”

“With you as my Romeo, I take it?”

“Uh uh. Some guy called Bille is your Romeo. I am the director.”

“Of course you are.” Even didn’t even have to check to know that the words were accompanied by an elaborated eye roll. “Let me guess, it’s a modern take of a classic play, very hipster-y with Baz whatshisname vibes, all saturated colours and moody music.”

Even twisted his neck into an uncomfortable angle to be able to give Isak an affronted glare.

“There is more to me than Baz Luhrmann, I’ll have you know,” he pouted. Isak just gave him an unimpressed look in return and Even accepted the inevitable. “Fine, so there might have been some allusions to Baz, but you’re way off on the colours.

To Even’s disappointment, Isak didn’t seem to take the implied “so there” to heart if his sniggers were anything to go by.

“Hipster-y, Baz, Romeo and Juliet? Ooooh, she knows you. And with a more monochromatic colour scale, then? Does that mean she’s another of your black and white movie nerd mutuals?”

“Mutuals? Really? Look at you all down with the tumblr lingo,” Even teased and Isak raised his eyebrows in pretended offense. “And yes, she might reblog the occasional classic movie gif, what about it?”

Even received a quick kiss to his torso as a reward for his honesty.

“Of course she does. Oh my god, you’re such a nerd,” Isak mumbled with an affectionate pat to Even’s chest.

“Anyway, you liked Psycho, does that make you one of my ‘black and white movie nerd mutuals’ too?” Even asked, combing his fingers through Isak’s hair and enjoying the affronted grumble at the question.

“Of course I liked Psycho, the actor who plays that Bates guy is hot. Definitely wouldn’t kick him out of my bed despite all the mummy issues.”

“Anthony.”

“Huh?”

“The actor’s name, it’s Anthony. Perkins.”

“What the fuck? He played the creepy guy in Silence of the Lambs too?”

Even gave Isak a resigned look and another quick kiss to his temple.

“That was Anthony Hopkins, my hopeless little fountain of completely inaccurate pop culture trivia.”

“It was? I thought Anthony Hopkins was the guy who played Bond?”

Even just stared at him for a moment, too aghast to even contemplate a reply.

“Please for the love of god tell me you’re joking,” he finally managed.

“What? Anthony Hopkins, he’s the old, Scottish guy with fucked up views on women, right?”

Even closed his eyes and shook his head.

“That’s Sean Connery, you cultural black hole.”

“Is it really? I thought Sean Connery was-”

“No,” Even interrupted him, putting a hand over his mouth. “Whatever you’re going to say will make me lose all respect for humanity forever. Please don’t ever speak again. Ever.”

Isak giggled as he rolled over and freed himself from the impromptu muzzle, blinking innocently at Even’s unamused expression.

“Come on, of course I know who Sean Connery is. He’s the lesser Bond and the guy who got outacted by Nicolas Cage in The Rock. Great film, by the way. Michael Bay, baby. And it’s in colour.”

“Oh, god…” Even moaned, trying to push Isak off of him. “You come into my house, you disrespect the name of Connery-“

“Two words. Daniel. Craig,” Isak replied confidently as he octopussy-ed himself around Even in an effort to remain on top of him. Even couldn’t really blame Isak for his triumphant expression, because as arguments go? That one was a good one. Admitting defeat, he returned to the previous subject.

“Whatever. What I was saying before you started being annoying was that it’s Ghostcat’s birthday today and you should wish her a happy birthday.”

“Right. Your movie nerd friend.”

“Hey. She also reblog cats. You like cats.”

Isak made a sound that could possibly be described as agreement. Possibly...

“I want to know more about those pleasurebots, though,” he demanded instead. “Show me.”

Had Isak looked up from where he was using his index finger to draw patterns on the part of Even’s chest left bare by the bathrobe, he might have changed his mind - because Even’s grin? Practically diabolical.

“As you wish,” he agreed as he reached for his ipad, tapped on the Safari icon and opened his bookmarks. “As you wish…”

#*sigh* let's post it from the right account this time...#happy birthday ghostcat #hope it's a good 'un #ot #ficlet #my shit #my fics

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

Note

do you think andy would be into a hard spanking, until you cry and shake and after he grabs your ass really hard while he pounds into you, making it hurt even more? I want him to be mean to me so bad

When you've been a bad girl? Daddy!Andy is gonna go wild on you.

He'll use his grip on your ass cheeks to pull you back on his dick after he left bruises all over it, just to really sink in his fingertips and hear your moans of pleasue reach that edge of painful bliss.

He wouldn't let you turn your head to watch him. Everytime you tried, another slap would make your skin burn, eliciting another yelp from you.

The feeling of you skin hitting your sensitive one? Perfection and torture, all at the same time.

#eyre talks #eyre talks andy barber #andy barber #smut

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

Absence Makes the Heart

04/17/2020

Pairing: Superman x Reader Word Count: 5,431

Warnings: language, lots of language, violence, blood, wounds, injuries, plenty of angst

DCEU Canon

A/N: I’ve been meaning to write this one down for a while. It’s based on a dream I had but I just went and added details and a little bit of backstory. Nothing too crazy. This will probably just be a one shot. The top half is heavily edited while the second half I just spat out because I was inspired and I went with it. Hopefully it’s good. This is my first foray into something other than Marvel, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Edit: I forgot to thank @babiiface95 @evansweaters and @sherrybaby14 for giving me some feedback on this! It helped tons!! xoxo

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

In this moment, all you can feel is the pain in your side.

You stumble forward, hitting the chestnut wood of your door hard. With nothing to brace yourself on, you slide along the length of it until you’re sitting, shoulder pressed against it.

“Ugh…” You groan, letting your hand trace the smooth grain until it can latch onto the handle. “Fuck this shit. I quit.”

You tell no one.

There hasn’t been anyone for months.

The door gives as you twist the knob sending you falling onto the small foyer of your apartment. You’re on the top floor, beside the penthouse. Your own place is small. Compact. Just three rooms, four if you count your bathroom.

You pull yourself along the dated ceramic tile and watch as you leave a smear of red behind you.

“Honey…” You begin, kicking the door shut while you stay flattered against the floor. “…I’m home.”

No one responds.

You exhale through your nose as annoyance rips through your chest.

“Fucker.” You say at no one, but obviously someone.

It takes every ounce of strength you have left to haul yourself into your bathroom. You peel off your suit, letting it drop to the floor in a whip of heavy fabric, space quality tech that was not fashioned on Earth but created for you.

To protect you.

Because he said he cared.

“Fucking…fucker.” You huff, yanking the first aid kit from the open shelf beneath your sink.

Your sports bra is drenched in sweat and blood, sticky against your skin as you plop yourself at the small kitchen table. You pull open the kit and reach for needle and thread.

It’s a messy stitch, clumsy and crooked from the angle you’re forced to work in. However sloppy, you do seal the wound to your ribs and the bleeding finally stops.

In your blood-soaked underwear, you make yourself a sandwich and stand at your counter, staring at the primary blue coffee cup sitting beside your own in teal.

You chew loudly, smacking your mouth as the bread sticks to the roof of your mouth. Eyes glaring at the cup, you bite down more fiercely. Tearing the food apart angrily.

“You’re a stupid bitch, Y/N. Get over it.” You sigh, then retreat to your bathroom to tidy up.

~~~~~~~~~~

Exhaustion is not your friend. It makes you cranky and irritable and sad because you can’t stand the silence in your home.

You groan, pressing your hand against your side gently, then reach for the remote and turn on the TV to war the silence.

It’s a cacophony of sound and for a moment, it grates your nerves. Some cartoon, loud and full of slapstick.

Next channel has people screaming at each other from opposite sides of a stage. Chairs begin to get thrown. A guy with a mullet takes off his shoe and chucks it at a man with one ear.

Next channel has an old black and white movie. The pretty woman with dark curls and a heart shaped face leans across a table, chin in her hand as she moons over the composed man who is smirking at her casually.

Nope. You think. No romance.

Next channel is the news.

“-sure what to make of what we’re seeing. It’s like nothing we have witnessed before. Veronica, can you tell us what’s happening?” The news anchor presses his hand to his ear, eyes squinted as he stares ahead.

The screen shifts and Veronica—a pretty woman with flowing red hair and deep blue eyes fills your screen.

“Miguel, it looks as if all of the ocean’s water is being pulled away from our coastline and out towards the ocean. Where the water is going, we aren’t sure. There is no way to know what this means or what can be causing it. And although we’ve seen this phenomenon happen in films, doomsday blockbusters where a tidal wave the height of a skyscraper builds up before the subsequent flood, experts are sure this is not at all what’s going on.

There are dozens of meteorologists, marine biologists, oceanographers, and astronomers still searching for the cause. The only thing that they all can agree on for certain is that the oceans are not withdrawing, but rather, they are draining, leaving sea life, coral reefs, and the ocean floor exposed.

“Something is pulling this water away. Whatever is causing this, is not natural.”

Sitting up, you place your elbows on your knees as the video changes to that of a helicopter shot as it circles the ever-decreasing ocean line. A humpback whale and her calf attempt to outswim the retreat, but they fail and as the water falls away, the creatures are beached between two sheer ocean cliffs.

“What the hell…” Reaching up, you cover your mouth, watching as the video moves back to Veronica.

“If we can’t figure out why the ocean is draining, we will have hundreds if not thousands of species left without chance of survival. This is not only a loss of a life for many endangered species, but also leaves us to face the consequences within our fishing industries and the millions of people it not only feeds but employs as well. If we cannot stop-”

Veronica suddenly stops speaking, holding her hand to her ear as she listens for a moment.

“Sorry, Miguel, it looks as if Doctor Rashda has found a source point for the draining. Doctor Rashda can you hear me?” Veronica asks, waiting for a moment before the video splits vertically.

The second frame of video sits empty, a sloping sandbank visible in the distance. It curves around in a semi-circle at the center of which is a growing swirl of dark blue water.

“Doctor Rashda?” Veronica asks again, her eyes frantic as they search a monitor out of view.

“Surrender.” A voice says, high pitched. Female. “Surrender and you will not suffer. Surrender your planet, and I shall make your end quick.”

Veronica is silent as the column of swirling water parts a little, just enough so that a pale face is visible.

“Surrender.” The voice says again, the pale face’s lips moving as it speaks. “And you will die quickly.”

Frowning, you move to the edge of your seat, your anger doubling.

“M-Miguel are you seeing this?” Veronica asks, voice small with fear.

Miguel doesn’t answer.

The figure in the water holds out its hand and from the swirl comes a smaller sphere. In this sphere something moves. As the camera zooms in, you can make out the distinct shape of a body, thrashing within its bubble.

Veronica screams just as you and everyone else that must be watching realizes that within the bubble is Doctor Rashda, struggling and gasping for breath.

You’re up on your feet, racing to pull your suit back on when a commotion pulls your eyes back to the TV, legs already in but with one shoulder exposed as you freeze mid-dress.

“He’s back!” Veronica is shouting gleefully. Relief and reverence painting her voice. “Superman is back!”

You move two steps closer to the TV, not intending to take the word of a panicked reporter. Until you can lay your own eyes on him then it isn’t real.

A few seconds pass. Then, a blur of blue and red streaks through the center of the bubble and when the water stops rippling, Doctor Rashda isn’t there.

“Motherfucker.”

You pull your suit on roughly, ignoring the way the movement tugs at your side as you zip up and launch out your open window.

You fall fast, plummeting towards the ground in a streak of teal and gray. When you’re only three feet away, you feel a surge of power as your arms, and legs burn with white hot energy.

It pushes you upwards and propels you higher and higher until you’re soaring across the sky at incredible speeds, leaving a silver trail of light behind you.

It only takes you minutes to reach the coast but sometime between you jumping out of your living room window and arriving here by the Golden Gate, the fight has moved cityside.

You hear a deafening crunch as blue and red goes slamming into black, gray, and brown ocean floor, disappearing into the subsequent rubble.

Heart pounding, you propel yourself towards a thin figure, long stringy black hair, sallow skin, arm still stretched out from her hit. She turns to look at you just as you reach her, but you throw your own fist out in a powerful uppercut. It throws the strange woman high into the air.

You follow for a few feet, hovering in there as you watch her skyrocket out of sight into dark clouds overhead.

Behind you the heap of ocean floor rubble begins to shift.

Coming to rest on the cliffside above, six feet below he breaks through the rock and it falls around him, a flurry of fine sediment saturating the air.

Chest heaving, side burning, heart clenched so tight you think it might truly be shredding, you watch as the fucker stands up and does a quick scan of the area looking just as perfect as he did when he left.

His eyes are focused, searching the sky for sight of his attacker but instead he finds you.

His eyes soften and you’re still so angry you glare. You turn on your heel and walk away, staring up at the sky as you wait for the woman to fall.

“Y/N…” You hear him say, but you don’t turn to look at him.

You can feel the swirling of wind as he flies up to you, the soft pats as his feet hit the ground. He circles around your right, leaning forward to get a better look at your face.

In your peripherals you can see the gentle curl of his dark hair, falling along his forehead and a hundred memories of your hand gently sweeping it aside make your body tremble.

The pleasure that the memory brings makes your blood boil and you roll your eyes, ignoring the puppy eyes he gives you.

“Let’s just get this over and done with. I’m tired.” You assert and watch as the strange woman careens towards the two of you, an inhuman screech growing louder as she falls.

Moving forward a few steps you aim yourself, bend your knees and launch yourself up towards her. As you collide, she grabs hold of your shoulders, and the two of you twist and spin in the air, struggling to get the upper hand.

Shifting quickly, you pull her over you, grab hold of her shirt front and with all the force in your body, you spin and chuck her down as Clark flies towards you to finish the job.

~~~~~~~~~~

A tattered white dress is all that remains of the ocean thief.

“Who was she?” Clark wonders, moving to stand beside you as you watch the stain of saltwater grow as her body dissolves to nothing.

“You don’t know?” You ask him, turning to look at him and hating how much it pleases you to finally see him again.

His broad body, thick with muscle and stupidly accentuated by his damn blue skintight suit, feels larger than before he left though you know that’s silly. He’s as God like as ever, though he’s only an alien. To the world, he’s a savior. Invincible.

Superman.

What really hurts to look at are his eyes.

It chokes you, those baby blues, full of unspoken questions and expectation. For you. For the future. For the present. He wants to know you again.

You tear your gaze back down to the woman as Clark shakes his head.

“No. I was flying home when I saw the ocean empty and followed the trail to the spout she was in.” Clark explains.

“Well, it’s too late to find out now.” You point out. “The water will come back soon. You’ll need to make sure people stay away from the coastline.”

Turning towards him, you wait, your rage evened out and layered with betrayal.

That painful gaze of his so piercing it nearly steals your breath away.

“Where were you, Clark?” You ask quietly, your anger outweighing the hurt.

The apologetic look he gives you, the tilt of his head, the step he takes towards you grates your nerves.

“Y/N-”

“It’s been months. Almost a year.” You sigh, unwilling to give in.

He takes your hand and the impulse to pull away nearly overwhelms you.

His hands are rough, only in that masculine way. His skin is unblemished. Perfect.

The strength of his movements are carefully calculated. A natural habit he’s developed after a lifetime of having to be gentle to keep from breaking those he touches. The heat from his hands is familiar and it envelops yours easily.

“I was coming home.” He tells you.

“Home? How do you know that it’s still your home? Maybe someone else has moved in.” You threaten and there’s a visible fall in his eyes.

It nearly breaks your icy exterior. But you have every right to be angry and hurt that he left you. Out of the blue, no word as to where he was going or when he’d come back.

“I have to go.” He’d said, and left you sitting on the couch, wondering when he’d come home.

He looks down at your hand in his, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand.

“You went to see her first, didn’t you?” You accuse and he quickly meets your gaze.

“No.” He assures you passionately, moving a little closer. “No, I was going straight home.”

“She’s been looking for you.” You tell him, tempted to confess how useless you’d been in those first few weeks he was gone. “All of them have been. Where is Superman? Is the million-dollar question. And now here you are.”

He’s back just as randomly as he’d left. Just as sudden. Just as quiet.

“There he is!” A familiar voice shouts. On the bank across the large ravine you both stand in Veronica appears looking dazzled and excited, her camera man hoisting up his camera to begin what will be the first clear footage of Superman finally back. Earth’s hero returned.

Quickly you pull your hand from his and turn to walk away.

“Where are you going?” He asks, following for a few steps.

“Home. I’ve been in Australia for the last month dismantling a new crime syndicate with Bruce. He and I are both very tired. He stayed behind.”

“Oh.” Clark says.

“Superman!” Someone calls. “Superman is back!”

Civilians have begun to gather along the empty waterway, all of them eager for a glance at the Man of Steel.

You know how you made it sound and maybe it’s your annoyance making you push him away now that he’s home, but all you can think about is getting back home and being alone.

“The water will be back, Kal.” You shift to his birthname with so many ears nearby. “Get these people away.”

You leave him standing there, watching you fly away, with those baby blues full of quiet yearning.

~~~~~~~~~~

The apartment…your home…it’s a void.

You sit on the arm of your sofa still in full uniform, hand gently resting on your thigh—palm up. You’re a mess again. Dirty with blood and dirt and sweat.

Needing a shower doesn’t do much to deter your silly brooding. Silly because you did this to yourself. You made it seem like you had someone new waiting for you here when really the bleak emptiness is in need of a six-foot, three-inch tall Kryptonian.

His presence is here. Loud and white hot. His coffee cup burns you from across the kitchen—asking where its owner is. His drawer still full of clothes. Comfy sweatshirts and crisp white t-shirts. Blues and grays and reds too.

There’s one you’d set aside. The last he’d worn. Only once. It had sat on the end of your bed night after night until you’d caved and pulled it on. Now it probably smells more like you than him.

The place is silent. Only the drip, drip, drip of the bathroom sink breaks the quiet.

Your gaze wanders to his shoes by the door, shoelaces left undone, a small speck of mud on the side of the left heel.

Shutting them, your eyes water.

No. You shake your head. I won’t cry.

You take a shaky breath and release it slowly, sighing as your body slumps forward.

The movement reminds you of your earlier wound and you gasp in pain as you sit up straight again, leaning to the side to look at the spot growing increasingly wet on your side.

“Shit.” Stitches are probably torn open. “Fuck.”

Maybe it’s your frustration with this whole situation or maybe your wound really just hurts a lot, but as you reach over to feel the bloody spot, your voice finally breaks. Though there are no tears, they really want to fall.

“Fucking, stupid, fucking…” You sigh again, this time faster, angry.

“That’s a lot of French.” Clark says, his voice smooth and even and excruciatingly beautiful to your ears.

You stand up, startled, and spin to watch him pull his left leg in through your open window, following his torso.

He’s still in his suit, cape and all. Once again, the sight of him reminds you of his Godlike status. His perfection unreachable and yet, here he is. In your home. Where he’d given himself to you openly and without reservation.

He stands there, his hands clenched into nervous fists. Skin just as dirty as yours but not sweaty. Not bloody. His hair is a little disheveled. The tresses normally so carefully tempered are free to curl and wave.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice still weak from your raw emotional outburst.

“I went to see Bruce.” He explains, and you might just kick yourself for implying Bruce would be waiting for you. “Why-?”

“Because I wanted to hurt you.” You admit, cutting him off before he can word the question. “Because I wanted you to regret leaving me the way you did.”

“I do regret it.” He sighs. “I-I only left because I thought I heard…”

He hesitates and you’re tempted to kick him out. You turn away from him and move into the kitchen, trying to ignore the wound that needs tending.

With your own coffee cup in hand, you pop a k-cup in your Keurig and punch the power button, waiting for it to power on before you select the largest cup option and listen to the whirr of the motors instead of Clark’s silence.

“I went to Krypton, or what’s left of it.” Clark finally says, this time from the mouth of your kitchen archway, hands still clamped tight.

You shut your eyes tight, hands clinging to the edge of your counter. Squeezing ever tighter until they begin to ache, and you still only keep squeezing.

“I wish I could be as impressed by that answer as I was the first time you told me that.” You shake your head.

“It was different this time, Y/N.” He shakes his head, then takes a step closer.

The movement draws your eyes and you watch the intense focus on his face, the uncertainty to speak.

“What is it?” You ask, still a little bitter.

Even though he looks as if he means it and this trip to Krypton is more serious, he’s not speaking. He’s keeping this from you. Holding it back.

“Jesus fucking Christ Clark, I guess you don’t trust me.”

“No.” He insists, moving another step closer which still leaves him a ways away from you in the kitchen. “It’s not that. I do trust you. More than anyone. But…”

You want to scream at him. You want to tell him to go to hell and to stay away from you and to shove his excuses up his ass, but your curiosity is growing.

There’s a small panic in his baby blue eyes. A fear.

So, you wait. You hold your tongue. You’re patient for now. You give him a familiar silence that tells him you will wait until he’s ready.

He recognizes it and meets your quizzical gaze as your coffee finishes brewing.

You don’t even realize it’s done as you stare into Clark’s eyes and he stares into yours.

The moment he decides, his shoulders relax. His jaw drops a fraction of an inch as he stops clenching his teeth.

As the weight on his shoulders is visibly lifted, you feel yourself relax too. Nearly a year of being without him and you’re still so attuned to his moods.

“I found someone.” He tells you. “On another planet, in a Kryptonian ship that had been sent only days after my own.”

“Another Kryptonian?” You ask, curious but also fearful.

You remember very clearly the last Kyrptonian that had come to Earth. Zod and his minions had torn Metropolis to shreds. They’d killed so many people and Clark had made the hardest decision in his life.

Not that you’d been there. She’d been there. But Clark had let you in on the weight of that moment. The choice that he hated to make but would gladly do so again.

He must see the fear in your eyes because he shakes his head and takes yet another step towards you.

“No. Don’t be scared. Really. She’s-”

She?!

“-she’s harmless.” You frown at him because that’s the stupidest fucking thing he’s said since getting back. Maybe the stupidest thing ever.

“Okay,” He amends. “Maybe not harmless, exactly. She’s my cousin, Y/N. And she needed help.”

“Your cousin?” You ask, voice low and full of questions.

“From what I can tell, she was sent here after me, but when her ship was knocked off course, she was trapped in form of hypersleep for a long time. She was older than me, but now she’s a lot younger.” Clark continues to explain, speaking with some gusto now that you’ve allowed him to pick up some momentum.

“Where is she?” You wonder.

“I left her with a family that can take care of her. Someone that I trust. Far away from me. She’s still very young and I think it would be best if she remained hidden for a while. Just until she learns how to control her abilities here on Earth and to give the world time to get used to the idea of another Kryptonian.” He takes one more step.

“After Zod, I don’t know that there is any amount of time that would prepare the world for a Supergirl.” You frown.

With your defenses lowered, Clark takes the opportunity to step even closer, finally stopping beside you.

He hesitates again, this time as he reaches to take hold of your elbow. His fingers press against your arm gently like he’s stroking piano keys. Testing to see if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

He lifts your arm a little and doesn’t break eye contact with you until your arm is lifted enough that he can get a clear look at the red on your side. Head tilted to the right as he assess the injury.

Straightening his head, he slides his hand down to your hand, taking it before gently pulling you away from the kitchen, through your bedroom, and into your bathroom, switching on lights as he goes.

Watching him be like this has always been your favorite. He moves with a purpose, eyes trained on what he’s looking for without a glance spared your way.

You stand beside him as he holds your hand, hunched over to look under the sink for your first aid kit.

After he retrieves it, he pulls you back out into the kitchen. There’s more room there for both your bodies, especially with his taking up so much space.

He places the kit on the floor before he pulls you in front of him. Both of his hands find your waist and he lifts you up onto the edge of the counter to sit.

Slightly surprised, you gasp and place your hands on his shoulders, tracing the muscle while you can do so discreetly until you must remove them and place them at your sides.

Clark steps towards you, his hard abdomen pressed up against your legs as he wraps both arms around you, hands searching for the zipper on your back. Leaning over your shoulder to get a look at it, he’s almost hugging you.

And you can’t stand the tease of it.

The movement is quick, and he leans back again once he’s got the suit undone.

“What happened?” He asks as he hooks his thumbs into the top of your suit and pulls it down over your shoulders, your biceps—then holds the arms still as he waits for you to pull them out—then bunches it down along your waist to expose your injured side. “Lift your arm.”

You do as he ass, wincing as it tugs on the reopened cut.

“This is deep.” He disapproves.

“Bruce and I really were in Australia. One of the guys caught me with a knife just as we were getting them rounded up.” You explain.

“This is gonna hurt.” He tells you as he pulls the kit onto the counter beside you and pulls out a pair of small scissors and tweezers.

It takes him almost no time at all to snip away the broken threads and clean the wound again.

He waits, thinking for a moment, then meeting your gaze.

“Do you want something for the pain?” He checks, eyebrows raised in worry.

“Just do it, Clark.” You sigh, frustrated because this is all too familiar. This proximity, the smells, the heat, the way his hands poke and prod at the edges of your cut.

His eyebrows gather together as his jaw flexes with a frown, staring at the cut as he threads the needle quickly.

A proper needle this time, sanitized and threaded properly.

Taking your lifted arm, he pulls it over his head onto the opposite shoulder and places your hand there where his cape meets his suit.

“It’s gonna hurt.” He says again, and you realize he’s giving you something to squeeze.

And he’s right. Without the adrenaline from before, you feel every stitch and you’d thin you would get used to this sensation. But it hurts like fuck all and you squeeze his cape tight until you can’t help but give a small yell in annoyance.

“Why is it always the little wounds that hurt the most?” You sigh as he sips the thread and moves to clean his work area.

“You should go shower.” Clark says as he sanitizes the counter. “Be careful with your stitches.”

You don’t fight him on this because you desperately need another shower. Maybe if you’d been fine, you would have argued, but you’re dirty and aching.

When you emerge from the bathroom, you find that the sky outside has darkened. You dress quickly, just a pair of black old cutoff sweats and one of Clark’s gray hoodies.

You’re absolutely swimming in it, but it’s so soft and comfortable. Loose so that it doesn’t add any pressure to your stitches.

The apartment is so quiet you stand there, pulling the sweatshirt down as you listen intently for any kind of movement.

“Clark?” You call, just a little insecure after months of his absence.

You move out into the living room. The floorboards creak and moan as they settle beneath your feet. The large carpet in your living room silences your steps but you also stop walking, staring at the empty kitchen, then the empty living room.

Had you dreamt him?

Maybe he really isn’t back?

What if you’ve finally gone crazy?

What if he’s never coming back and you’d passed out after you got back from Australia and everything with the ocean had been a dream?

Are you really going nuts?

There’s a soft thud from your bedroom and with eager footsteps you rush back in.

Sitting on his side of the bed with his bare feet planted on the ground, Clark is hunched over. Elbows on his knees. Hands resting relaxed at the wrist while he stares at the floorboard underneath your bedroom window.

“Clark…” You sigh, not realizing how relieved you sound.

He’s changed, wearing a pair of gray sweats and a plain white t-shirt.

He looks good. Showered. His curls just barely damp.

“Am I welcome here?” He asks, staring ahead.

You move to the bed and climb on, walking on your knees towards him until you stop just a foot away and sit back on your legs.

It’s a good question. One you think on for a moment.

“You didn’t come back for ten months, Clark.” You sigh, hating that fact. “I didn’t know if something had happened to you or maybe you’d decided to leave me and Earth behind altogether? Mostly I just thought you were dead. I spent most of my time convincing myself that you’re so close to invincible that killing you might be impossible but-”

“I’ve died before.” Clark says, hating the idea that people think him a God. He turns towards you and frowns.

His words, however true they may be, send painful clenches into your chest.

Your face does something that makes his demeanor shift. Suddenly he’s sitting beside you, arm wrapped around your waist as he reaches up to push your hair back and away from your face.

His fingers graze the skin of your neck and he hooks it there, squeezing gently.

“I’m not dead.” He says, maybe guessing your thoughts of madness? “I’m right here.”

“But you weren’t.” You shake your head. “And I was so angry at you. I hated you. I cursed your name. Fuck that guy. Stupid fucker. I hate him.”

Clark simply watches you, his eyes moving side to side as he looks at your face and every expression that crosses your features.

The one thing that you’ve always loved about Clark, is the way that you can tell he’s really listening. Not once have you felt as if you weren’t being heard. Even if he doesn’t agree with whatever you’re saying, he listens so intently, trying to understand your point of view before he poses his own.

And you love him for it.

Shit. You still love him. Of course, you do. Of course, he’s always been yours.

Even in his absence, you were his and he was yours.

“I said that almost every night, hoping that you would hear me and come back. But you didn’t.”

“But I did.” Clark says. “I’m here. And I’m sorry I left without explanation. I’m sorry that I put you through that. And I know that you can’t forgive me for it. That I’ll be trying to earn your trust again every day that we’re together. But, please can I stay?”

He rubs your lower back, his large hand sending heat into every inch of your heart. Restarting it after he killed it ten months ago.

“Please?” He begs. “All I’ve thought about is getting back here. To you. To our home and our life together.”

You shut your eyes, relishing in the way his arms feel around you, his hands large and hot. His breath is sweet and warm. His scent is clean and so him that it makes your stomach flutter.

You won’t need that shirt of his anymore. Now you have him back, here with you. Where you can touch and feel and love and laugh and just be with him.

“Or should I leave?” He asks.

Your eyes pop open, red fury raging through them. “You do and I’ll hunt you down, Kent.”

He smiles, softly at first. But when your hand begins to trace the taut sinew of his muscly forearm, his smile grows wider. It grows and grows until it’s blinding and beautiful.

You trace the curve of his shoulder, tickle his neck before reaching up to smooth the curls that fall against his forehead gently.

He shuts his eyes, enjoying the affection before you push yourself forward between his legs and settle on your side.

You cuddle into the center of his chest, tucking yourself between his arms, head on his chest, under his chin, arms grabbing tight to the soft cotton of his shirt.

“I missed you.” He whispers against your hair.

You smile, shutting your eyes as you let yourself finally be at ease. Clark is home.

#superman x reader #superman x reader fanfiction #superman x you #superman x y/n #clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x reader fanfiction #clark kent x y/n #dceu fanfiction #dceu #superman fanfiction #superman fanfic #superman fic #superman x reader fic #clark kent x reader fic #Absence Makes the Heart #shreddedparchment

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crossbowking · 4 years

Text

More Than This

Summary: (Set during season 3) Daryl and Reader are on a supply run when they find themselves under attack.

A/N: Hi everyone! So this is the very FIRST installment of a series I want to start on my page where we get a bunch of author’s together and write a collective one-shot! I had a blast putting this together. It was so amazing to get a feel for everyone’s different writing styles and it was also super cool how the story ended up blending together.

The order in which we wrote was chosen by a random number generator. After all the participating author’s sent me their pieces, I edited them together -- some stuff was changed or cut for continuity purposes/length. The only thing us author’s had to go off of was the summary -- the rest was up to us! Everyone seriously did AMAZING.

Each author will be tagged after their correlating piece, so be sure to give them all some love!

Thank you to everyone who participated! I hope you all enjoyed the experience!

Happy reading!

xx crossbowking

Masterlist

Tip Jar

Dim and dirty sunlight filtered in through the grimy supermarket windows, providing enough light to see the walker’s blood staining the worn linoleum.

You wrinkled your nose and yanked your knife out of its rotting head before stepping away from the mess. The stabbing you'd gotten used to, but you didn’t think you’d ever get used to that smell.

You looked up when someone stepped into the aisle, but it was only Daryl. You’d recognize those broad shoulders and that crossbow anywhere. You gave him a quick smile and cleaned your blade on the walker’s torn pants. “I think this is the last of them.”

Daryl looked down at the walker. “Better stick together, just in case.”

You nodded, re-sheathing your knife and letting him lead the way.

The two of you did one more sweep of the store before you started your search. You went aisle by aisle, looking under broken shelves and moving piles of cardboard and other debris. But your mind was only half on the task at hand, too distracted by thoughts of Daryl.

You didn’t know exactly when you began to notice the clear blue color of his eyes or how much you wanted to reach out and brush the hair out of his face when it began to grow long. You didn’t know when you started missing him when he was off hunting or how happy it made you when he came back safe.

All you knew was that you were head over heels and that kind of scared you.

You chanced a glance at him and when he looked up from what he was doing and met your gaze, you felt that familiar lurch in your chest. The mad urge to tell him how you felt overtook you. “Daryl, I —”

The front door of the store slammed open, cutting the moment short. You had time to whip around and take in several bedraggled men spilling into the store and realized they were aiming their weapons at you.

But Daryl was there and he was grabbing your arm and yanking you into his chest and diving behind the nearest piece of cover just as shots began to split the air. (@mundieoriley)

Your heart pounded in your ears along with the sound of hailing gunshots.

Daryl held you in an almost painful grip against him, the furious look of protection etched onto his face.

You desperately tried to catch your breath, feeling panic start to rise inside you.

These people came from absolutely nowhere. How long had they been following you? How could you have not noticed? How could Daryl not have?

You had no time to speculate as the sudden silence that followed was just as jarring.

As you stirred in his arms, Daryl pulled away just enough to look you in the eyes and placed a finger to his lips. You nodded and felt yourself calm slightly, the blue sincerity of his eyes radiating some kind of strength you believed in.

"Find ‘em," a gruff voice called out against the stark silence. "Gut the asshole, but don't mark up the girl.”

You could hear the sneer in the man's voice and your stomach turned.

Daryl's grip on your ribs tightened at the words possessively, and if it wasn't any other situation, you would have enjoyed the sensation to no end.

You, in turn, tightened your grip on your knife, trying to be ready for anything.

The sudden sound of multiple people walking in your direction made your eyes flick to Daryl's in a plead. A plead for direction, a plan, any communication as to what you should do. But Daryl had hardened over, the look on his face showing that he was ready to take on a hundred men if that's what it was going to take. (@rhyatt-deauxtreve)

He didn't move until it was almost too late.

You tried to loosen his grip because the men were so close and you had to move now. And then you were roughly pushed forward, Daryl's hands no longer holding you tight against his chest.

You ducked away when the first bullet hit the shelf to your left. You didn’t have time to think, you just ran, half bent, hiding behind cabinets and shelves. Your blood was boiling and you distinctly heard the beats of your own heart. Somewhere behind you, the deafening whistle of a bolt cut through the air.

Suddenly Daryl was a little ahead and on your left. He turned around, loaded the crossbow, hiding behind the wall, and fired another bolt.

They were close, too close, and the small distance that you’d managed to win was rapidly shrinking.

As if through the cotton wool in your ears, you heard Daryl suddenly groan in pain.

A bullet had gone through his right side.

“Daryl!” you yelped.

But before you could react, he grabbed your hand and pushed you into a small room, looking over his shoulder every few seconds. “Lock the door and stay quiet,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“What!” you yelled and immediately lowered your voice. “Are you out of your mind? Get in here, there are too many of them!”

“Ain’t gonna fight,” he shot you a glare. “Gonna lead ‘em away. Now listen to what I say and stay.”

And then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

Soon you heard firing and shouts. The men ran past your door. You stopped breathing and closed your eyes, praying to whatever God for them to pass you by.

And then, as soon as it had started, the firing stopped.

Sudden silence engulfed the store.

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing. You no longer heard the voices and shooting. Just dead silence.

And that’s when fear, primal fear, took over. (@aisling-beatha)

"Well, this sucks like the world's worst vacuum,” you muttered to yourself in nervous indecision, breathing away the panic before the idea of hysterical screaming could set in. You chewed on your fingernail while pacing the length of the musty, moth-infested maintenance closet. "Honestly, what was the man thinking? He's just been shot, for God's sake! He has no business leading a bunch of murdering thugs anywhere. It should be me leading them away.”

Your eyes narrowed and your jaw set as everything inside settled into a deadly calm.

You eased the door open a crack and peeked through, knives at the ready, along with a sturdy wrench you'd found and shoved into the back pocket of your jeans.

Sensing nothing of immediate import, you crept out into the gloom of the store's main area to search for clues as to Daryl's whereabouts, all the while keeping to the deepest shadows in complete silence.

One of the raiders was crouched over a fallen display of ratty old magazines, no doubt rummaging for one where the women wore as few clothes as was decent for the mass consumption standards of a grocery store.

Sliding up behind him like a ghost in the night, you pounced.

After a quick and dirty wrestling match — though he had the size advantage, he was stupid-drunk and you had the jump on him. One heavily booted foot dug into the man's spine as you leaned over him, blade a hair's breadth away from slicing his throat.

Your voice was flat, low, and completely without mercy. "I'll ask only once. Where is my friend?” (@darylconnieftw)

He slowly let go of the magazine still in his grip, starting to chuckle.

You felt anger rising in you as his lips formed a slight smirk. You couldn’t help but press your knife even closer to his throat, trying not to kill him then and there.

He lifted both of his hands in defense, visibly amused.

You swallowed, hoping Daryl was still alive and okay – or at least as okay as he could be considering he had gotten shot.

The man moved a little, making you shove your knife against his larynx, clarifying that you wouldn’t hesitate to slice his throat if he did something stupid.

“Whoa,” is all he came up with, glancing up at your silhouette.

You bit your lip, the taste of blood encasing your teeth as you tilted your head to look him dead in the eye. “I ain’t joking,” you stated, causing him to raise his eyebrows in a small nod.

You took a deep breath, calming yourself, before taking the knife off his throat and onto his lower arm, placing a deep cut on his wrist before pulling it back up. He screamed out in pain, his eyes asking for permission to stop the bleeding with his shirt, which you granted.

You listened to his panicked breath for a few seconds, blinking a few tears away. “I asked you something,” your voice was barely more than a whisper, yet low and aggressive.

He stared at you, stuttering as he answered. “The, uh, the guy with the dirty hair and, and, and wings on the back of his, uh, vest?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning in. “Are there any other people your group attacked in here?”

He swallowed and shook his head as you suddenly noticed a shadow to your side. (@rxsenkrxnz-imagines)

A good thing that had come out of all of this was that after the world ended, you’d acquired very good reflexes.

It was vital to have them good and sharp now, it was the new normal. You would’ve died many times over if you hadn’t, everyone would.

And that’s what got you to swirl around without even having to think about it, bringing the man’s overweighted body with you to face the source of the shadow, the knife nicking at the skin of the big man’s neck, making him whimper. There was a flicker of proudness and a dirty pleasure inside your chest for being able to make a big, bad man whimper.

You’d never thought that you’d be able to do that one day.

From over his shoulder, your eyes focused on another man, this one much more threatening looking than the one under your knife. He was lean and muscular and the hatred and danger in his eyes made you shiver, even though you didn’t let any of them notice.

“Stop right there, asshole,” you said between clenched teeth and the firmness of your voice surprised even yourself. “Or I’ll slit his throat open!”

Of all the things you thought the man would do, a smile was not one of them.

He lowered his head, keeping his eyes on yours, the smile making you sure you’d vomit after all of this was over. “Do it,” he said. “I don’t care. Go on, darling. Do it.” (@elisdays)

Well, that was not what you were expecting to hear.

You recognized the man’s voice though, it was the same one who spoke earlier and you put together that he was probably the thug pack leader. “Don’t test me!” you shouted, although you were sure he wasn’t testing you.

A snicker escaped the man’s lips. “I ain’t testing you, darling, I mean it. Do it, kill him.”

“C-come on, man! Don’t egg her on, she actually will!” the man in your grasp whimpered as he begged for his life.

The leader’s eyes fell on the one you held captive. “Sorry, Greg, but you know how it is. The more of you around, the less time we all have with this pretty one. Be a good boy and let her kill you. You’ll be remembered for your loyal sacrifice.” His words sent a shiver up your spine.

These people, no, these monsters were absolutely sick. You already knew that this new world brought either the worst or the best out of people. It was just unfortunate that most of the world became the worst versions of themselves.

“Go on, princess! What are you waiting for?” the man took a step towards you as he urged you to kill his henchman.

You needed to think of something and fast.

“You know what? This is a waste of time,” the man sighed, pulling his gun from its holster.

You gasped as Greg screamed, the thug leader pulling the trigger and shooting Greg in the head. You felt the dead weight of his body fall limp onto you and you tried to use this to your advantage. You shoved the dead body forward and ran, dashing behind shelves as the body fell onto the thug leader.

You needed to get out, you needed to get away from these people and most importantly, you needed to find out where the hell Daryl went.

Panic struck your heart when you thought about him. Was he okay? Did he run into more of them? Did he kill them? You shook your head before you could finish your thought process. Now was not the time to panic and cry. (@ddixons-angel)

Pull yourself together — that’s what you had to do now.

You crouched down behind one of the empty shelves, near the exit. But what were you to do? Not like it was an easy decision to make. You had to stay alive, that much was clear. Ending up dead wouldn’t be too big a use to Daryl right now.

The thing that worked in your favor was the thing that terrified you most. The reason for these men wanting you alive had very little to do with the goodness of their hearts.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of the grumbling leader, seemingly to have wrestled free of his buddy's dead body.

You should’ve been out of here by now, but you knew that running blindly wasn't going to do you much good — who could even guarantee that you wouldn’t be running straight into the rest of the guy's merry band of thugs? No, you weren’t an idiot.

You stilled completely, not daring to draw a breath as you heard the man's footsteps creep your way.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he sang out mockingly, stupidly giving out his exact position.

He was just a shelf away, practically standing right behind you. (@of-storms-and-sadness)

Once he was at arm’s length on the other side of the broken shelf, you reached through with your blade, stabbing him twice in the thigh.

The pain you inflicted caused the man to groan out, cursing through gritted teeth. When he composed himself, he swung around the corner but was met with an empty aisle, excluding the cans and blood that littered the floor.

Before he could take another confused step, you struck from behind, going for his armed hand.

With his wrist in your grasp, you forced the barrel to face off to the side. The gun went off as you backed him into the shelf, using the opportunity to jab your blade into his abdomen once — twice — thrice.

If you hadn’t caught him off guard, you highly doubted that would’ve been the outcome.

The combination of his back slamming against a hard object, your deadly grip on his dominant hand, and you gutting him, caused the gun to slip from his hold and clatter to the floor. You managed to kick the weapon aside before you were roughly shoved into the rack across from you with such force it knocked, not only the air out of your lungs, but your knife out of your hand.

Blinking away your blurred vision, your mind frantically tried to come up with an idea of what to do next. Should you try to reach for the discarded gun? Your knife?

No — there was another weapon in play.

Just in the nick of time, you shrieked and ducked down, barely missing the fist that was meant to make contact with your face. You kneed him in the groin before reaching into your back pocket, feeling the wrench that you had nabbed from the maintenance closet earlier.

Positioning yourself behind the crouched man, you held both ends of the tool, bringing it over his head and to his neck. Your back greeted the ground as you laid there and applied pressure, choking the life out of the once cocky and determined bastard.

“Be a good boy and let me kill you,” you taunted his words back at him through clenched teeth as he struggled.

Once the man went limp, you shoved his body off you with a grunt and went to grab your knife and the owner-less gun — it was yours now.

All of a sudden a shot rang out.

Daryl.

Where was Daryl? (@twdeadlysins)

You squatted down, jamming the knife in your hand into the soft flesh of the leaders’ temple, knowing that it could only take mere minutes for the dead to rise again.

You slowly crept over to the entrance of the store and peeked outside, checking if there were any more of the thugs outside.

Your hands were slightly shaking and your heart beating frantically in your chest as your eyes traced the empty street outside of the store. You needed to get to Daryl fast, he needed your help.

The gunshot you had heard had nearly made your heart stop. Had the thugs already killed him?

Since you could not spot any immediate danger, you slowly made your way out of the store.

You chewed nervously on your bottom lip. You had not seen what direction Daryl had led the thugs, but you figured you just had to start somewhere.

You held the knife in your hand, your eyes and ears ready to pick up any movement or sound as you moved along the side of the building. You glanced over your shoulder, making sure that no one was creeping up on you as you moved forward.

Your steps suddenly came to an abrupt halt as you bumped into something solid.

You yelped and raised your hand, ready to strike, but a firm hand around your wrist stopped you.

“Easy girl, it’s just me,” you heard Daryl’s raspy voice and your wide frightened stare locked with his sky blue orbs.

You let out a relieved whimper and threw your arms around his neck, hugging him. “I thought you were dead, I heard a gunshot,” you said as you hugged him tightly.

Feeling how he flinched, you took a step back and your eyes traced down to his side where he was shot.

“Oh god, you’re hurt. We need to get you back to the others before you bleed out,” you whispered, feeling your heart start to speed up again.

The two of you were not out of danger yet. Daryl was shot and you knew it was up to you now to get you both to safety. (@easnuppa)

You wrapped your arms around Daryl's waist, leading him toward the truck you’d parked a little way back.

Fear gripped at your heart with every step you took, every wince Daryl tried to keep in, every little bit of blood he was losing. “Nearly there, hold on,” you pleaded to Daryl, the truck finally coming into view.

You opened the passenger side door and took as much of Daryl's weight as you could, helping him get in. You took a glance at Daryl as he sat in the passenger seat, his head leaned back on the headrest and his eyes closed.

You had never been more scared in your life as you were right there in that moment.

You quickly closed his door and rushed to the driver's seat where you promptly started the engine and began your tense journey back to the prison.

With every minute that passed, your panic started to rise, Daryl's breathing started to slow, and more blood was seeping through his fingers that were putting pressure on his gunshot wound.

“Keep pressure on it, Daryl, you hear,” you said loudly, trying to keep him awake and distracted.

But as you looked over to him, he was unresponsive.

“Daryl!” you screamed louder, hoping to wake him up, but failed. “God, no please,” you begged, tears threatening to fall as you took the hand you didn’t need and placed it on his wound, keeping the blood flow at a minimum.

“Daryl, don’t leave me, you can't do this to me,” tears now falling down your face as the gates of the prison came into view. “Please help me, it’s Daryl!” you screamed out the open window to whoever was on watch.

“He's breathing but barely,” you informed whoever came to help, feeling helpless as you

watched them cart off Daryl’s unconscious form. (@jodiereedus22)

Everything felt fuzzy.

The world spun around you, noises muted and muffled as the driver’s side door was yanked open. A pair of hands grasped onto your arms and you allowed yourself to be pulled from the truck, finding it impossible to move on your own.

A rough hand grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze upwards, your vacant eyes locking with Rick’s frantic ones. He was mouthing something you couldn't quite make out, his hands moving to grip either one of your shoulders, giving you an abrupt shake. “— happened? What happened, Y/N?” Rick’s voice broke through the fog, scanning your features wildly.

You opened your mouth to respond, confused as to why no words seemed to be coming out.

Rick appeared to swallow his frustration, instead taking a deep breath and placing his hand on the side of your neck. “Hey, hey, it’s alright, Y/N, it’s alright,” he soothed before his eyes hardened. “Was this the Governor?”

You swallowed audibly, forcing yourself to calm. “I-I —” you stuttered, exhaling shakily. “I don’t think so. W-We got — we, uh, we got ambushed. And Daryl —” your voice broke at the thought of what had happened.

“Listen ta’ me, Y/N,” Rick intervened, his tone noticeably softer. “Ya did all ya could do, alright? Ya got him home. Ya did all ya could do,” he reiterated.

You took a steadying breath. “I-I need to see him — I need to be with him.”

Rick nodded, a knowing look in his eyes. “I know ya do.”

Things still felt hazy as you made your way into cell block C. (@crossbowking)

You sat on top of the steps and waited for news on Daryl. You hoped that he was going to be okay.

After a little while, Hershel hopped out of his cell. "I stitched up his side. But he hasn't regained consciousness yet and his breathing is labored,” he told you.

You headed inside and looked at him.

"Just give me a shout if he wakes up,” Hershel told you and left you alone.

You looked at Daryl and sat beside him. "Dare, you have to wake up, please,” you said with tears in your eyes. (@leej2468)

You hoped he heard you so he knew he wasn’t alone.

The afternoon dragged on slowly, yet you never left his side, afraid he would wake alone. You waited impatiently, perched on a stool next to his bedside.

The events of the day played in your mind, making your heart shatter more at the fact that Daryl almost got himself killed trying to keep you safe. Furiously swiping at the tears forming in your eyes, you just hoped that he would wake up and everything would go back to normal.

But you knew, deep down, you didn’t want things to go back to normal. The unspoken feelings you had were eating you alive and today just proved that you had to tell him before something happened to either of you. You knew he cared for you, he fucking proved that today, but you had to tell him that you wanted more.

You couldn’t help but take his limp hand in your own, slightly squeezing. Eyes trained on your joined hands, you almost didn’t notice his eyes flicker open slowly.

He didn’t say a word, only gripping your hand tightly, eyes wild. “Yer alright,” he managed to gasp out, his other hand reaching up to touch your face.

“Don’t try to move,” you whispered a reply. “Let me get Hershel, okay?”

“Don’t,” he rasped, trying to tug you back to his side. “Stay.”

You couldn’t help but bring his hand to your lips, kissing his rough knuckles. He sighed at the feeling and you leaned into his hand. “I thought I lost you,” you whispered, mostly to yourself in relief, but he heard it.

“Ya won’t lose me,” he mumbled, his eyes lazily trained on you as if he would doze off any second.

“You know what we have is special,” you whispered, raising your hand to move strands of hair from his eyes. “I want to know if you feel the same. I can’t wait anymore to tell you how I feel, especially knowing that something could happen.”

He paused, his expression softening. “I know,” he finally said gruffly. “I want...” he trailed off, thoughtful, trying to come up with something to say. “I wanna protect you, keep ya safe, but —” he inhaled sharply. “But I want more.”

You let out a sigh you didn’t realize you were holding. “Me, too,” you replied, and he nodded, his eyes closing. You leaned forward, lips on his forehead, and he didn’t flinch back like he usually did at physical contact.

Instead, he let you, without restraint, his tense posture relaxing under your touch.

“I love you and I can’t lose you,” you whispered, your lips barely on his skin.

He nodded. “Me, too.”

You leaned back, still holding his hand, letting him rest. (@writerzunite)

Fin.

A/N: So what did everyone think!

Let me know if this is something you’d like to see/participate in again!

And make sure you go check out these awesome author’s other stories!!!

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flowerbeom · 4 years

Text

Double Pepperoni | LJB

Part of The Pleasure Chest | A GOT7 Cringe Collaboration

Lim Jaebeom x Female!Reader Genre: College AU, Crackhead Comedy Smut Rating: Mature. So very mature. Warnings: Bad puns, Swearing & Explicit smut scenes. Word Count: 4k

Concept: to: [email protected] hey cass, its me. your best friend. or what’s left of her. remember that kinda hot but kinda gross pizza delivery guy? the one with the nose ring and always smelt of cheetos? yeh, he’s looking less gross these days. what?! don’t judge me. desperate times call for desperate measures. it has been 154 days since i’ve had sex. shit’s dire here man.

A/N: If you lean into how bad this is purposefully meant to be, you’ll really enjoy it.

All GIF credits for this series go to @defsenses.

Day 97

📧 to: [email protected] hey cass! yes my phone is still broken, and i have no idea when im going to get a new one cause im broke from visiting you in another goddamn country - so just suck it up and reply to my emails like the good best friend you are. fuck i miss you already! why the hell did you have to be smart and shit and get into that international program and go to college in Seoul of all places! do you know how far away that is?! 16 hours cassandra! 16 fucking hours on a plane with no leg room, subpar food and a middle aged balding man snoring next to you the entire time so you get no sleep on a 16 hour flight AWAY FROM YOUR BEST FRIEND. it was really good to see you though, can you thank mrs kim again for me - you really struck gold with that housing sitch you got - especially your roommate! that fine ass college freshman you DID NOT allow me to fuck! yeh yeh whatever, i get it - how the hell are you meant to look mrs kim in the eye again when your childhood best friend who you talked up to be an angel fucked her only son on the fold out couch. yes i get it, stop rolling your eyes at me. either way, its still the dry season down here. miss you, love you. bye.

It’s funny how jet lag after coming home from a holiday feels almost identical to a hangover; it’s a painful reminder that something that was quite enjoyable is over. The headache feels almost the same, along with the cotton mouth, hunger, dehydration and utter disappointment and resentful emptiness that the fun you were having is completely done - but only one makes you hurl your guts out at the smell of orange juice. Condolences to those who are unlucky enough to hurl in both instances.

Either way, that’s where you found yourself - Thursday night, half unpacked suitcase lay in the middle of your living room, eyes bloodshot and staring blankly at the television; an all consuming headache pounding between your temples. Lucky for you, you knew a sure fire way to get rid of it without painkillers. Insert Mr. Pene Falso. No literally, insert it. You didn’t call your vibrator Fake Penis in Spanish not to insert it. And in case anyone hasn’t caught on yet, an orgasm legitimately helps get rid of a headache. Try it next time.

As ever, positioning is important - preparation is key. Sweatpants pushed down to your ankles, one leg completely fished out. Sideways lean, cushion under one elbow, completely bare leg propped up onto the couch; allow for maximum spread when those pre-orgasm hip rolls start. Set Mr. Pene Falso on one, there is no need to go hard straight away - ease into the session, let the endorphins build. You have been deprived of a real penis for a while, so you know you’re eager; but a little self control will yield the most delicious of results.

You will run the long race to Destination Stimulation and you will bite that bottom lip as your eyes roll back into their sockets as your long awaited, slow built, easy increase of settings on Mr. Pene Falso brings home the most delectable of orgams. It will not be a dry night, no sir. So lower that beautiful vibrating, bright pink silicone wand onto your clit--

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK

Who the fuck..? Your eyes snapped to the front door, your hand clenched around your vibrator just millimetres away from your clit. A small loosening of your grip dropped the angle and the tip of your vibrator dipped against your clit, sending shockwaves through your body. A gravely moan escaped you; your focus immediately brought back to the task at hand. Literally.

Ignore it, it’s probably no one important. That’s what you told yourself, shaking your head and leaning back against the couch once again. You licked your bottom lip at the enticing notion of self-induced euphoria. Spreading your legs further than before, you corrected your grip and pushed Mr. Pene Falso into you. Your head dropped back involuntarily, your teeth marked your bottom lip and those pre-orgasm hip rolls started slowly. It felt devine, finally some release; a little bit of pleasu--

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK

“Who the fuck?!”

“Pal’s Pizza!”

Tossing Mr. Pene Falso aside, you yanked on your sweatpants, wiped the one bead of sweat off your brow and stampeded to your door.

“You got the wrong house, buddy!” Ripping it open, your rage was greeted with a face you had not seen in a long time. Your eyes blew wide, as the eyes of the man before you narrowed; complimenting the smirk etching across his face. The ever familiar smell of cheetos, weed and pepperoni of years passed filled your nostrils and nostalgia wasn’t a word you wanted to use in that instance, but repressed memories were being dug up nevertheless.

A few moments of stone-cold silence passed before a subtle hum started to invade your auditory peripherals. Leaving your eye-line, Mr. Pal’s Pizza leaned sideways, throwing his smirk into the apartment behind you and directly onto the bright pink silicone wand still vibrating on your couch. All colour drained from your obviously stiffened face.

He scoffed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your alone time. Mind if I join you instead?”

Day 106

📧 to: [email protected] hey cass did you know that there’s a woman in Georgia, who due to a rare disorder, experiences hundreds of orgasms a day? she’s just persistently aroused and will climax any time, anywhere - even in the most obscure of places. whereas I cannot even have one, in my own goddamn apartment. because you will never guess who delivered a pizza to the wrong house last week. Crusty Jae. Yyu heard me. Fucking Lim Jaebeom from high school! Who by the way, still looks like a tryhard 2006 Skaterboi with his stupidly baggy jeans, Stussy t-shirt and bad haircut - or lack thereof who fucking knows. AND he still smells like damp. No no, he doesn’t smell damp. He smells like damp. Like the idea of damp. but istg i could still cut myself on that jawline of his. and come to think of it, I haven’t had pizza in ages. miss you. love you, bye.

Day 114

“Seriously dude, you need to stop ‘delivering pizza to the wrong house’. It’s getting pathetic.” You feigned irritation despite taking the box out of Jaebeom’s outstretched hand.

“Bruh, I am not. The guy’s next door never answered. So you--” He shook back his overgrown fringe and shifted all his weight back, angling his pelvis towards you. His eyes traipsed up and down your frame, saliva clearly pooling under his tongue. “-- get a free pizza delivered by this handsome mug.”

You didn’t even try to bury the scoff that escaped you as Jaebeom dug two thumbs into his chest; a pungent smugness wafting from his stained Pal’s Pizza t-shirt. You practically laughed in his face. Yet he didn’t waver.

“You’re still the same overconfident creep from highschool, Jae.” Jaebeom faked offense, a hand slapped on his heart - leaving a faint damp hand print.

“And I still managed to nab all the ladies.” Sliding his tongue over his top teeth, he winked and you almost gagged. The fact that Crusty Jae, the school’s resident stoner, managed to have the highest body count by graduation is something that still baffled you. Something must have been seriously wrong with the girls who let that inside them. There were rumours of course, but you weren’t willing to explore any of them to prove if fact or not.

Lifting the lid, you inhaled a glorious whiff of mozzarella and pepperoni but caught Jaebeom scratching his head from the corner of your eye; little flecks of dead skin floated to the ground and you couldn’t help but focus on the flakes of what looked like parmesan on the top of your pizza. Horror ensued, visible in the quiver in your voice.

“You.. you don’t make the pizzas do you?”

Jaebeom smirked, and ran a clammy hand through his greasy hair.

“Nuh babe, I just deliver them.” He punctuated his statement with a wink and pucker of his lips. You were not comforted and turned away before he could see the grimace on your face. You dropped the pizza box onto your couch and fished a twenty-dollar-bill from your wallet and returned to the door to slap it into Jaebeom’s hand.

“Nuh baby, it’s free.” He insisted with a stupid slanted grin. You shook your head, pushing the money harder into his hand and away from your door.

“Keep the change.”

“Damn, thanks for the tip.” He smiled softly. Maybe he isn’t so much of a creep anymore.

“Want a taste of mine?”

You couldn’t have slammed the door in his face any harder.

Day 129

European. What about Lebanese? Kirby? No, too short. Continental? Way too long. But then again Kirby cucumbers have girth, and it’s not all about length. It’s how you use it. Would you go raw? Or would you wrap it? How sturdy are Kirby cucumbers? You’d obviously have to wash it first. Oh shit, could they poison you if it smooshes up while inside you? No, well you eat them so they can’t be too dangerous. How much lubrication would you need?

“Little to none if you’re warmed up enough.”

Cutting off your mental ramblings and ripping you back into reality, your head snapped towards the voice. Jaebeom’s voice. Of course it had to be Jaebeom. Why is he suddenly everywhere?

“Excuse me, what?!”

“Lubrication. You wouldn’t need any if you’re warmed up. Cucumbers just slide right in.” He said with total confidence as if speaking from absolute experience. If anything, the pompous smile was enough to tell you what he was saying was true. You tried to swallow and gasp at the same time, causing you to start choking in the grocery store.

“Wh-wait-what, I was saying all of that out loud?!” You prayed it didn’t say all of it out loud.

Are you really that delirious from lack of sex that your pathetically curious and completely comedic wonderings about cucumbers as dildos was said out loud in the grocery store?! Have you become that incapable of controlling yourself that you can’t even keep being a horny bitch on the inside?! Must you zone out in full stereo?!

Jaebeom giggled.

“Maybe. I heard from about ‘What about Lebanese?’.”

You froze, the hand gripping your shopping basket growing dangerously limp.

“So pretty much all of it.” Jaebeom laughed again and reached across you to pick up the thickest Kirby cucumber from the pile and dropped it into your basket.

“Think of me.”

“What!?”

His smirk thawed you completely, leaving you standing in a lukewarm puddle of distaste. “Later babe.”

Seriously, you needed to find every girl who fucked him in highschool and just ask them “WHY?!”

Day 147

📧 to: [email protected] hey cass he ran out of battery I have no spares I live in a wasteland of despair miss you love you bye

Day 165

ring-ring-ring

“Pal’s Pizza, can I take your order?”

“Hey Jae, it’s me. The usual please.”

“Stuffed Crust?”

“No thanks.”

“No probs. How about I stuff you?”

“Bye.”

“See you in twenty minutes!”

Day 167

📧 to: [email protected] hey cass I think I’m living in a permanent fever dream today in my tech drawing class my professor told me if I lick the tip I’ll get better results so I asked him, if i let him lick my tip would I get extra credit? HE MEANT MY PENCIL CASSANDRA, HE MEANT TO LICK THE TIP OF MY PENCIL SO I GET THICKER LINES what the fuck is wrong with me?! oh I know. it has been 167 days since I’ve had sex ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY SEVEN DAYS and Mr Pene Falso still does not have new batteries. miss you love you bye

Day 175

You had never felt more accomplished in your life. In one hand rested your brand new phone, shiny and in-built with all the things to keep your easily distracted brain entertained. No longer did you have to make calls from the decrepit pay phone outside your apartment building. No longer did you have to sit on buses and pretend to like reading. No, you were reunited with the technology of your generation and you were ecstatic. Full time college and part time employment didn’t always meet the needs of your demanding lifestyle, but you saved enough to finally get a brand new phone.

And in the other hand lay two beautiful AA batteries. You know perfectly well what they were for. You were equally as ecstatic. But for some reason there was one person you wanted to talk to about it.

Your fingers dialed the number almost on their own; muscle memory taking over. It rang six times.

“Hello?”

“CASS!” So excited to hear your best friend’s voice you tripped on the corner of your rug; your body colliding with the couch.

“Holy shit, you finally got a phone. Took you long enough.”

“Shut up, I’ve been busy.” Rubbing the part of your shoulder that managed to miss abundant cushioning on the couch and hit the tiny piece of wooden framework beneath it all.

“Sure. Busy trying to get yourself off every chance you get.”

The fingers trying to unscrew the bottom of your vibrator halted; your bottom lip folded between your teeth - a pout formed in your silence.

“I--” Lost for words you resumed unscrewing the cap, placing one battery into each slot.

“You’re probably gonna go masturbate after you get off this call.”

The last battery dropped in with a clang, albeit muffled by Cass’s muffled laughter.

“You know I’m messing with you right?”

“..Yes.”

“Good. So how’s Crusty Jae?” She continued to laugh as you groaned.

“Dude, can you please explain how he managed to pull so much in high school?! Please! Am I the only one who doesn’t get it?!” Suddenly incredibly frustrated, you screwed on the vibrator cap with so much gusto that your grip accidentally turned it on; the abrupt buzzing ripping out a quiet yelp.

“You know his nickname used to be Double Pepperoni.” You scoffed so hard, you felt it in your ribs. “Nuh apparently he was packing.”

“What? Like what, like he always had slices stuffed in his pockets?”

“No, like p-a-c-k-i-n-g.”

“I highly doubt that flat-ass McGee is huge.” You smirked while Cass tried to stop herself from choking on laughter. “And even if he was, dude, I still don’t understand how that seemingly unhygienic mess can score so much.”

“Bro, I don’t know either. But from all the girls I’ve ever talked to about him, they all say that whatever he did to seduce them or whatever - their reactions were purely carnal.” You made a pathetic noise, like a dying car horn to highlight your skepticism. “Like apparently, he would do something or they would see him do something and they’d just snap. Fuck him once, have a great time but then refuse to ever bring it up again. Except to me.. Cause after all, it was Crusty Jae.. But that’s beside the point.”

“They’d just ‘snap’?”

“Yup. Like a fresh green bean.”

“Weird metaphor.”

“But you got it.”

“Sadly. I’m going to go now.”

“Happy Orgasm!”

“Fuck you.”

“Miss you.”

“Love you.”

“Bye!”

From putting down one electronic device to picking up the other, you settled into the couch cushions with Mr Pene Falso in hand - recharged and ready to go. Yes, you were obviously going to prove your best friend painfully correct by getting off as soon as you hung up that call, but honestly - fuck it. You deserved it.

Remember, preparation is key. Sweatpants pushed down your ankles, one leg completely bare. Hair pulled up into an overeager and messy as ever bun. Sideways lean. Mr Pene Falso, setting one.

It’s not meant to be pretty, the faces you pull while masturbating. And the sounds one makes, equally as carnal. But who the fuck cares. You’re doing this for you. And as those pre-orgasm hip rolls get more and more intense as your clit is vibrated right down to Destination Stimulation, you moan in pleasure for you know you are finally getting what you’ve wanted for so lon--

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK

“Hey it’s me!” Your head snapped so fast to the door it cracked every bone in your neck.

“Jae!?”

“Yeh, can I come in please?”

“Oh come on, what the fuck!?” Fury swallowed you whole, Mr Pene Falso slamming into the ground in a fit of rage. “What do you fucking want, Jaebeom?!”

“Please, I need--” Jerking your pants back on, you charged at the door; ripping it open.

“Need what?!”

“-- to use your bathroom.” Sheepish eyes met your own; blown wide and shaking. Jaebeom stood before you, pizza delivery bag hung loosely in his hand; completely soaked from head to toe.

“Sorry, it’s fucking pouring outside and I delivered next door and I just want to dry off a little, that cool?”

His usually loose shirt clung to his body, every inch of his torso outlined. His hair, normally shaggy and overgrown, was completely pushed back off his face; slick and saturated to show every carved line of his face. Was his eyes always this piercing? Or was it only because it was in context with the rest of his beautiful face?

“So..?” Jaebeom reeled you back from your slow descent and you shook it off violently.

“Uhh yeh, that-that way.” Throwing a thumb over your shoulder to show him the way, Jaebeom slinked past you; a marginal waft of damp weed followed behind.

What has gotten into you? This is Crusty Jae we’re talking about here. You are not meant to find him attractive. Nothing about him is meant to be attractive. But there you were - standing in your hallway, dumbfounded as you watched Jaebeom take off his shirt and wring it into your sink. You tried to tear your eyes away from how broad his shoulders were, or how all the muscles around his waist tensed as he squeezed all the water out of his shirt. You couldn’t even fight off the shiver that crawled down your spine when you watched his triceps flex when he pushed his hair off his face. You swallowed hard when that shiver landed right between your legs.

“Like apparently, he would do something or they would see him do something and they’d just snap.”

He didn’t see you come up behind him but he felt the hand you placed in the middle of his back. Turning to face you, his eyes were as dark as yours were crazed.

“Sup.” His cheeto breath didn’t deter you.

“You’re a pal, right?” You swore you couldn’t sound any more desperate.

“Says so on my shirt.” You couldn’t quite figure out if it was Chipotle or Flamin’ Hot cheetos. But it wasn’t the time or the place. You had needs.

“Be a pal then.” Jaebeom quirked a lewd and curious brow. “Get me off.”

The speed of which he had his hands under your arms and lifting you onto the benchtop was frighteningly fast. Your shirt was pulled hastily over your head and thrown aside, your pants were torn down your legs equally as fast. You had no time to question, no time to doubt - not when Jaebeom’s mouth was on yours, his tongue rolling over your teeth as if searching for hidden cheetos in your cheeks. But with the way his thumb circled over your clit through your underwear, you weren’t going to complain. Go on, fish for those cheetos baby.

Through wet and messy kisses, your hands tracked down his chest; stopping at his belt buckle. Of course, you thought, it was one of those snap closure canvas belts - ridiculously too long and matched his ridiculously baggy jeans. Nevertheless, you snapped open the buckle, fished it out of the loops and his pants fell instantly to the ground.

Jaebeom broke away from your mouth, leaning back to make room for his hands to pull off your underwear; just to have his lips crash back into yours the moment the lace garment hit the floor.

“Conmg-do. Cone--. Con-” You mumbled against his mouth. Strong hands pushed against his chest; disappointed eyes flashed for a moment, before turning devious at the sight of your naked breasts.

“Condom.” He nodded and you swung around to grab one from the medicine cabinet. Rounding back to face him, you saw his underwear was on the ground, his very erect penis greeting you fully. Double Pepperoni…

He ripped the wrapper open with his teeth, slid the condom expertly onto his length and caged you against the mirror in one fluid movement. He waited, paused for effect if you will and you weren’t having any of it. One hand scratched into his hair, the other pulled on the chain around his neck.

“Oh, you want me to stuff you do you?” Said with total hubris.

“Like cheesy crust.” Who have you become?!

Jabeom’s heavy hands found themselves on your hips, pulling you down onto his dick. He filled you wholly, deliciously; throbbing against your walls so achingly good that you didn’t even care that you could feel crumbs of garlic bread that did not belong to you in your mouth.

He pounded you roughly; each thrust making you bounce on your porcelain sink. His hair, still wet, dripped onto your shoulder and down your back as his teeth marked your neck. Your bathroom began to fill with lewd and erotic noises, squelches and squeaks of wet flesh against wet flesh and some against hard surfaces.

Jaebeom snapped his hips harder and harder into you, moans tumbled from your mouth as the orgasm you have craved for finally rounded the horizon. He was merciless, relentless, completely determined to drive you home.

You yanked harder on the fist full of hair in your hand, ripping a loud and gravely groan from Jaebeom. Not one to be upstaged, Jaebeom shoved his hand into your hair, tangling his fingers into your bun and pulling down to expose more of your neck to him. His pace had not slowed down at all.

He marked your neck, sucking and biting on your flesh so gloriously that you began to mewl - high pitched and needy, and it’s what sent Jaebeom over the edge. His hips snapped harder, forcing his dick deep into you; hitting spots you had forgotten about completely.

Different colours were flashing behind your eyelids and you were close, so close.

And as Jaebeom neared climax, he tore his hand out of your hair. Though in his earlier fervour, got so much of it tangled around his fingers and stuck under his ring, that your whole body was torn sideways and off the bench.

Landing on the floor, shocked eyes watched Jaebeom ejaculate all over your sink as your own orgasm retreated away; shrivelling up into dust and blown away in the wind - his hand still stuck in your hair. How the fuck, wasn’t he wearing a condom, you thought, only for you to reach down and find it stuck inside your vagina, half hanging out. There was literally nowhere lower you could go. This, this is rock bottom.

“Haha, holy fuck. Sorry babe.” Jaebeom leaned down and carefully untangled his fingers out of your hair. Towels were passed around for hygiene purposes and you almost vomited when you saw cheeto crumbs wedged between Jaebeom’s butt-cheeks.

You weren’t really sure what happened after. You think Jaebeom said something crass. Or maybe he said thank you. In a crass way. Either way, he eventually left and the two hour shower you took still didn’t make you feel clean. Especially not after finding a half-dried pearl of cum on your toothbrush.

But there was one thing you knew for sure. You totally snapped.

Day 0

📧 to: [email protected] hey cass in the interest of our friendship and for the purposes of full transparency it has been 1 day since ive had sex and we will never speak of it again

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