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soaps-mohawk · 3 months

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 2 - Adjustments

Summary: You're struggling a bit in your adjustment to your new life, and you're finding some of them are easier to get along with than others. Luckily you're not in it alone.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I'm so just overwhelmed with the attention this fic has gotten, but not in a bad way I promise! I'm just surprised is all. Thank you everyone that has read and reblogged and commented. I love all of you and so, since I have no self control, here is Chapter 2. Lots more world building and dialogue in this part, but I promise good stuff is coming.

Also I promise Soap will get his time soon. He's just the hardest for me to write, and you'll see why in this chapter.

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“She was lying.”

Price doesn’t bother looking up as a dark figure leans against the wall next to him. He stares out at the empty space between the barracks and the mess hall, not much traffic between the buildings during this time of day.

“About how she got to the institute.”

“Or at least not telling the whole truth.” Price says, turning to look at Simon. “Something tells me she’d talk if we asked.”

“She’s soft.” Simon says, letting his gaze drift off into the distance.

“She’s a civilian.” Price counters. “The CIA did a little training, but she’ll need some work. We can’t leave her completely defenseless...”

Simon turns to face him again. “There’s something else.”

Price pushes himself off the wall, heading back inside. Simon follows, the two of them making their way down the hall to his office. “There’s hundreds of American military bases across the world, thousands of regiments they could have chosen from, and yet, they sent her to us.”

Simon closes the door behind him as Price sinks into his desk chair. “You think it was deliberate?”

Price pulls open one of the drawers, pulling out the file Kate had given him. “Laswell said the CIA has had eyes on her for years.” He slides it across his desk to Simon. “There’s a lot of why's in this situation, and a lot of how’s. Like, if what she’s saying is true, how did a Staff Sergeant get his daughter into FIOT practically overnight?”

Simon glances up at him over the top of the file. “You think there’s something else going on with this Initiative.”

Price nods. “I do. I think there’s more than one experiment being run, and we’re the guinea pigs.”

You stare at your reflection in the mirror as you run a comb through your damp hair. You look tired, the dark circles that have plagued your face for the last few weeks looking even darker now. It’s been a long day, so long it’s hard to believe it’s only been a matter of hours since you boarded the helicopter in London.

Your new pack had made themselves scarce after dinner, leaving you to your own devices. You had been left alone after lunch too, and you had spent that time laying in bed, resting after the overwhelming scenting.

You’d played back the last few hours in your mind. Leaving London in the helicopter, meeting your new Pack Alpha, Laswell leaving, meeting your new pack, the scenting. You had plenty to think about, to stress over, and you had been surprised when the knock came at your door for dinner. You were equally surprised to see Gaz and Soap waiting for you.

You’d been sandwiched between them again as you walked to the mess. It was busier for dinner, and the eyes weren’t quite so quick to look away with the alphas missing. You know they have to be curious, with an omega on base following around two members of a SpecOps team, smelling like them. You know what they were probably thinking of you, what they were thinking your presence means.

You’ve begun to understand Price’s rules a bit more.

Price and Ghost had joined you as Soap said they would, coming in late from whatever they had been busy doing. You had been seated next to Soap, Ghost taking his other side while Price sat next to Gaz. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to you how close Soap and Ghost sat, and you remembered the look in Ghost’s eyes when Soap had approached to scent you. How his defensive stare had turned icy, threatening even, when he’d gotten close to you as if you were capable of hurting Soap. It had been a silent warning. If you tried anything, you’d have him to contend with.

Ghost is territorial, more so than most alphas. You had seen it just a bit in Price, but only because you had been watching for it. Ghost was silent in his claim, but his gaze spoke of his territorialism. As you sat at the table with them, you slowly felt the stares lessen, the curious alphas and betas around you slowly turning away from your table until you were left in peace. You knew it was all thanks to a well-pointed glare from the second alpha at the table.

They’d escorted you back to the barracks before disappearing again, leaving you alone. You’d opted for a shower to try and clear your head, exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs but your mind was racing too much to really get any rest. You haven’t been told what their normal schedules entail or even what they look like, but you expect an early morning tomorrow. Since Price had said at least one of them needed to escort you around base, that likely meant you were going to be constrained to their schedules.

You know even when they’re not away, their days are probably full of training and briefings, much like yours had been for three months. They’re probably up early, earlier than you’d like to be, and then they go non-stop all day.

You wonder if they ever get a break.

Maybe this is a break for them.

You sit on the edge of the bed after you finish your routine, eyeing the pillows and blankets stacked at the end. They’re military issue, not as soft or as plush as you might have preferred. This is your new normal, though. Comfort isn’t exactly going to be a high priority.

Tears prick your eyes as you run your hand over the comforter. You know it’s the exhaustion, the stress of the day beginning to weigh on you. You’re worn out, and that’s causing a slip in the tight reins you keep on your mood. Omegas and alphas were both prone to being moody, and those who were unrestrained could lose control quickly. Alphas were quick to anger, while omegas could get depressed very easily. Exhaustion drives both to being grumpy, though alphas will descend into irritability and anger, while omegas will get whiny and weepy.

You hate it, how easily you can be driven to cry. How easily you can lose control. It makes you feel weak and helpless, but that’s partially by design. It was supposed to be your pack’s job to fix that, to give you that support and take care of you.

Except you don’t know your pack.

What would they do if you approached them like this, all teary and needy? Would instinct take over and snap them into their roles? Or would they give you an awkward pat on the back and leave you to take care of yourself? Gaz would help you, you think. He had slipped into that role so easily during the scenting. Your fingers twitch on the bedspread, your mind telling you to seek him out, track him down, even if it’s only to catch a whiff of his scent again.

Your phone screen lights up where it’s sitting on the nightstand, drawing your attention from the door. Kate had given you the phone just this morning before you left the hotel. It had her number on it, as well as your pack’s. You’d half expected to find messages already from them when you’d turned it on, but there had been none. They had kept that boundary of meeting in person first.

You pick up the phone, checking the message. It’s from Price.

Breakfast is at 0700. I’ll take you to see the Omega Specialist after.

Seven o’clock. It’s not terribly early. You’d eaten around the same time at the institute. You’ll get to meet the Omega Specialist as well tomorrow. You’ve met plenty of them in your time as an omega, but something about the idea of having someone there who knows, who understands is comforting to you.

You send a reply in acknowledgement for tomorrow’s plan before setting an alarm for tomorrow morning. There’s an uneasy feeling under your skin, a tickling in the back of your mind that you can’t seem to relax. Your eyes are drawn to the desk where the shirts still sit, and before you know it you’re moving to the desk, letting your fingers trail over each one.

You grab Price’s shirt, taking it back to your bed. You curl up with your back facing the door, holding the shirt against your chest, letting the scent of tobacco smoke and whiskey fill your nose. Silent tears slide down your cheeks, your face pressing into the pillow to muffle your sobs.

As you try to muffle your tears, you miss the sound of boots pausing in front of your door, the person on the other side standing there for a moment before continuing down the hall.

You let out a groan as your alarm pulls you from sleep. You had drifted in and out for a few hours before finally managing to get a couple precious hours of sleep. You’d woken when the others got up. You knew they were trying to be quiet but you had heard them shuffling around, talking quietly amongst each other. You’re normally a fairly deep sleeper, but in a new place you always struggle.

A new place surrounded by almost complete strangers.

You turn off your alarm, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. They’re burning a bit, the exhaustion still weighing heavy on your shoulders. You pad to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face to try and make yourself at least look more alive than you feel. The last thing you need is them getting worried about you. That’s attention you’re not sure you want right now.

You blink sleepily at your closet, trying to decide what to wear. Were you allowed to wear anything? You didn’t have much besides the basics, since the only thing you had been allowed to wear at the institute was its uniform and the clothes they provided. Then when you were with the CIA, they had provided clothes for you to wear as well. The things you have now had been bought by Kate before you left D.C.

Everyone on base wore similar variants of the same uniform. You’re not military, though, so you don’t think those rules apply to you. No one had said anything about your state of dress yesterday. You opt for comfort, knowing you’d likely find out soon if you were going to be forced to dress differently too.

You’re tying your shoes when the knock sounds on your door. You had heard the others moving around, footsteps in the hallway, opening and closing doors, quiet voices talking and Soap laughing at something. You know it’s one of them, yet the nervous tickle at the back of your head is back.

Soap is leaning casually against your doorframe when you open the door. His face lights up in a smile as he sees you. “Morning, bonny. Sleep alright?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Tossed and turned for a while.”

“We didne keep ye up did we?” He asks, his smile faltering just a bit.

You shake your head. “No, I never sleep well the first few nights in a new place.”

“Well, our beds are always open if ye need something more comfortable.” He winks at you playfully.

Your face warms at his words, the double meaning not lost on you. You were right, Soap was going to be the one to push your boundaries the most.

Gaz elbows him in the ribs as he passes. “She’s been here a day, mate, don’t go scaring her off now.” He leans on the other side of your doorframe, giving you a smile. “Morning.”

“Morning.” You say, your face still warm from Soap’s teasing.

“You hungry?” Gaz asks.

You nod. You do feel hungry this morning, likely a side effect from your emotional night last night. You step out of your room, the two betas stepping back to give you space as you close the door behind you. Ghost is leaning against the wall next to his door, his eyes watching with the typical cautious disinterest that seemed to be his default setting.

Gaz and Soap sandwich you between them again, close enough their arms brush yours as you walk. It was almost as if they could sense your inner turmoil, the neediness still tugging at the back of your mind. If Ghost hadn’t been trailing the three of you, you might have been tempted to give in and grip their sleeves, or slip your hands into theirs. How would Ghost respond to such a bold move? The mental image of your body flying through the air as he punted you into next week almost makes you laugh.

Price is already seated at a table frowning at his phone over a cup of coffee. Gaz and Soap load up your tray for you, something you’re getting used to rather quickly. It was expected from the alphas, or at least Price, to coddle you a bit, but it seemed the betas were more than happy to get in on it as well.

The thought makes something flutter in your chest.

You’re seated between Gaz and Price again once you reach the table, Price greeting you with a tired smile. “Morning. Sleep alright?”

“Not really.” You say honestly. “New place and all. I’ll settle in eventually.”

“Maybe the Omega Specialist can give you some ideas to help.” He glances at his watch before looking at you as you spoon a heaping spoonful of porridge into your mouth. “Take your time. We have until 8.”

You listen to the conversation at the table as you eat, Gaz and Soap talking about a football game that’s on tonight. You feel eyes on you, your skin prickling a bit. You glance up, half expecting Ghost to be glowering at you again, but his gaze is focused on his eggs. You cast a quick glance around the mess, turning slightly to look behind you.

Three tables over, you find the gaze of some soldier focused on you. You haven’t paid much attention to anyone else on the base, but then again you haven’t had much time or reason to yet. You can’t read the expression on his face as he stares at you, but you feel a shiver run down your spine as your eyes meet his.

He stares at you for a few seconds before his gaze moves slightly past you, quickly dropping back to his plate. You turn around, finding Ghost staring just past your head. His eyes are narrowed, his scent coming off stronger than it had been. You can practically see his hackles raised, the warning clear in the air. You feel the urge to curl in on yourself, the threatening aura radiating from him makes you want to cower.

It doesn't go unnoticed by those at the table either.

“Easy, Ghost.” Price says calmly, Gaz turning to follow his line of sight.

“Bloody wanker.” Ghost grumbles before rising from the table.

You turn back around, but the soldier that had been staring at you is gone.

You nervously pick at your sweatshirt sleeves as you sit in the plastic chair next to Price. You’re still on edge a bit from what happened at breakfast. It wasn’t so much being stared at that bothered you. After now three meals in the mess, you’ve almost come to expect it. It’s Ghost’s reaction that has your mind still reeling.

“I’ve always hated the medical center.” Price says with a sigh as he leans his head back against the wall. “It smells too sterile. Makes my nose burn. Reminds me of too many close calls.”

His words jar you a bit. You hadn’t even thought about that aspect of his job. He’s used to getting shot at, to getting into fights, running head first into danger that would send most running the other way. You wonder how many times he’s been the one with the close call, and how many others he’s had to watch have their own.

You wonder how many times he’s had to make that trip to tell someone’s family.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as the door across from you opens. Price pushes himself to his feet, and you follow as a kind looking woman steps out. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. You don’t have anything against male Omega Specialists, but you were already surrounded by men. Sure you have Kate, but she’s half a world away.

She’s tall, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Despite being a doctor she’s dressed casually, no white coat or gloves to be seen. Her eyes are light green and crease in the corners when she smiles.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Keller.” She introduces herself, shaking Price’s hand.

American. You think, silently breathing another sigh of relief. Kate really had pulled some strings with this one.

“Captain John Price.” He says.

You introduce yourself when she turns to you, shaking your hand. Her voice is soft and gentle, the scent of beta coming off her in waves.

“Come on in,” She says, leading you into the office. “Sit anywhere you like. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Her office isn’t what you expected either. Instead of the harsh fluorescents, the lighting is softer, warmer. There’s paintings and posters all over the walls, along with several plants. There’s a desk covered in books and paperwork in one corner and a bookshelf with several books packed into it in the other. There’s a couch on one wall, and a couple plush looking chairs on the other.

You move to one of the chairs, sinking down onto it. It envelops you in softness, and you feel as if you might sink into it and never be able to get out. After a day of hard plastic and stiff blankets, it nearly makes you weep.

Price takes the chair next to you, Dr. Keller sitting on the couch across from you. The office smells good, a light, neutral scent in the air aside from the pure almondy scent of beta.

“Alright,” She says, holding a tablet and a stack of files in her lap. “I always like to start by introducing myself and telling you a bit about me, then we’ll get into the important stuff.”

She jumps into telling you about herself. Where she grew up: California. Where she studied: UC Berkeley. What institute she did her residency at: West Coast Training Academy. Where she worked last before Kate called her in: some poor inner city institute in LA.

“Now, on to the more important stuff.” She says, turning on the tablet. “I got your medical records yesterday. You’re quite the healthy girl.”

“Yes ma'am. I have good genes. That’s what my mom used to say.” You respond.

Dr. Keller smiles. “Hardly even been sick. Your heats are all normal, too, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You say. “Except for a three month stretch two years ago.”

“Yes, the heat sickness epidemic that hit America.” She says.

You nod. “FIOT locked down completely and everyone was supposed to quarantine, but I heard a rumor that it was one of the beta food workers. She snuck out to see her alpha boyfriend and brought it in with her. We only think it was her because she disappeared not long after the first omega got sick.”

Dr. Keller hums. “I know not everyone was so willing to take it seriously. You made a full recovery, though. No lasting side effects, I’m sure thanks to the state of the art medical facilities that FIOT keeps.”

“Yes, ma’am. We were lucky it was just a mild case.”

“That is lucky.” She flips through something on the tablet. “Your lab results all look phenomenal. I like to do checkups monthly, just to ensure everything is working as it should. I know the CIA gave you quite the cocktail of vaccines while you were with them.” She turns her gaze to Price. “Captain Price, I’ve sent in a request for your team’s vaccination records as well. I’m sure you’ve had everything under the sun, but I’d like to ensure there’s no risk of any accidental exposures.”

“I don’t see a problem with that.” Price says. “If RAMC gives you any trouble, just let me know. I’ll get them for you myself.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She says. “One last bit in this part and then we can move on. I see FIOT issued an implant before you left, as is standard practice.”

You nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. You’ve had more than enough time for it to take effect so we won’t have to worry about any accidental slip ups during your next heat.”

Your cheeks warm at her words a bit. You’ve been trying to avoid thinking about that inevitable side of things.

“And your next heat is roughly six weeks away.” She says, looking at the calendar. “Don't be surprised if it comes a little earlier now that you’re being exposed to alphas again.”

Your stomach twists nervously at that thought. It was common for heats to be triggered early after exposure to alphas, especially after such a prolonged period without exposure to them. It wasn’t likely to start tomorrow, but you knew it could jump a week or two due to the natural pheromones alphas put off, and the instinctual call for the alpha/omega bond.

“You’re planning for the claiming to take place during the heat?” Dr. Keller asks.

“Yes, that’s the plan.” Price says.

“That is the most natural time for it.” Dr. Keller says. “Of course, it is always up to omega preference in the end.”

You don’t miss the way her eyes dart to you for a second.

“Now that that’s over with,” She says, putting the tablet to the side. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to do this next part with just the two of us.”

A beat of silence passes before you realize she’s asking you. Her eyes are on you, and so are Price’s. She’s asking you. She’s asking you what you want.

“I-I guess...yeah.” You stutter over your words, not quite sure how to answer. Is there a wrong answer? Would Price be upset if you said yes? Would Dr. Keller be upset if you said no? Your eyes turn to Price, trying to gauge his reaction.

“It’s up to you.” He says softly. “We’re here for you.”

You sit up a little straighter at his words, nodding your head. “Y-Yes. That’s okay.”

Price pushes himself to stand up. “I’ll be right outside.”

The air inside the room seems to lighten as he leaves, Dr. Keller reclining back on the couch as the door clicks shut. She pulls out a stack of papers and a pen before she looks at you. Your palms are sweating, and you’re starting to think you’d like the chair to swallow you whole.

“This next part can feel a bit personal, but I just want you to know that everything you say in here is as confidential as you’d like it to be. Captain Price is right. I am an Omega Specialist, I’m here for you. I’m not just a doctor, I’m here to help you in all aspects of being an omega. I know FIOT teaches a lot, mainly obedience and compliance. I want to make it clear that you can be honest with me.” She holds up the stack of papers. “No one is going to see these papers but me, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me.” She smiles. “You can call me Dr. Keller, or Doc. You could even call me an evil bitch if you want, it won’t phase me any.”

You can’t help the small smile that forms on your face.

“I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask you. They’re a sort of tracker to measure how well you’re settling in and bonding with your new pack. I’d like to meet once a week until your next heat just to see how well you’re settling in. After that we can meet as often as you’d like. Sound good?”

You nod in approval. It sounds like a lot, but you also know you’re going to have a lot of downtime, even with your pack on base.

“Alright, let’s get started. How are you settling in? I know it’s barely been a day, but I want to know how you feel here.”

Your heart begins to pound in your chest. How do you feel here? How do you feel after being pulled from the institute and taken to a training facility where you found out you’d be moving halfway across the world to be a military pack’s omega.

This wasn’t what you had expected when you reached the age where you became an available omega. Most omegas at FIOT came from rich, powerful, important families and your purpose there was to be groomed into the perfect omega to return right back to that world.

You thought you would be chosen quickly. You had expected it. With your scores and your high ratings and your status, you were what most alphas dreamed of. Yet, the years had passed and though there was some interest, nothing had ever come of it. You weren’t alone in it. There were others like you, those who excelled at being an omega, but then seemed to stall in the selection once they came of age.

Of course, now that you look back on it, you can’t help but think it might have been done on purpose. The Omega Initiative was new, you had been told during your first briefing explaining why you were taken to a remote building somewhere outside of D.C. and greeted not by your new pack, but swathes of CIA agents. Military packs were nothing new, but they wanted to utilize the naturally formed packs and make them stronger and more stable by adding in omegas.

Only highly skilled omegas were considered for the program, but of course you had no say in whether you were going to partake or not. They chose the omegas and they decided where you would end up.

It wasn’t that dissimilar from being chosen from an Institute. At FIOT there was a screening process packs had to go through to be determined eligible to have access to omega files. Then the pack would have to send a neutral emissary, usually a beta, to meet the omegas in person and choose on behalf of the alpha. Most institutes don’t have that strenuous of a process, and some don’t have a process at all. In some, alphas themselves could walk in and choose an omega without even so much as a background check.

Omegas never got a say. As soon as you were handed over to an institute, the ability to choose was taken from you. Whoever your caretakers were as a pup signed over their rights to you and the institute became your legal guardian. They dictated your life up until you joined a new pack.

You had hoped it would be someone rich. If nothing else, you’d get to live a cushy life and you’d never have to worry about anything. When they told you what was really going to happen to you, you had almost cried. You did cry, late at night curled up in your bunk after hours of training and briefings.

Kate picked you for this pack specifically because she knew them and she knew you could handle them and their world.

Maybe if you had been worse at being an omega, things would have been better for you.

Or maybe they would have been worse.

“It’s...different.” You finally say, picking at your sleeves again. “But in a lot of ways, it’s similar to The Institute. It always takes me time to settle somewhere new.”

“Me too.” Dr. Keller says, writing some things down. “And with the time change, it’s just so much harder. I feel like I should be in bed right now, but it’s 8 AM. Have you started nesting?”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even feel the urge to.”

“That’s fine.” She says, writing something else down. “In truth, I’d be more concerned if you were.”

Your eyebrows raise a bit. “Why?”

“During an adjustment period for an omega, especially in a new pack, there can be something that happens called false instincts. The sudden urge to nest, a drive to bond with pack members too soon, false heats. It’s usually brought on by a sudden change in environment, like when omegas are taken from a place where they’ve spent sometimes years with no exposure to alphas and are suddenly thrown into a space with a lot of alphas. It’s more common in larger packs where you have alphas, betas, and other omegas.”

“Could it happen in smaller packs?” You ask.

“It’s possible, though rare. It can cause some serious issues down the line when those instincts are actually supposed to begin to show up, like adjustment sickness. I’d say if you’re starting to feel the urge to nest or bond before the first week is up, then come talk to me, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod.

She smiles, turning the page. “How far have you gotten with the bonding process?”

“Just the scenting yesterday.” You answer.

“And how did that go?”

You pick at the loose thread on your sweatshirt. “Fine. It was...overwhelming.”

“They can be.” Dr. Keller says. “The new members of your pack, how are you getting along with them?”

“Fine, I guess.” You shrug. “I like Soap and Gaz. Price, he’s...he’s nice, and Ghost...” You trail off, not sure how to answer. If she’d asked before breakfast you might have said he doesn't like you. He doesn’t want you to be part of his pack, but after what happened at breakfast...

You can’t be sure he did it for you. He could have thought that soldier was staring at Soap or Gaz or even Price. He could have thought the soldier was staring at him and was annoyed with it. He had scared off the stares at every meal you’d eaten together, but how often did they get stared at? You couldn’t know if that was a daily occurrence and he was just growing sick of it.

He could be annoyed with you because you’re drawing in the stares.

“I don’t know what to think about him yet.” You answer.

She writes something else down, going through a few more questions with you. How is your appetite? How are you sleeping? Are you taking care of your needs? Do you have any concerns?

Before you know it the hour has passed and you’re walking out the door into the fluorescent, sterile hallway of the medical center.

“Remember, you have my number. If you need anything, I’m here for you.” Dr. Keller says as you part ways.

You walk with Price out of the medical center, glad to be out in the fresh air. It’s not particularly warm, and the sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds, but it’s better than the medical center.

“What do you think?” Price asks as you follow him back to the barracks.

“I think it went well.” You say, mind still reeling from an eventful morning. You’re beginning to feel your restless night.

“Do you like Dr. Keller?” He asks, probing a bit.

You nod. “Yes, sir. She’s nice.”

“Good.” He says, opening the door to the barracks for you. “I have to leave to oversee training for the next few hours.” He glances at his watch. “One of us will come get you for lunch.”

You nod. Of course you’d find yourself alone again between meals. You’re beginning to notice a pattern. “Yes, sir.”

His hand is warm as it settles on your shoulder, squeezing gently. You’re surprised by the touch, as small as it is. Were they too fighting the urge to get close to you, like you had this morning?

You can still feel the warmth of his hand even after it’s disappeared and he’s gone. You head for the rec room, deciding to avoid the constricting feeling of being shut in your room for the time being.

The TV is on when you enter, but the room is empty, playing some morning talk show. You move to the bookshelf against the wall, letting your eyes scan the titles. There's a surprising lack of military-based books shoved into the packed shelf. Of course there's a handful of old manuals and handbooks, nothing that you're particularly concerned about needing to read. You let out a sigh, standing on your toes to reach a Brandon Sanderson novel.

You look around the room but the remote for the TV seems to be missing, and it’s too high on the wall for you to reach the power button, so you leave it on, curling up on one corner of the couch as you begin to read.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when something moves in your peripheral. The sun has come out briefly, shining in through the windows. You look up from the book, suddenly feeling very small under Ghost’s gaze. His eyes are narrowed as he stares down at you, a thousand things flashing through your mind. Are you in his spot? Is this his book? Had he come to the rec room hoping to be alone and here you are infringing in his space?

“Come on.” He says, his voice rougher than it had been this morning. “Lunch.”

He’s already turned and heading out the door as you scramble up, leaving the book on the coffee table as you hurry to catch up to him. His steps are quick and wide, and you find yourself having to almost speedwalk to keep up with him.

Your thoughts are jumbled as you follow him out of the barracks and off towards the mess. Why would they send him to get you? Was he the only one available? Yesterday they had time before lunch to return to the barracks, or had that only been because of you? Or were they perhaps hoping this might offer a chance for the two of you to bond a bit?

Or were they entirely blind to Ghost’s disinterest in your existence?

Perhaps they were used to it. After so long together, perhaps they just thought it was normal. If you were brave enough to bring it up, would you get a “oh that’s just how he is” in response?

You can’t see the others as you enter the mess, Ghost leading you to the line. He stands behind you like a hulking shadow, his scent covered by the smell of gunpowder and sweat. You fill your own tray for the first time, grabbing things that look appetizing. You’ll have to get used to it eventually, even though the others insisted on doing it for the time being. When they’re not here, you’ll have to do it yourself.

Ghost leads you to an empty table, and you opt to sit across from him. You begin to eat, taking big bites to avoid the need for conversation, not that you really thought Ghost would strike up a conversation with you. Your eyes flicker around the room nervously, glancing over the entrances time and time again, waiting for the others to arrive.

“Stop twitching. They’re on their way.”

The words cut straight through you and you snap your head around to face Ghost. He’s got his mask pulled up to his nose, your eyes immediately drawn to the exposed pale skin. There’s light stubble on his chin. You remember how that had felt on your own skin when he’d scented you. He’s blonde, you think, or at least has light hair judging by the color of the stubble. There’s a scar on his chin, almost hidden by the stubble.

Your face warms as you realize you’ve been caught in your nervous fretting. Of course, you should have known he would take notice. There’s not a lot they don’t notice, you think. Though, when your survival depends on noticing even the smallest detail of anything or anyone...

You jump as a tray is set down next to yours, your eyes snapping up to see Gaz with a smile on his face. You turn back to look at Ghost, his mask pulled back down but you see a slight shake to his shoulders for a second.

Was he...laughing at you?

Your attention is drawn from him as Gaz takes a seat next to you, sitting close enough his arm is almost brushing yours. Price and Soap taking their usual spots as well. You’re beginning to pick up on the patterns that existed around them, and their own patterns. Perhaps that will make it easier for you to fit yourself into their lives. You knew from the start they weren’t going to change to fit you into their lives. They couldn’t. You were going to have to find a way to fit into their lives.

Gaz walks you back to the barracks after lunch, abnormally quiet as he watches you warily. He walks you to your door, leaning on the doorframe as you step inside.

“You alright?” He asks, big brown eyes shining with worry as he looks you over.

“Yeah.” You nod, shifting on your feet. “Just tired. I think I might take a nap.”

He nods, and you’re sure he doesn't quite believe you, but he doesn’t press any. “Alright. Happy napping.”

You close the door as he leaves, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. It’s been a long day and it’s only lunch. Between the probing questions from Dr. Keller and the few minutes you had spent alone with Ghost you feel exhausted. It was good to know you weren’t entirely broken in your lack of nesting instincts, and perhaps your turmoil with belonging in this place wasn’t quite as abnormal as you thought.

What to do about Ghost.

He’s said more words to you today than he did in the entirety of the previous day. In fact, you think today might be the first time he’s spoken to you at all. You know he doesn’t approve of you, and you’d go so far as to say he doesn’t like you. You can imagine he fought the hardest against you being added to the pack. They were fine without you. It didn’t take a genius to see that.

You’re an outsider. A civilian. A risk.

An unneeded disruption to their lives.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, staring at the dark screen. You know Ghost might never accept you. He won’t want to claim you, he won’t mate you, but...perhaps you might just get him to tolerate you.

You unlock your phone, sending a quick text to Kate.

“Can you get a book for me?”

You regret your decision momentarily as you step into the rec room. Gaz and Soap are lounged on the couch, beer bottles open on the coffee table. The TV is playing ads, their attention on each other. You almost feel as if you’re infringing upon a private moment as they laugh, half tempted to race back to your room and hide until your hunger draws you out or someone breaks down the door to get to you.

“Hey!” Gaz’s face lights up when he sees you, Soap turning to look at you.

“Hey, bonny!” His face lights up with a smile.

“Do you mind if I join you?” You ask, shifting nervously on your feet.

“Not at all.” Gaz says, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him. “You want a beer?”

You shake your head. “No thank you. Never could get past the taste.”

Soap throws his head back as he laughs, slapping Gaz’s shoulder. “I keep tellin’ ye!”

“Yet you keep drinking it!” Gaz attempts to defend himself.

“Cause it’s th’ only thing we got!” Soap argues, leaning around Gaz to stare at you. “So, ye a football fan, bonny?”

“Well, I watched the World Cup a couple times as a kid.” You say. “My household was more of an American football and baseball household. Two of my older brothers played soccer, though they never were very serious about it. Mostly just did it to fulfill my dad’s physical activity extracurricular requirement.”

“What did you do to fulfill that requirement?” Gaz asks as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Softball. I was...not good at it.” You laugh. “I could catch and throw, but I don’t think I hit the ball a single time I was at bat.”

Both of them chuckle, turning back to the TV as the ad ends. “Don’t worry, we’ll turn you into a proper football fan yet.” Gaz says.

You watch the game with them, and it doesn’t take you long to realize they’re rooting for opposing teams. They explain things to you here and there in between yelling at the TV and each other. Despite how loud they are, you find yourself relaxing further and further, the tension from the last two days easing away, even as the two betas yell at each other over a soccer game.

Gaz tenses for a second as he feels a sudden weight on his shoulder. He turns his head slightly, noticing you’ve fallen asleep, your head drooping onto his shoulder. His lips quirk up in a smile as he gently nudges Soap.

“Wha?” Soap asks, turning to look at him.

He jerks his head to the side, leaning back just slightly so Soap can see. A grin breaks out on the younger man’s face and he pulls out his phone. “Aww, look a’ that. Think we should wake ‘er and get ‘er tae bed?”

“Nah.” Gaz says. “Let her sleep for now. She probably needs it.”

You sleep soundly through overtime, Gaz not moving until the post game is over, letting you sleep as long as possible. He knows you have to be tired, after the last few days and the time difference. You looked tired today, with dark circles and droopy eyes. He hates to wake you, but he knows you can’t sleep on the couch.

He nudges you gently, trying to rouse you. “Hey.” He nudges you again, your head finally lifting off his shoulder.

You blink sleepily, rubbing at your eyes. You make a quiet sound in protest of being awake, eyes drooping closed again.

“Come on, love.” He says, keeping you upright. “It’s time for bed.”

You cover your yawn with your hand, blinking at him sleepily. “Bed?” You murmur sleepily, Gaz smiling softly at how adorable you are in this state.

“Yeah, you’ll be more comfortable in bed.” He pushes himself to stand, hands on your arms to pull you up.

You make another sound in protest, nearly falling against his chest when he gets you on your feet. He wraps an arm around you, letting you lean on him as he guides you back to bed, Soap cleaning up the mess they had made.

You’re more awake once you get to your door, blinking up at him with bleary eyes. “‘S fun.” You murmur, rubbing your eyes. “Should do that more often.”

“You’re always welcome to join us.” He says. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long week.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Night, love.”

He waits until your door is closed before heading back down the hallway towards the rec room, a small smile on his face.

Taglist:

@bobaprint, @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx, @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @blue-blue0, @hindi-si-ikay @hanellokey, @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee, @141trash @ghostlythots, @lothiriel9, @dillybuggg, @beebeechaos, @konigsmissedbeltloop, @kaoyamamegami, @thychuvaluswife, @idkkkkkkk8363, @wallwriterstuff, @bisky-business, @smile-child-13, @anomiatartle, @dangerkittenclaws, @bless-my-demons, @mystic60, @evolutionarry, @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff, @cadotoast, @linaangel, @rancid-wasp, @codsunshine, @thriving-n-jiving, @slayerx147, @ferns-fics

(If you'd like to join the taglist, let me know!)

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #a/b/o #alpha beta omega dynamics

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 6 months

Text

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 22

Part 1 Part 21

It’s either very late or very early. The early rays of dawn light are just barely shining through the windshield. It’s warm on Will’s face in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. That place had been cold. It had been dark. He had been alone.

And then there was Eddie and Steve. Their hands were warm on his shoulder, on his cheek. Their quiet voices are a balm to the bleakness blooming in his lungs. They’d saved him, time and again. And now Eddie’s catatonic in the seat beside him, and Steve is still there. In the dark. Alone.

Where WIll had left him.

Barbara’s looking out the window on his other side, leaning as far away from him as possible, like she can feel the darkness that he can still feel clinging to him from that place. In the front seat, Jonathan’s gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Nancy’s vibrating in the passenger seat, twitching like she’s bursting for a fight.

Will doesn’t know why any of these people are here, or where they’re going. He doesn’t know much of anything anymore.

The unasked question is answered when Jonathan pulls into the driveway. He’s home.

The house is in shambles when he walks in. Christmas lights hang, unlit from the ceiling like they’d been strung up in a hurry. The dining room table is overturned, chairs upside down, boxes scattered to and fro. Will doesn’t know what happened here, and that unknowing makes the pit finally sink into his stomach. He’s been gone. He doesn’t know how long, but it’s written into the disarray of their home. He’s been gone.

“Mom?” Jonathan calls.

Will stands on the threshold, something tightening in his throat. For a second, he swears there’s ash raining down. Blinks and it’s gone.

“Mom?” Jonathan calls again, louder.

Barbara and Nancy follow him in. Eddie stands by his side, slinging his arm around his shoulders, warm like forgiveness. “Come on, baby Byers.” Talking sounds like it hurts him. Will lets himself be led.

Jonathan comes back from his walkthrough of the house. “She’s not here,” he says. Will nods, leans further into Eddie’s side. There’s a funny look on Jonathan’s face that he’s never seen before. It congeals in his throat until he’s hiccuping on it. “Oh, hey, she’s just been spending a lot of time with the Chief. Trying to get you back.”

She’d sounded so desperate on the phone, and when the lights started flickering. He’d heard his Mom and Lonnie talking once, back when things weren’t good between them, but a little better. Lonnie had said, “no one should have to bury their own kid,” and his Mom had sucked in a breath like even the thought was enough to leave her breathless.

There’d been a story in the newspaper that day about a kid two towns over drowning in the river. His Mom’s hug was extra hard that day.

He wants her arms now. She’ll know how to bring Eddie back from the brink, and get Steve out of that place where everything is wrong. She can do anything.

“How long has it been?” He doesn’t realize he’s the one who asked until Eddie squeezes his shoulders.

Jonathan takes a step back, like Will’s question hit him like a slap. Nancy takes a step forward, opens her mouth, and answers. “Five days.”

It seems like too long and not long enough. He feels tainted, permanently changed from being out of school for a week.

“So, four days for me and Steve?” Eddie asks.

“When did you two get there?” Nancy asks.

Did anyone even know they were missing? Did anyone look for them like they had for Will?

“At that party,” Eddie says. “When you and Steve had your little, uh, lovers quarrel.” The last part comes out biting and bitter, like Eddie’s a dog being fed rancid meat, but he’s too hungry not to eat.

“Oh,” Nancy says, looking down at her white tennis shoes. Everyone in this house looks like a real person – real and clean and alive. Will’s not sure what crawled out of the hole in that place in his place, but he’s not sure it’s alive.

His insides are gnawing at him, writhing like they’re alive.

“What now?” Barbara asks.

“Now, we feed the squirt here,” Eddie says, shaking Will around like a ragdoll, “and then we get Steve the fuck out of there.”

Jonathan and Nancy make sandwiches. Will wonders if Eddie’s tastes like sawdust, too.

“We should go to his parents, right?” Barbara asks, picking at her own sandwich disinterestedly.

“No,” Will says, just at the same time as Eddie says, “No fucking way!”

Barbara widens her eyes, clearly shocked. She hadn’t been there when Steve seemed like he’d rather gnaw his own arm off than go to his house to try and call his own parents. She’s never lived with the looming shadow of Lonnie Byers pacing outside her bedroom door in the middle of the night.

“There’s no way they’ve even realized Steve is missing,” Eddie says, vehemently, “much less care.”

Jonathan shoots Will a look, and Will knows they’ve both mentally inducted Steve Harrington into the bad dad’s club. Maybe Eddie, too.

“Then, what?” Barbara asks with a sigh, clearly done with their shit.

“We have to find it again,” Nancy says.

Barbara looks at her best friend like she’s never seen her before. “You want to go back out there?”

“Maybe we don’t have to.” she says, folding her hands primly on the table, even as her eyes go flinty and hard. “When I saw it, it was feeding on a dead deer, meaning it’s a predator, right?” No one responds, so she keeps going. “And it seems to hunt at night, like a lion or a coyote.”

“It got me and Steve at night,” Eddie says.

“Me, too,” Will contributes, when everyone looks at him. “I fell off my bike and scraped my hands. It got in the house.”

“You were bleeding?” Eddie asks, turning fully in his chair to bore holes into Will’s head until he nods. He sinks into his chair, knocking his head backward to stare up at the ceiling. “At the party, Steve punched the wall. His knuckles were bleeding.”

It comes out lifeless. Will wants to beg him to stay here at the table with them, not drift back into his mind where no one can follow. But, Steve and Eddie seem a lot like him and Mike, intrinsically linked until one doesn’t seem right without the other, like best friends always are.

He hopes Mike is okay.

“Of course he did,” Barbara mutters.

Eddie comes back to life at the comment to snarl at the girl. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

“Okay!” Nancy says, raising her hands palm up, placating. “We all want Steve back, right?” Everyone nods, even Barbara with her pursed mouth and cold eyes. “It's just a theory, but sharks can detect blood in one part per million, that’s one drop in a million, and they can smell it from a quarter mile away.”

“So, you’re saying it can detect blood?” Jonathan asks.

“It’s just a theory,” Nancy replies.

“We could test it,” Will says. “But if it works.” He doesn’t finish the thought. He never wants to see the Demogorgon again, but for Steve, he will. Steve Harrington had saved his life, and then Will had taken Eddie away from him.

“At least we’ll know it’s coming,” Eddie says, as only a person who’d been surprised by it too many times. “And we’ll be ready.

Part 23

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #my fic #will pov!!!!!

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bradshawssugarbaby · 27 days

Text

Girl, You're My Angel - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley Bradshaw's a down on his luck first baseman in the MLB, struggling to find his stride in the game he loves so much. A wedding invite from his ex-wife is enough to convince him to go for a drink, trying to forget about everything going on. He wasn't banking on meeting you though.

pairing: baseball!Bradley Bradshaw x reader (nicknamed Angel)

warnings/content: baseball au, mentions of divorce, smoking, alcohol, reference to drunk driving, bar fight, mentions of blood, Bradley having a dirty mind.

word count: 3k.

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted

The booming bass drum of a classic rock song thumped in your head as you gripped the cocktail glass in your hand. The liquid sloshed around in the glass as you danced, swaying to and fro with your best friends, trying your best to enjoy yourself on your girls’ night out. Your finals had just wrapped up, and you were this much closer to earning your masters, the only thing standing between you and getting that embossed sheet of paper, was your grades. To unwind after the cram sessions you’d mustered your way through for the past month, your friends dragged you out to some new amusement bar in the Gaslamp Quarter.

Across the bar, on the other side of the room, stood Bradley Bradshaw, a once promising baseball star who now, had earned himself a reputation as the MLB’s resident asshole - unable to take criticism or a loss without lashing out at someone. His recent stunt involved hurling his baseball bat across the diamond when he struck out in practice, frustrated with his sudden lack of skill, a skill that once came so naturally to him when his mind wasn’t preoccupied.

The invitation had come in the mail two days before the bat throwing incident. His ex-wife, the one who left him two and a half years ago, was remarrying the fucking prick she cheated on Bradley with. The invite had come completely out of the blue, and when Bradley opened it, he felt all of the air leave his lungs as his fingers traced over the gold embossed lettering, donning her name and the name of her new fiancé. He’d never admit it to anyone, but that single piece of cardstock had been enough to reduce him to tears, slumping down the kitchen wall as he hugged his knees to his chest, crying loud enough that it made him thankful he had no neighbours near by.

Bradley had pulled himself together, lit a cigarette from the pack he’d been nursing for the last few months, reserved only for social events and times of pure stress, and got in his vintage Ford Bronco, his first purchase when he signed his first contract. Taking a drag from the cigarette, his brown eyes scanned over San Diego’s downtown core as he cruised past a few of the typical nightlife spots - each one a little too public for what he wanted. All other options exhausted, he pulled up outside of a newer bar that had opened the previous week, neon lights advertising an arcade on one side and drinks on the other.

He figured if nothing else, a couple of rounds of Pac-Man on an old video game after a handful of beers might do him good. He could leave the Bronco parked there and walk to the hotel around the corner, and forget about how his ex-wife’s wedding was coming up in six months, how she’d had the audacity to invite him to see her marrying the guy he’d walked in on her with.

He sidled up to the bar, nodding his head to the bartender in thanks as he ordered himself a beer. Standing across from him was a group of women, not much younger than him, gossiping and giggling together. He sized the group up, thinking to himself that maybe a one-night deal was what he needed to take his mind off his ex.

You were the tallest girl of the group, with bright eyes, and hair brushed back in a sleek, high ponytail, sporting a form-fitting cocktail dress that made Bradley’s heart race when he saw you. He pounded back the rest of his beer, trying to find his confidence in himself once again in the comfort of the drink.

Bradley set his empty bottle down on the bar top before walking his way around the circular counter. He rested his elbow on the bar, leaning in with a broad smile as you looked in his direction. He offered a polite wave of his hand, chuckling awkwardly as he felt his confidence wavering as he spoke to you.

“Hey, could I buy you a drink? He said simply, his Virginian accent dropping into a thicker drawl than usual.

“I’m good, thanks, still got one,” You held up your half-full glass and shook your head politely, not wanting to reject him too brutally.

Bradley nodded his head once at you, his smile faltering for a second. He quickly regained himself, smiling once again politely before grabbing himself another beer and heading over to the arcade, resolving that a couple of old-school video games might make his night a little better.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to rejection - he’d been turned down almost as often as he’d been accepted, but for some reason, your rejection stung just that little bit more. Maybe it was the wedding invitation still making things sour, or maybe it was the fact that the mere sight of a girl hadn’t been enough to make his heart accelerate like this in a long time. He shook his head once, trying to focus his train of thought once again on something, anything other than what was currently occupying it.

Baseball? Too stressful, his game was starting to slip up on him. Buying a puppy? No, it’d just be one more thing he could let down. Hitting the gym? He already went 6 days a week - if he went any more frequently, he’d have to consider moving his bed in there.

His mind raced as he pressed the buttons on the video game, moving the small yellow circle across the screen, collecting points between sips of beer. Behind him, he heard a couple of guys shouting at a tv screen, the sound of the latest sports highlights blaring out in the background.

“This Bradshaw asshole needs to get his shit together. Twenty-nine and he plays about as well as my ten year old. Drop him down to the minors or get rid of the bastard. He shouldn’t be missing plays like this.” One of the voices shouted at the tv, his friends nodding their heads in silent agreement with his rant.

Bradley felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as the insults about his playing continued to spout from this guy’s mouth. He couldn’t have been much older than Bradley was, one of those armchair commentators who probably hadn’t swung a bat since Little League. As the criticism continued, each jab focused directly at Bradley’s game performance, missing one play that cost a game - one that he’d already been feeling pissed off about - it became harder to ignore.

“I bet that hot little piece of ass wife of his left him because she knew he was a dogshit baseball player.”

Bradley spun around on his heels so fast that he swore the room was spinning. He turned to face the group, crowded in a corner in front of the tv, faces all glued to the female commentator. Bradley could practically hear the derogatory thoughts they were having about her and it only fuelled his anger more.

“Hey, man, if you’ve got an issue with how I play the game, I’d like to see you get off your ass and go play nine innings against Boston. Keep my ex-wife’s name out of your mouth.” Bradley scoffed, narrowing his dark brown eyes at the trio.

“You got a problem, jackass?” The other man growled, raising an eyebrow at Bradley as he slammed his drink down on the table. “She probably left you for that rookie because even she knew you weren’t good for anything.”

“That so? Your wife would probably like to go a couple rounds with me though.” Bradley retorted, a devilish smirk forming on his face as he folded his muscular arms across his chest.

Before Bradley had time to blink, the man drew back his arm and landed a hard punch to Bradley’s jaw. Bradley quickly delivered a stronger hit to the man’s face, watching him stumble backwards for a second. Bradley turned around and walked outside, getting ready to light another cigarette as he ran his hand over his jaw, assessing if he had any damage to worry about.

The man returned, practically running outside after Bradley. More heated words were exchanged, insults flying between them both before the man delivered another hit, this time to Bradley’s nose. He shook his hand off and headed off down the street with his friends, disappearing off to the next bar. Bradley held his nose, blood dripping down from his nostrils and onto his hand.

You and your friends had heard the commotion when it unfolded inside, and decided to head out, having enough excitement for one night. As you stepped out, you saw the man who’d hit on you earlier, this time with his nose bleeding onto the pavement under him. You ran over to him, raising an eyebrow.

“What did you do, hit on a girl who had a boyfriend?” You asked playfully as you rooted through your purse for something to help clean his nose.

“Called a guy out for saying my ex-wife was a “hot piece of ass”, actually,” Bradley nodded once, gratefully taking the tissues from you and using them to clean his nose.

“Stick your hand out for a sec,” you instructed, squirting a dollop of scented hand sanitizer into his large palm before raising an eyebrow at him, “You don’t have anything I could catch from helping you without gloves?”

“What the hell is that suppose to mean?” Bradley scoffed, trying to laugh but wincing instead, “And why the fuck does my hand smell like a flower?”

“Lavender hand sanitizer. It’s not as good as washing your hands, but it’ll do while we’re outside. And I’m going to hold the tissues in place while you rub it into your hands, but I don’t want to catch something. I’m just fresh out of latex gloves.”

“Good thing. I’m allergic,” he laughed, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to brave through the pain, “I’m clean. You’re fine. I get drug tested and physicals through work constantly.”

“What kind of a job provides those? Military?”

“Professional athlete.” He nodded as you pinched the tissues to his nose, applying pressure to help with the bleeding. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“Your nose is broken, it’s suppose to hurt.”

“What are you, a doctor?”

“No, just wrote my finals for a masters in nursing.”

“Close enough,” Bradley nodded slightly, cringing as you continued to apply pressure to his nose.

You rooted through your purse, laughing softly as you pulled a tampon out of your bag. Bradley raised an eyebrow at you, not quite registering what the item was until you pulled the plastic wrapping off of it, stuffing the garbage back into your purse.

“What the fuck do you plan on doing with that?”

“I need to stick it up your nose on the left side. It’s bleeding more than I’d like to see, and a broken nose should probably be set in a medical setting. This way, you won’t bleed all over my car.”

“Your car? You’ve been drinking.”

“Half a vodka-cran over the span of three hours? I think I’m probably not gonna blow over the limit.”

“You are not sticking that up my nose,” he replied stubbornly, arms folding over his chest like a petulant child.

“Look at your shirt,” you laughed, gesturing to the white floral print button down he was wearing, its collar now tinged with red and pink splotches.

“Fine,” he said with a reluctant sigh, “but if anyone finds out about this, I’m denying it.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you nodded as you offered him the plastic applicator.

Bradley rolled his eyes and reluctantly pressed the bottom of the applicator, pushing the tampon into the edge of his nose. He looked at you with another dramatic eyeroll and shook his head before walking down the street to a garbage can. He discarded the applicator before turning to face you, sighing.

“I can take myself to a hospital, you know.”

“I’m already here, I may as well come with you. Besides, I feel kinda bad about turning you down.”

“Oh, so you’re taking care of me out of pity?” He teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe. Even more so with a tampon hanging out of your nose.”

“It’s quite the fashion statement, isn’t it?” He laughed softly, unbuttoning his dress shirt. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, revealing a clean white t-shirt.

You unlocked your car, the familiar beep as the doors unlocked causing Bradley to stifle a laugh.

“What is that?!”

“My car,” you responded matter-of-factly, “What does it look like?”

“One of those cars for a Barbie doll that my goddaughter plays with,” he said as he flourished his hand, gesturing to your pink steering wheel cover and coordinating seat cover.

“Listen, I like pink. Now are you getting in, or do I have to make you?”

Bradley’s eyes widened for a moment, your playful threat of making him get into the car sending his mind into a frenzy again. He eyed you up and down again, and found himself shaking his head as he wondered what colour underwear you had on under your dress. He bet it was probably a coordinating pink set - the kind that Victoria’s Secret mannequins would model in the store window, with delicate little bows or lace or something adorning them.

Focus, Bradley. She doesn’t want to sleep with you. Stop thinking about her.

He sat down in the passenger’s seat, watching as you hopped into the driver’s side. As you pulled away from the curb, he raised an eyebrow at your choice in music as Taylor Swift started blaring from the speaker.

“You can change it if you want to,” you nodded. “You can put on whatever.”

“No, no, It’s fine. I actually like this song.”

“You said you’re a professional athlete? What sport do you play?”

“Baseball,” he said, slowly nodding his head, “my headshot’s on a flag outside of Petco Park.”

“I thought I recognized you, you’re that player everyone always talks about, right?”

“Unfortunately. It’s rarely good things.”

“How come?”

Bradley sighed, raising an eyebrow, “You know they talk about me but not why?”

“I don’t follow baseball, I've actually never even seen a game, live or on tv. I just know my friend does and she told me everyone talks about you. Bradshaw, right? Number 10?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Bradley Bradshaw. First baseman, used to have a promising career, then, you know, wife cheats on me with a rookie from a rival team, catch her in a hotel room that I paid for with him, and then, despite me stupidly telling her I forgave her and you know what, I was pissed, but I loved her anyway and I blamed myself for her cheating, she served me divorce papers. Said I was incapable of loving anything but baseball. Says the woman who refused to do anything with me when I tried to be loving and affectionate. My friends swear she only married me for the status and the paycheck. Her new fiancé just signed a multi-million dollar contract that’s being talked about as one of the highest in the league, so it sort of checks out.”

“Jeez,” you whistled, shaking your head, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It was two and half years ago. I just, I haven’t found my stride again yet, I guess.”

“Is that why you got defensive about her?”

“They said she left me for this other guy because she knew I was a dogshit ball player. I mean, it’s probably not far off. But, I got an invite for her wedding in the mail today, and I was already on edge, so I sort of…snapped.”

“She invited you?!”

“Yeah, like that, huh? She probably thought I have someone new I’m seeing and that we could still be friends or some shit.”

“So you need a date?”

“I’m not going,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “I’m not going.”

“Why not? Free drinks for a night, you can wish her well while secretly hoping her husband’s ball career washes out on him in a year or two.”

Bradley chuckled, shrugging his shoulders as he gestured his hand towards you, “I like your thinking actually, but I’m not going alone.”

“I’ll go with you,” you offered, shrugging your shoulders, “When is it?”

“In six months, you don’t need to come with me though. I’ll send her some cheap gift and call it a day.”

“No,” you insisted as you pulled into a parking space at the hospital’s urgent care clinic, “I’ll come with you. I love a good revenge story. Besides, it could be fun. I’ve never partied with a bunch of baseball players before.”

“You’re…you’re something else, you know that?”

“You mean, you don’t have dozens of women offering you a tampon to stop your nosebleed, driving you to the hospital and then offering to accompany you to your ex-wife’s wedding date?” you challenged.

“Can’t say that I do, no.”

“Well, I’m honoured to be your first.”

Bradley couldn’t help his ear to ear grin as he followed you into the hospital. Despite his bloodied, battered nose, which was hurting more than he cared to let on, and his fledging career, falling apart around him as he stood there, he felt genuinely excited. Excited to get to know you better. Excited to see where things went with you. He felt a promising sense in your words - like maybe, just maybe, he might be able to be done with one-night-stands and empty beds in the morning. He felt giddy, like a teenager going on a first date with his high school crush. He wasn’t sure if it was the pain from his nose or the alcohol talking, but he was almost convinced you were a guardian angel of sorts. Refusing to believe that someone like you could be anything but.

First things first though, he needed to bring you to a baseball game.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw au #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw au #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x y/n #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw au #rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x y/n #top gun maverick au fic #baseball au

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foldingfittedsheets · 2 months

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Our friend with the new dog is obviously very emotional right now. She chose a border collie husky mix as her first dog ever and didn’t do any reading. She was just so excited to have a buddy that she didn’t think about some of the harder aspects of dog ownership like acclimating to existing pets or training.

Since my betrothed and I literally just had the puppy blues we definitely understood. When we went over to work with her and see where Harbor the dog was at. She was obviously overwhelmed with all the new aspects of her life. On a walk she’d lunge to and fro at bikes, other dogs, crows. Her ears didn’t even twitch toward her owner at attempts to get her attention.

I suggested we go home and work with her in the backyard. Our friend had been trying to use the dogs kibble as training rewards and I was like. What do you have that’s stinkier because she won’t even take these as a gift let alone a reward.

Turned out our friend did have some treats. In the living room I put Harbor through her paces. She knew all her basic commands and performed them easily in the quiet environment for the promise of a treat. But her name recognition and recall were shaky, along with her leash manners.

So I got us into the backyard and did a demo for my friend on how to teach heeling on the leash. Our friend cried when she watched the flighty unmanageable dog fall into step beautifully beside me, focused on me and the treat I could offer for good behavior.

Then I had us play a recall game where we all had treats and scattered around the yard. Harbor could go wherever she wanted but if we called her name and she looked at us or came over we’d give her a treat.

I told our friend not to do neighborhood walks for the first week, but just to practice heeling in the backyard and name recognition without any big distractions. Then at the end of the week I could come back and do a short neighborhood walk and see how they go. I suggested coming over weekly to help them work together.

Our friend cried again and hesitated. I said, “I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped- if you don’t want that…”

“No! It’s just that I can’t pay you.”

I was flabbergasted that she’d even think of paying us. I reassured her I didn’t need to be paid and that I liked working with her and Harbor for fun. I may not be able to have a dog of my own, and my betrothed has to wear a respirator on visits, but it’s nice working with a dog again in some capacity.

#ramblies #harbor definitely doesn’t love us and probsbly won’t #she’s definitely a one person dog #but she minds her manners and that’s what counts

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harveywritings92 · 1 year

Text

{A few days after that weird encounter, Ghost, Soap and Gaz are at a small bar in town.]

Soap, nudging Ghost in the side: Et, Lt, Check it out it’s yer girlfriend.~

Ghost, looks at him like he grew six heads:...

Gaz: The lady who caught us in her backyard and ask if we were on drugs?

{Ghost looks over his shoulder to see they weren’t joking, it was her. She was with a man and both looked annoyed at each other’s presence as they sat down behind the three solders.]

Man: Are you seriously looking at me and telling me that I’m wrong?!

R/n: Oh, come on, Dude! They have one female servicing a large group of males. That implies a species that lays eggs!

Man: Oh my God, you're crazy! They're so obviously mammals!

R/n: Please! She'd be in estrus 24/7 if she didn't lay eggs!

Man: Smurfs don't lay eggs! I won't tell you this again! Papa Smurf has a fucking beard! They're mammals! Christ! This is as stupid as Your “the North witch is a princess.” debate!

R/n: She’s wears a pink puffy gown, has a tiara. And came down from the sky in a sparkly bubble! If that doesn’t scream “I’m a princess” then what does!?

Bartender: HEY! L/N, MAN’S NAME! STOP FUCKING YELLING AT EACH OVER CARTOONS OR GET THE FUCK OUT, YER DISTURBING THE OTHER CUSTOMERS!

[R/n and her friend sheepish quiet down and order some drinks, R/n goes to get her beer when she pauses and stares at Ghost perplex.]

R/n: Wait,...Don’t I know you?

Ghost: Doubtfu-

R/n: No, those eyes...*snaps her fingers* Yeah, yeah! You’re that soldier fro-- Epp!

[Ghost jumps off his stool, quickly grabs R/n’s arm pulls her towards the backdoor.]

Ghost: You said you’d forget about that!

R/n: You really thought I’d pretend like I didn’t catch a bunch armed men in my backyard getting ready to raid my neighbor’s house? …Maybe you are on drugs.

Ghost, flatly: I’m not on drugs...

R/n: Right, whatever. Can I have my arm back, or do you want my number first?

Ghost:...Is the good witch Glenda a princess?

{That’s how Ghost got R/n’s number.]

#S: the venture bros.#S: the good witch is a princess is from youtube #call of duty modern warfare incorrect quotes #call of duty modern warfare 2022 #cod mw ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x gaz #kyle gaz garrick #afab reader #civilian! reader

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avocadoguru · 8 months

Text

He was staring at her in a way no one had in her entire life. She couldn’t read anything in his eyes - not surprise, not fear, not malicious intent - nothing. (wolfrry, werewolf!harry, alpha!harry, ranger!y/n)

Lupus Noctis- Masterlist, Author’s Note & Warnings

Chapter 11 / alternatively, read on wattpad

Chapter 12 (word count: 9k) -updated September 6

“So… did you figure it out, yet?”

Harry didn’t even have time to find it funny, “Why wouldn’t you have said anything to me? This is… What do I do? Does she know? She wouldn’t know yet, would she? I don’t think she knows… Niall, I don’t know how to handle something like this!”

Harry’s emotions were high. And for good reason. What he’d just seen had him shaken. And it also meant that she’d been turned against her will by a psychopath. He was glad he’d murdered James but this would always be a reminder of what had happened and who had done it.

He had been curious about a few little things. The first was obviously the speed at which she’d recovered and then there was her sudden spunk. Her heightened sense of smell was peculiar when she picked out that he was to be making eggs benedict, which should have tipped him off right away. How had she guessed? The sauce wasn’t something that most humans could pick out from a small leak in a jar in a bag full of other more fragrant groceries.

“What happened that made you realize?”

“I saw her eyes turn golden. Just wish you’d said something.”

Niall had a hunch about her sudden natural reparative abilities, but he couldn’t be 100% sure at the time.“Harry, you have to understand, man. I didn’t say anything because it was either I was wrong or I was right and you’d figure it out anyway. It was better not to say anything if by chance she was just recovering in a way that doesn’t normally happen in humans. Sometimes things do happen that don’t make sense medically. I figured it was better to just wait and see.”

Harry paced, all the way to the furthermost corner of his expansive garden, outside of Y/N’s earshot. His towel tied tight around his waist as he ran his hands through his damp hair, “You could have at least given me a heads up. What do I do?”

Niall breathed out a laugh, “How should I know? I’m a medical doctor! I’m not cut out for emotional therapy. I’ve never dealt with anything like this. But you’ll figure it out.”

“I know. I just… how do I tell her?”

“Harry, again, I don’t know. We’re talking about a human that has been turned and I’m not familiar with all of this. It’s very unconventional. This kind of thing only happens in extremely rare cases and never in my life have I met a human that’s been turned. I’ve heard about it, just never known someone that it happened to. How has she been acting? What caused her eyes to change?”

Harry cleared his throat and looked up at his house, remembering to keep his voice down, “She’s been… very ready to do stuff. Awake. Wants to go for a swim. Is hungry. Um… a little bit bossy with me even.”

Niall hummed into the receiver, “Bossy… and what happened to have her eyes change?”

Harry could almost hear the cheek in his voice, “She was… I think maybe just excited. She’s been in a really good mood since I came back with groceries a bit ago.”

“Right… a good mood. Well, it’s doctor’s orders to take it easy on her. She might be… well… able to tolerate more, but… she’s still recovering. And so are you.”

A scoff fell from Harry’s lips, “Fine. No advice for me then?”

“Sorry, man. Never dealt with anything like this before. As you know, it’s exceptional that anyone would survive being bitten and getting turned. I just think that’s remarkable… The way you’ve been adamant she’s your mate, all this time. She really is your mate. Only your true mate could’ve survived turning for you.”

Y/N was onto Harry. She knew that he wasn’t running out to his car just to get something. Sure he ran out the front door but the way he reacted to her standing so close to him was a little out of character. Perhaps, she decided, that he was trying to “behave” and not push her into anything intimate. That made sense. She was still recovering from what she was told were deadly injuries. But that in itself was a mystery to her. She felt fine for the most part.

She’d unpacked the groceries and left out the ingredients to make the eggs benedict when Harry was in the shower. But getting interrupted by the way he had groaned and then, the thing that had started to become a big question at the front of her mind, was his scent. It was his natural musk but she could smell him from all the way downstairs in the kitchen while he was in the shower. It was his groan, however, that had her feet carrying her upstairs to check on him. Just to see.

She didn’t know why he’d suddenly become so timid with her. Why he was shying away from her. It was subtle but she noticed it.

When he came back inside, dawning only the towel he tucked around his waist he slowed his movements as he saw her standing there with a knowing look on her face.

“What happened?”

Harry tilted his chin up to feign more confidence than he was feeling in her presence suddenly. It was as if he was looking at her with new eyes. She was like him now and her senses would pick apart the subtlest changes, “I thought I’d left the butter in the car. Wouldn’t have wanted it to melt.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him as he walked past her into the kitchen, “But you didn’t go to your car.”

Harry clenched his jaw and stopped in his tracks. It was going to be difficult to pretend he didn’t know what was going on but he wanted to wait a little longer before telling her in hopes of her figuring it out herself. Or, in any case, he needed to figure out a way to ease her into this. He didn’t want her to freak out, or be by herself when she did figure it out. But he needed time to process it himself; all he knew was that he couldn’t just blurt it out to her out of nowhere.

He hated to have to go right back to keeping secrets from her again, especially such a huge one, and especially something that affected her directly. By some miracle he didn’t lose her, she was still there with him by choice, he just couldn’t handle losing her for good if she took to the news badly. Which she had every right to… just as much as she’d had every right to be as upset with him as she’d been just a little while back. He thought back then that he’d lost her for good. And now he had to prepare himself for the possibility of having his heart broken all over again.

The way he handled this was crucial. A wrong move and he could fuck it all up forever. He needed to tread carefully.

He looked at her with squinted eyes, “How do you know I didn’t check the car?”

Y/N paused. She had been feeling like her senses were somehow heightened. Her hearing, her sense of smell… She pondered his question as he continued walking into the kitchen. Looking at his broad shoulders and his back had her wishing he hadn’t run off when he did.

“It’s kind of weird, you know… I’ve been, like, experiencing these weird things. I can hear so clearly and my sense of smell is…” she thought back to the panties she found but decided to keep that bit of information until the time was right, for later, “and I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s all in my head? I feel like maybe I should call Niall…”

Harry watched her carefully as she mulled over everything and he pulled out two eggs from the carton before she continued, “So when I couldn’t hear the car door, I guess I just assumed…” She scoffed, hearing herself out loud. She sounded like a nutcase. Of course she wouldn’t be able to hear the car door all the way from upstairs. “Sorry. I’m being weird. But… right now I’m actually starving so if that butter made it alive let’s eat.”

Harry had Y/N heat the hollandaise while he prepared the rest of the ingredients. But she was clearly still mulling over their interaction upstairs. He noticed her eyes dragging down his bare chest and stopping at his crotch repeatedly. And he could tell she was not only hungry for food but she also had a bit of an appetite for something carnal as well.

He cleared his throat when he turned to find her leaning on the island and watching him, “Gonna burn the sauce.”

Her grin was playful and Harry felt his blood heat up as she spoke, “Turned it off already. The lid will keep it warm.” She didn’t remove her gaze from him. She was making it very clear what she wanted and he wondered if she was aware of what she was doing or not.

As much as he’d have loved to have bent her over the kitchen island and take care of his girl the way she needed he couldn’t allow that. Not until they at least had a real conversation. About what she’d seen. About how she was feeling.

When she began to walk toward him she realized it was like something was just drawing her to him. She wanted to… what did she want? Breakfast was nearly ready and she was very hungry, and yeah, she wanted to eat but what she really wanted was to bite him. Just to nip his shoulder or his neck. His pecs. She didn’t know why her urge was so strong but the moment she was close enough to touch him Harry stood up straight and he looked away from her sultry gaze, “Uh, I’m just gonna go and get dressed and then we’ll eat.”

Breakfast was tasty. It was nourishing and filled her belly, mostly. She felt like she could eat more but Harry’s scent and his hands and his lips were distracting. And the way he kept keeping her at arm’s length had her feeling even more insatiable for him. She knew he was doing it because he was worried about hurting her but she was going to explode if he didn’t do something.

Turning to face his pretty girl he nearly gave in right then and there, seeing the ravenous look in her eyes. He could practically read her mind, that’s how loud she was thinking those dirty thoughts. And he wanted to give in, he wanted to kiss her, hold her, feel her body against his. Taste her… He shook his head as he got off the stool and pulled himself away reluctantly, grabbing their dirty dishes.“Let’s go for a swim. Like you wanted. I think I know a great place. Secluded. Not in the preserve.” Harry rinsed the dishes as he spoke. He could feel her eyes burning into his back but he needed to keep moving, keep his thoughts from wandering too far. Distract her if he could. He felt he could use a swim himself. Get out some of his pent-up emotions and energy.

“That sounds great, actually,” she grinned and lifted herself up to sit on the counter next to where he was washing the dishes, “I feel like I need to move and exert some energy. A little exercise would be good I think. A swim.”

The drive to the new spot wasn’t as quick as it would have been if they’d driven to the preserve and parked and hiked up to their special hidden oasis. But they both knew they couldn’t go back there. Maybe ever. Y/N stopped herself from initiating conversation the whole drive there, and she could tell Harry was holding back, too. She just wasn’t quite ready to address all of that; she at least wanted to go for this swim first. That would hopefully make her feel a bit better. She felt absolutely fine apart from the fact she felt she didn’t fit into her own skin. She was aching to move, burn some energy off, and she suspected it was due to the fact that she was sexually frustrated.

Y/N decided to google her symptoms to pass the time quicker on their drive to this new, secluded place Harry had suggested. She was not quite understanding the way she was able to smell everything so clearly. She typed in sudden heightened sense of smell into the search bar. Scrolling through the various results and webmd articles she landed on something that might explain the strange phenomenon.

Synesthesia could be the answer. It wasn’t uncommon for people that had gone through life-threatening injuries. She wasn’t 100% sure that was what was causing her to smell and hear things she would have never been able to before but at least it was some kind of answer. Something to ask Niall about when she did finally talk to him about all this.

Harry parked his car off the road and tucked away behind large pines and in the grass. It was miles from the preserve and in an area where the mountains were not protected or worked by the rangers. Some of it was privately owned land that hadn’t been touched in decades.

“The swimming cove is a spot I used to come to when I had time to waste and wanted to venture away from the preserve.” Harry spoke as he grabbed her bag from her, putting it over his shoulder and began walking toward the fence that clearly meant the area was off limits.

The overgrowth of vines and grass indicated that no one had been in these parts in a very long time. Which put Y/N at ease. She followed him, scaling the fence easily and trekking through the acreage close behind.

The upward hike was off trail and cumbersome but once they began making their way down into the valley from where they’d hiked Y/N saw the ridges of the mountain and a level area below with a ravine.

“Your sense of direction is astonishing,” she commented as they carefully trekked down toward where they could hear the water flowing, “But I guess that makes sense, doesn’t it? You’re a…” she stopped just before she could say the word. She still had to get used to that idea. That he was a werewolf. Part human, part beast.

Harry turned to look at her, stopping his pace suddenly as he raised his brows at her, “A werewolf? Is that what you were going to say?”

Nodding her head she shrugged, “Yeah. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be called that. Or… I don’t know. Is it okay to say it?”

The gentle smile that took over his features told her it was, though he didn’t respond to her question with words.

Looking down to the sandy portion of the ravine Harry pointed, “Just there. It’s beautiful once you see it from the ground. Come on.”

Y/N was wearing her hiking boots while Harry was in his signature chelsea boots, making the descent to the cove look like child’s play. She was now hyper aware of why he was so good at hiking and trekking and staying steady even in such posh shoes. Everything that had suddenly come to light about what he really was had answered so many questions for her.

But the moment they were standing in the wet sand before the cove where the ravine led, all her thoughts about what Harry was had vanished. Another breathtaking spot with not a single human soul to be seen.

Harry placed their bags on the rocks to keep them dry and began to take his boots off as he watched Y/N curiously. He had been careful not to allow her to over exert herself but she was easily keeping up with him and she seemed fine. She was fine. Her heartbeat was steady and strong, her body had barely broken out in a sweat and she had a wide smile on her face as she looked around.

“Harry, this is… it’s perfect!” She was eager to move her limbs in the cool water. Feel the weightlessness take over and play around with Harry.

She looked over at him as he was undressing, taking his clothes off, his boots already on the rocks next to the bags. So she followed suit. Taking her own boots off and peeling her pants down her legs.

Harry was already jumping into the water by the time Y/N had stuffed her shirt onto the pile of clothes. Looking down over her body she did see the awful scar. The wound was healed but the remnants of what had happened was obvious. She hesitated to remove her bra as she brushed a hand over the raised skin.

“Everything okay?” Harry called to her. She looked out toward him, handsome with wet hair as he came in closer to her.

“Yeah. Just… saw this and…” she ran her fingers from the top of her clavicle downward over the scar to under her breast, “I guess I feel lucky to even be alive. Here with you.”

She kept her eyes on his as she unhooked the back of her bra and removed it.

Harry watched her as she bent down and took her panties off. He was already hard just seeing her bare body but the scar across her chest kept him in check. She was still recovering. Still figuring out what was going on.

The somber moment was suddenly over the minute she jumped into the water next to Harry and began to laugh. The water was frigid but it felt fantastic. Normally she would feel discomfort but right now her body was adjusting to it just fine, feeling invigorated and alive.

Stretching her limbs in the water she ducked her head under to swim closer to Harry and grasped his wrist.

Harry pulled her up and she tugged his arm around herself. Both grinning ear to ear with the closeness. He was just glad she was feeling playful. That she wasn’t upset or hurt by what had happened. At least in that moment she wasn’t. He knew she’d have lots of questions for him. Knew they needed to have a conversation but for now the light hearted moment was the only thing he could focus on. And her warm skin against his.

She was more than just playful though. She was horny and Harry knew it. Having her naked in the cool water of a private cove in the mountains was risky. Because he was turned on too. And he knew he was asking for trouble with this scenario. It evoked memories of their time together at the oasis in the preserve.

He could resist her for only so long. She was laying it on thick in his house during breakfast and now with his clothes off and his obvious erection it would be even harder to resist her.

Harry pulled his arm away and began to swim backwards, gliding through the water smoothly, putting some distance between himself and the girl.

“Where are you going?” She laughed and began to swim toward him slowly.

Harry shook his head and feigned innocence, “What do you mean? Just swimming is all,” he bit the inside of his cheek to tamper the playful grin on his face.

Instead of continuing after him she decided she’d lure him to her. She ducked under the water again, kicking her feet out and splashing as she maneuvered under the water before surfacing, bouncing out just enough that her breasts were visible to him.

She watched him closely as she pushed herself back and stretched her arms to float at the surface. The tranquility of having her ears tucked under the water, muffling all the sounds that surrounded them, and floating in the mountain chilled water on her back was just like being back at her oasis. She smiled to herself and peeked an eye at Harry. To her delight, he was already watching her closely.

His eyes were clearly taking in her soft breasts with tightened nipples perking above the water. She wouldn’t tease him too much but she wanted his hands on her. Wanted his attention. Wanted him to give in to her. She knew what he was doing. Knew he was trying to keep his distance because she needed to heal. But that just made her want him more. His gentlemanly and thoughtful attempts to keep her healthy and the way he was doing it because he cared for her. Denying himself something she knew he wanted as a way of protecting her.

Harry decided to peel his eyes from her body and float on his back too. He needed to straighten out his thoughts and get his mind out of the gutter. He closed his eyes and tried to train his dirty thoughts away. He knew his body was calling him to take care of his natural urges with his mate. And now that she was like him… she was very likely made exactly for him in every way.

But he couldn’t just act on his desires. He didn’t want to hurt her and he was sure if they did have sex she’d display even more evidence of being like him and that could scare her. If she somehow dropped her fangs in the middle of her orgasm or her claws came out while he was pounding into her – yeah, his thoughts weren’t helping. All of that sounded absolutely delightful and he’d love to feel her fangs puncture into his skin, or have her claw up his back and chest.

“Harry,” he heard her voice speak his name and he popped his eyes open, dropping the lower half of his body back into the water and letting his toes scrape along the rocky sand.

She saw the way his erection was bobbing just above the water every time his chest inhaled and he floated upward the tiniest bit. And then his eyes on hers were dark. She could almost hear his heart pounding in his chest, not unlike her own wildly pumping heart.

Something in her decided to cut the shit. She was feeling bold. Feeling like he wanted exactly what she wanted and as nice as it was to be cared for and protected by him she wanted him to fuck her. She wanted him to hold her in his arms and to give himself to her once and for all.

“Stop this,” she spoke matter-of-factly as she swam around his body. “I can see clearly how affected you are by me.”

Touching his shoulder she moved her finger down over his tattoos and to his pecs, thumbing at his nipple and watching his eyes, “I’m okay. Really. You don’t have to keep holding off and denying yourself, Harry.” She moved herself in front of him and draped her arms over his shoulders.

Without another thought, Harry’s hands moved down to her waist as he pulled her in closer to him, “I want you healthy is all. And I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Nodding her head she agreed. That was true. They needed to talk. But something inside of her needed something physical. She needed it to uncloud her brain and give her some kind of clarity. She couldn’t explain it, she just knew she needed it. More than a talk. As important as that was, she was sure she wouldn’t ever be able to focus on anything he told her if he didn’t fuck her first.

“Yes. We will talk. But I don’t know how to explain the way I feel in this moment, how much I need you.” She bit her lip and pushed her hips to his, his cock firm on her thigh, “It’s kind of painful actually.”

Harry could feel her warm against his prick as he looked down to see her breasts grazing against his chest. Painful? Yes, perhaps she was feeling that natural physical urge to release just like he was. That’s how it was for his kind, though he was used to it. Used to the pain of holding off and not allowing himself to indulge right away. She was not used to the way it felt. The ache that wasn’t just from being horny. It was something deep and raw. A biological and natural instinct his kind, their kind possessed.

He knew the pain well. Knew it could be pushed down and she’d be okay. But she was new to all this. And even with the water around them he could smell how intensely she needed him. Needed him to soothe her. And he was the only one that could provide that for her too. He knew that even if she masturbated she wouldn’t be fully comforted. It would pacify her for a bit. Maybe an hour but she wouldn’t be fulfilled. She wasn’t going to feel better until he took care of her. But he needed to be careful.

“I think you need to recover first, kitten.” Harry let the little nickname he’d given her so long ago slip out. Or maybe he’d done it on purpose. There was something about her that was feeding into his own urges. She was drawing them out of him with just her eyes. The change in her was so deep and it tangled with his own impulses and senses that he could barely think straight. He was more drawn to her than he’d ever been and he knew it was because of the change. Because she was like him now. His perfect match.

“Harry,” she spoke softly as she kept her eyes on his, a hand moving over his warm chest, “I trust you. I know you would never hurt me and I can tell you need it too. You need me just as much.”

She could just sense his need. And it wasn’t just the fact that he had an erection. She knew it before all that. She felt it back at his house. Something between them had shifted and it was as if she could anticipate his needs without him having to tell her or show her.

His teeth ached to kiss her and to bite her. A carnal and spiritual feeling overwhelmed him. His willpower was incredible but there was only so much he could take. He was as weak as any man and her wolf was luring his out to play. Perhaps he could be gentle. She needed him. She needed him.

He grasped the back of her head and his lips found her mouth. The kiss was hot and electric and wild. She lifted a thigh up to his hip and he used his free hand to keep it in place, pasting their hips together.

The whimper that fell from his mouth had her grinning and feeling powerful. She grasped onto his shoulders and let the weightlessness of the water aid her in lifting her other leg to wrap around his hips. Harry groaned and brought his other hand down to keep her thighs held up in place.

Their naked bodies were in sync as he began to walk her out of the water and to the small spot where the sand met the craggy rocks. He’d take care of her. Make love to her gently and soothe her ache. Soothe his own ache.

Their mouths never parted as he walked out of the water and carefully placed her down into the sand, his knees falling into the granules as he put himself between her thighs. With her legs open he could smell her in a way that was overwhelming. He groaned and licked into her mouth before parting from the kiss with a gasp.

The scar on her chest and over her neck had him filled with jealousy and hatred. He was glad he’d killed James for even placing a finger on his girl. His lips pressed over her scar just above her breast and she ran her fingers into his long hair as he pecked wet kisses along the skin that had been forever marred.

“I’m going to make it better,” he whispered between kisses, “Make you feel whole again. Give you everything you need. Show you what it means to be mine…”

She closed her eyes and threw her head back as his mouth worked upward slowly and over the skin on her neck. His tongue laved softly and his lips grazed over the sensitive spots that were still healing. She had never felt such need before in her life. Sure she’d been horny before and had never been more turned on by anyone the way she was with Harry. But this was different. Something else was at play and she didn’t have the mind to dwell on it. She only knew that she needed him.

“Please…” she breathed out her plea as his warm mouth soothed her flesh and his nose nudged at her jaw.

“Hurts doesn’t it?” He continued kissing every inch of her scar as he pushed her back down into the sand, “I’m the only one that can make it better.”

She knew it was true. Whatever was happening in her could only be quieted by him.

Nodding her head she spread her legs further, hoping he’d put her out of her misery and fuck her into oblivion, “Harry, please…”

He looked down over her soft body and the scars, and felt emotions rise in his heart. He hated James even in his death, but he was beyond grateful that she was still his. That she was alive. He would worry later about the guilt and the real issue at hand. His own urges and her excruciating need were beckoning to be dealt with immediately. He could practically feel the ache in her body. Her tummy was emanating heat and he felt bad that she was in such pain. She wasn’t used to this level of arousal and need yet. She would learn to deal with it eventually but for now he would give her relief.

Her cry of pleasure was loud, echoing off the rocks of the cove that surrounded them as he placed his mouth on her throbbing pussy, already pulsing and clenching and dripping.

The sting of her fingers pulling at his hair had him growling into her with delight. He could tell she was urging him in harder but he was going to resist doing anything hard or painful. That would come later. When he was certain she was ready for it.

His tongue was wide and flat as he tugged it up and down her slick cunt. She was so wet he was certain he couldn’t possibly lick it all up and the flavor was just like before but now it tasted truly nourishing to him. He held her thighs apart gently as he dove into her like she was a meal. Licking and sucking at her bits.

She writhed and moaned, her hips lifting off the sand and bucking into his face making him nearly lose his grip on her thighs. She was strong. He shouldn’t have been surprised but he was still getting used to the notion that she was like him now.

“Fuck… yes…” she cooed loudly as his scalp was on fire from the way she was yanking his hair.

Harry didn’t lift his mouth to chuckle or respond and taunt her like he wanted. He needed to make her come so he kept his lips at work on her pussy.

When he began to kiss her clit and pull at it with the smallest nip she squealed and cried out his name as her thighs attempted to close around his head. He held her down but he didn’t want to hurt her so he moved his palms up to grip the underside of her knees to keep her legs pressed down.

She continued bucking as her muscles tensed and her moans grew louder. His nose and mouth and chin were shiny and sticky with her as he rubbed his nose into her clit and stuck his tongue into the opening and past her little muscle, the slick gushing noises the only background sound to her gasps and soft pants.

Harry was feeling his own cock leak and throb. Just tasting her and knowing how good he was making her feel was putting him on edge. He swallowed down her arousal and took a gasp of breath before putting his face back into her cunt for more.

She’d never felt it like this before. Something far more intense was happening in her body and she didn’t know if it was because it was her first orgasm since she nearly died or just knowing that Harry was a werewolf and he was probably enjoying the taste of her in a way she never realized before. That all those times he’d told her how much he liked her scent and her taste, he wasn’t just saying it to make her feel good, he actually meant it. Or just knowing that he was a werewolf in general… probably all of the above.

When her orgasm snapped over her body she tightened her grip on his hair he grunted into her pussy in pain, but it didn’t stop him from lapping at her and sucking her clit. She was shaking so hard and pulling at his hair so tight that he was having a hard time moving his mouth over her the way he wanted. Instead, she was moving his face over her soft crease and clit the way she wanted.

Her cries were loud. It almost sounded as if someone was hurting her. Like she was wailing in pain and anguish. Harry understood that this was because of her intense need to release. Her first release as a werewolf by the hands of her lover. Her mate. He rolled his eyes into the back of his head in ecstasy of his own. He’d not come but he could. His own cock was neglected and hot and if he allowed it, he’d come all over himself and the sand below. But he wanted to come inside of her. He wanted to feel her around him and he knew she was going to want it.

The part of him that wanted to wait and to talk first was already a distant memory left back in his kitchen. His instincts and his wolf had taken over at that moment.

He felt her release his hair as she sighed, wiggling underneath him.

Y/N grabbed at him, pulling him up and over her, “Want you inside me, right now. Do it while I’m still pulsing around nothing.”

Harry was beyond trying to fight this, eating her out had driven him over the edge. He was determined to give her everything she wanted and luckily for him, it was exactly what he wanted as well. The way she’d clawed at him to get him on top of her made him feral, he wondered if she was realizing the amount of force she’d just exerted in doing so, but he couldn’t dwell on it for too long, not when he looked down at her and she looked like she was going to howl with how much she wanted it.

She yanked him against her lips and devoured his mouth, licking her arousal off of him and humming profusely, and in turn, Harry didn’t waste a single moment longer before sinking himself into her juicy cunt. The cry she let out was akin to an injured wolf’s and he knew he wasn’t hurting her, she was just giving in to her natural instincts now. That of letting him dominate her completely.

He pulled back a bit to watch her and when she opened her eyes and her golden irises flashed at him he groaned loudly, allowing his own to take over. Her mouth fell agape and she reached to push his hair out of his face to take him all in better while he slowly but steadily fucked into her. “Harry… your eyes. They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful. You’re exactly who and what you should be, I’m so damn lucky,” she rolled her eyes to the back of her head in ecstasy and Harry thought his heart was going to burst at the amount of love he felt for her.

He didn’t know how it was possible he now loved her even more than before, but being wanted and loved for exactly who he was turned out to be a lot more important to him than he’d thought it would be. He thought he could hide this side of him from her forever and be fine with it, and he’d have done it gladly to keep her. But having it all out into the open and her so accepting of it was something he’d never even allowed himself to hope for.

Well, almost everything out into the open. And god, was she beautiful too. She’d always been, of course, but now that she was like him it did things to him he couldn’t even explain. And it looked so right, so natural. Like she was always meant to be a werewolf. He couldn’t wait to watch her discover everything and come into her own completely. He only wished she’d accept it and embrace it fully.

He was snapped out of his reverie when she nipped at his neck and that only made him drive into her more urgently. Noting it had stung a bit too much, his eyes landed on her mouth and he could see her pointy canines pinching her plump lower lip, a bit of blood coating it.

The sight made him almost come then and there, making him moan and slow his pace a bit to regain focus. As much as he wanted to drag it out and go at it for hours, he needed to milk another orgasm from her and hopefully satiate her craving for a bit, because this was rapidly escalating and getting out of hand. She was completely giving into her natural instincts; and if she noticed any of the signs she was presenting she’d freak out and that was not the way he wanted her to find out.

He flipped her over as though she weighed nothing, not having to hide his natural strength from her anymore and began pounding into her in earnest. He was close, so close, and he knew she was too with how she moaned and whimpered and called out his name repeatedly. But he didn’t want to knot into her just yet, he first needed to explain that to her, plus this wasn’t really the setting for it, he wanted to be able to cuddle with her like that in his expensive bedding back at home, not on this rocky terrain that was sure to leave some bruises on her as it was. He knew she could take it now, he’d of course never have allowed it had she still been just human, but even so, she was recovering, and he didn’t want her feeling any discomfort.

“Please come inside me, Harry. I don’t care. I need it... I can’t explain how much–fuck, how much I need it.”

She needn’t have worried, she wasn’t in heat (yet), so it wasn’t risky like that, but of course she’d worry about getting pregnant. Yet another reason why he needed to find a way to tell her, to avoid all the unnecessary worry on her part. For now, though, he was going to enjoy spilling into her warm cunt, because he needed it just as much. His eyes caught glimpse of her hands she’d rested her smushed cheek against, and her sharp nails were on display. Her much sharper nails. He couldn’t wait for her to claw at his back using them soon, but right now he needed to make sure she didn’t notice them. He grabbed her by her elbows and pulled her back against him, holding her hands behind her back with one arm and snaking the other to her front, finding her clit as he kept thrusting into her from this new angle.

She was already on edge and it only took her a few moments to reach her peak, crying out and letting her head fall back against his shoulder. The sight of the mark on her neck that she probably didn’t even notice wasn’t lost on him though, that was something that would always taunt him, knowing it was someone else’s bite that marked her. But he could claim it as his now, because she was, she was his. It was his cock she was pulsing around, his arms she was falling back into, his name she was whimpering- and so he allowed himself to bite over her mark as he finally gave in to his most primal urge- that of claiming her completely, while he let go and finally filled her up to the brim.

She didn’t even feel the sting of it, she was that far gone; if anything, it was pleasurable for her- as it should be. And for Harry? It was the hardest he’d ever come in his life. His fangs deep into her delicate neck and his cock even deeper into her perfect pussy, she was made just for him, and now she was his in every sense of the word.

With breaths heaving and soft gasps, Harry kept her tight against his chest. He wanted to tell her everything. Wanted so much for her to know what he was thinking. What had just happened to her. What she could expect and that it would only get better and better. If she thought that was intense…

And it was. She didn’t know how to describe the ecstasy, the relief… But it was more than just physical. Everything in and around her felt lighter and more lovely. She was happier than she’d ever been, she felt. She had a sudden urge to run and play; something she hadn’t felt in many years. It was as if being with Harry, everything just made more sense.

With a laugh she wiggled out of his arms and ran back into the water, diving in and swimming out toward the middle, only emerging with a sharp inhale for breath when her lungs needed air.

Harry couldn’t help but look at her in awe. His heart throbbed in his chest with love for her.

“Come on! Get back in!” Y/N shouted and began to glide through the water.

Shaking his head with a laugh he walked back into the icy water and then dove under to meet her in the center of the small cove.

She kept her eyes on the water, waiting for him to emerge but she felt his hand on her ankle before she saw him. With a yelp, she laughed and ducked under to pull at him.

Harry wrapped his arms around her body and pushed them both upward to the surface together. The lighthearted moment suddenly halted as they kept their gazes locked. Y/N moved her arms over his shoulders and drew her face in close to his, brushing their noses together, “I’m so glad I’m here with you. I’m glad I’m alive. I’m glad you’re alive. I don’t know what I would have done. I thought I lost you and that’s the last thing I remember before…” she paused, feeling herself get emotional she swallowed her tears, “It just feels like… destiny to be here with you.”

He could feel and hear her heart beating in her chest and he knew she could feel his do the same. It was as if his whole life had all been leading him to this moment. He knew that this woman was his mate. He’d always known it. Maybe ever since the first night he laid eyes on her in the woods all that time ago. Despite the fact that she had a gun pointed at him, there was just something about her. Something that he knew was different. He belonged to her before he ever met her.

“I’m so glad you’re here too. That we’re here together,” he looked down at her beautiful face as he continued, “I was ready to kill everyone when I thought you weren’t going to make it. Niall said there was no hope. That it was… too late for you,” he inhaled a shaky breath remembering the state she was in just days ago.

“Tell me about what happened. Everything I don’t know about, before, and after the fight. I want to know what happened.”

Harry began to describe the day he was taken and how he’d been outnumbered. He told her why it’d come down to that, about James’ and Irina’s involvement, the way the elders didn’t listen to him having already made up their minds and weren’t going to give him a fair trial.

But with Y/N’s quick thinking and by her reaching out to Niall a chain of events was set off that actually helped matters.

“Lester is a pack leader too, as you know now. The Pack of the Western Plains. He has connections all over. He’s very well respected. So, with his resources he made it so that there was a trial at the very least.”

“And Eddie too? He was there.” She said, remembering the events of that day.

“Yes. He was finally able to shift back into his human form. Because of you,” Harry brought a hand up to her face and gently brushed his knuckles over her temple.“I expected that no matter how the trial ended there would be a fight to the death. And I was certain that no matter how many drugs they’d given me or that they’d left me without food and water that I would be able to do away with James rather easily. But I was weakened. Significantly. It’s the only reason he even had the chances he did. It’s why he got in a few good tears. Had I been in my normal shifted state he would have never been able to penetrate my skin and I would have killed him within the first thirty seconds. And he knew that. So did everyone else.”

“They all let you fight like that? Did your pack not respect you as their alpha?”

Harry sighed and nodded, “They never respected me. They were always very rigid in their beliefs. They preferred the old ways of doing things. Most packs nowadays are more open and lenient. There are still strict rules we have to follow but tolerance is practiced these days. Not my pack… my old pack.”

“Are you worried they’ll come back and try to hurt you?”

Putting his arms around her low back protectively he pressed his forehead to hers, “I am. I’m worried they’ll try to hurt you too.”

“Even though you’ve given up the pack? And you won the fight?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t put it past them. I’ll do anything I can to protect you,” Harry paused and leaned back to look at Y/N again, “Which is why I think it would be good for us to visit Lester and Alma at the farm for a while. Get away from here for a bit. Just until we can get our bearings and heal.”

The smile on her face gave Harry relief. He wasn’t sure she’d be up for it, but she’d been surprising him since she woke up from her coma.

“That sounds like a really good idea. I’d love to spend more time with Eddie too.”

His heart continued to lob in his chest wildly. She was more than perfect for him in every way. He couldn’t contain his joy to have her in his arms, “He’d love that. Edward is very fond of you. And he was there, at Niall’s practice. With all of us while you were in that bed. He was devastated.”

Y/N nodded and felt awful about putting anyone through such distress. She knew it wasn’t her fault but she could imagine what it would have been like to watch a friend or lover unconscious in bed and not know if they’d come out of it or not.

“... And you? How did you deal with me being in that bed?”

Harry shook his head and let his eye contact falter for a moment as he thought back to how completely ruined he felt, “Felt like I would die if you didn’t make it. Like I couldn’t breathe or eat. I talked to you all day. Kept myself close by your side and encouraged you to wake up. Made sure you were comfortable in the bed even though I knew you couldn’t really feel anything. I didn’t know what to do. Niall kept telling me it was impossible–” Harry inhaled a sharp breath and tried to calm his emotions but his eyes began to fill with tears with just the memory of how utterly hopeless everything felt.

“Hey,” Y/N moved her hands to cup Harry’s face, “I’m right here. And I’m very much alive. We both are. I’m not going anywhere. You saved me.”

Swallowing his tears he blinked and forced the smallest smile, “And you saved me. If it weren’t for you I would be dead right now.”

Y/N leaned in to kiss the gorgeous werewolf. She couldn’t believe she’d gotten so lucky to have him in her life. That he wanted her. She only felt more connected, in tune with him. It was as if the accident had altered something in her soul. She was changed. She figured it was love.

Harry pinched her hip softly and pulled away from the kiss. He couldn’t help it. He needed to be honest with her. He’d told her his truth when she was asleep but now that she was wide awake and in his arms he knew he had to say it that very moment or he’d suffocate, “I love you, Y/N.”

Her lips parted at his admission and she was suddenly aware of her body against his and the way his heart was rapidly throbbing in his chest at the same pace as her own. She felt as if she’d heard him say it to her before. That this wasn’t the first time.

She gripped his biceps tight and felt herself shiver at the intensity of his bright green eyes. He loved her. He truly did and she felt it deep in her spirit. Without a doubt, he loved her.

“Harry, I love you too. So much,” she gasped as he squeezed her tight to his chest and felt him purring against her own. The comfort that brought to her was consuming. She sighed and held him tight, her cheek smushed into his shoulder.

Everything around them was dizzy and soft. She was safe in his arms. She was safe with her lover.

When he pulled back a bit and let his head fall back, inhaling sharply and then howling loudly, Y/N gasped in excitement and couldn’t hold back her tears of joy. She smiled widely looking at Harry in his element, expressing happiness freely and it made her own heart flutter. He looked back at her, his wide smile matching her own, the echo of his wolfish howl still resounding in the cove, and she’d never seen him look happier.

She’d done that. Just by loving him.

The sudden vibrating in her own chest startled her. She looked up at Harry whose eyes were wide as he looked down at her.

“Harry– what…?” She looked down at her bare body, putting a small bit of distance between herself and Harry. The vibrating stopped suddenly as she put a hand up to her chest and looked into the crystal water surrounding them and reflecting the sky above and both their faces.

But then she stilled completely, the ripples on the surface cleared away and she focused on the features of her face, being mostly drawn to the bright golden irises staring back at her in the reflection of the water.

In stunned silence she looked up at Harry before looking back into the water again.

He knew it was only a matter of time. He just hadn’t expected it to happen like this.

A/N: (@fkinavocado and @gurugirl here) The long awaited update is here! Thank you for sticking with us!

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runnning-outof-time · 4 months

Note

happy 3.5 k you 100% deserve it !!!! please could i put forward 33 . "are you jealous" with john shelby tysm have an amazing day

@henrywinterluver Thanks so much for your kind words and also for sending this request in! I’m sorry it took me so long to write it! I hope you like what I did with the prompt you chose! I envisioned this as season 3 Michael…after he started acting cocky haha. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration - find more stories here!

Run in with a Cousin

John Shelby x Reader

Warnings: language

Word Count: 1170

Summary: Michael hits on (Y/N) one night at the Garrison. Michael doesn’t know that (Y/N) is John’s girl. (Y/N) tries to figure out why John reacts the way he does…in the process she learns of a family member she didn’t know John had.

(Y/N) was waiting for her drink at the Garrison’s counter when she felt someone slide into the empty space beside her. At first she ignored the person, wanting to get her drink and head back to the corner table she’d been occupying while she waited for her partner and his brothers to finish talking business. But the feeling of the man’s eyes lingering on her made her turn to face him just seconds later.

“May I help you?” she asked politely, wondering why he’d been staring at her.

“You might be able to,” the man said with a grin. (Y/N) tried so hard to keep her grimace internal.

“Oh yeah, how so?” she asked, deciding to humor him.

“I just couldn’t help but notice how bloody beautiful you are…and then when I saw that you were sitting here alone. I figured I’d come over and introduce myself,” he answered, inching closer to her as he spoke.

“Well thank you,” she accepted his compliment, still playing nice while making sure to add, “I already have someone though.”

The young man pursed his lips together at the added information before he looked around the room. “I don’t see him anywhere,” he commented on his observstion.

“Oh he’s here,” she assured him.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t still buy you a drink,” the man’s eyes were back on her as his grin returned, “nothin’ illegal with buying a pretty girl a drink…and maybe then we’ll see where that goes.”

A look of surprise flooded (Y/N)’s features as she heard what he had to say. “I think I may be a bit too old for you,” she pointed out. It wasn’t hard to notice that this man looked to be in his early twenties.

“Age is just a number, darlin’.”

(Y/N) didn’t know what to say back to that. So instead she just pursed her lips and nodded.

The young man was about to speak again when she caught a glimpse of her partner over his shoulder. Within seconds, John Shelby had approached them. She could tell by the scowl that had formed that he’d clocked the man she was talking to. (Y/N) tried to withhold her grin…things were about to get interesting.

“Hi, love,” she greeted him in a soft voice as he stopped by her side. He wasted no time in slipping his arm around her shoulders as she pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

“Who’s this?” he asked, nodding his head to the man that was on his right. He still hadn’t looked in his direction yet.

“Just someone I’ve been talking to,” she answered, glancing between the two as she spoke.

“This must be your man that you spoke about,” the man made his observation known.

“It is,” (Y/N) nodded.

Then John looked to his right. “Michael?” he said the name as if there was posion laced into it.

“John?” the man’s response was full of shock. “Fuck,” he breathed then, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“You were out here trying to get with my girl when you were supposed to be in the snug discussing business?” John questioned.

“I wasn’t, I didn’t know, I…we were just talking,” the younger of the two struggled to think of an answer.

“But she had to tell you that she had a man,” John pointed out.

“She’s a pretty girl!” Michael admitted, throwing his arms outward in exasperation.

“We’re leaving,” John said to (Y/N) then, his arm dropping from her shoulders to hook around her waist before he looked back to the man named Michael, “and you’d better think twice before trying any of this shit ever again. Got it?”

Michael nodded in response, clearly looking like a child who had just been scolded. Well that’s what he was though, right? He was basically still a child. That was all John needed though to turn and lead (Y/N) out of the pub.

It wasn’t until they made it to her home that someone spoke again. “I can’t fucking believe that happened,” John grumbled as he swiped his peaked cap from atop his head so that he could throw it down onto one of the chairs in the living room.

(Y/N) spun to look at him, immediately noticing that his deep scowl was still very much present. “We were just talking, John,” she told him, trying to get him to lighten up.

“Yeah, but he was talking with the intent of picking you up.”

“But he didn’t.”

“Because I came out and put an end to it.”

“You don’t think I would have put an end to it myself?” (Y/N) inquired, her eyebrows raised.

“I’m sure you would have, but that’s not…” he trailed off with a huff, running a hand down his face before he waved it out in the air, “that’s not the point, (Y/N). I just can’t fucking believe he tried that.”

(Y/N) studied her partner’s mannerisms for a few moments, wondering why this measly conversation had got him so worked up. Then it clicked. “Are you jealous?” she just had to ask him.

John’s eyes immediately snapped to her. “What?” he just had to ask, wanting to make sure he even heard her right.

“Are you jealous of me talking to him?” she repeated her previous question. “Because that’s all we were doing. Talking.”

“Fuck no, I’m not jealous of him!” John exclaimed in an incredulous manner, “why would I be jealous of my little shit of a cousin who’s got absolutely no chance with you?”

“He’s your cousin?” (Y/N) asked with wide eyes, completely shocked by this new information.

“Yes, he’s my cousin,” John answered with a nod.

“How?” the word left (Y/N)’s lips before she could think of anything else to string with it, “I mean I know how, but like…through who?”

“My aunt Pol. He’s her son.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It would have made things much easier if you did.”

“Well if you would have told me…” (Y/N) trailed off, her eyebrows raising again.

“It never came up!” John defended himself, “and besides, I’m not the problem here, he is.”

“It’s not even a problem though, John,” she sighed in response, wishing he’d let the minuscule issue go.

“I’m gonna tell Pol about it…then it won’t be a problem anymore,” he decided how he was going to remedy the situation.

“That might make it more into a problem,” she couldn’t help but giggle slightly as she thought of her partner, who was very much an adult, going to his aunt to tell on her son - who was also very much an adult.

“It’s what he deserves,” he stayed steadfast with his idea, nodding once after he spoke, as if he was agreeing with himself.

“Whatever you think, John,” (Y/N) appeased him, deciding to let the matter rest…although she knew that this wasn’t the last time she’d hear about this situation.

**tags in reblog so that hopefully they get sent out

MASTERLIST

#john shelby #john shelby x reader #john shelby x y/n #john shelby x you #john shelby blurb #john shelby imagine #john shelby fanfic #john shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #k’s 3.5k celebration

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bingwriterxo · 11 months

Text

wisdom teeth

pairing: vada cavell x reader

summary: in which vada gets her wisdom teeth out and you're subjected to listen to her babbling

warnings: mentions/talks of sex (character 18+)

word count: 1000+

Peace and quiet was something that was often lost on you whenever you were in Vada’s presence, your girlfriend’s ramblings and blabber always filling the silent void if there was one to begin with. It was rare that you could hang out with her and not hear her talk for hours on end about whatever came to her mind, even if you didn’t particularly care to listen—not that you’d ever tell her that, because you knew she’d be upset, and you liked hearing her talk, anyway; actually listening was just different.

Somehow, although you really should’ve expected it, you got no reprieve when you offered to drive Vada home from her dentist appointment after getting her wisdom teeth removed. Part of you had thought that she would be too groggy from the anesthesia to do anything more than sleep in the passenger’s seat, while the other part of you thought that her mouth would be too stuffed with gauze for her to talk. Either way, you had initially believed that your time spent with post-surgery Vada would be blissfully silent.

Oh, how wrong you were.

“Vads, come on,” you groaned. “You have to get in the car.” Currently, the brunette was refusing to sit down, instead choosing to flail her arms around in what you believed was an attempt to fight you away. It was, obviously, hilariously failing.

“No!” she shouted, though her words were muffled a bit by the copious amounts of gauze in her mouth, keeping her from bleeding and drooling all over herself. “Stop touchin’ me! I have a girlfriend!”

You froze for a moment, staring at the girl, and then you burst into laughter. You knew that her mind would be a little…gone, because of the anesthesia, but you hadn’t been expecting it to be like this.

“Vada,” you said, “I am your girlfriend.”

Vada stared at you for a moment, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and then she lit up with excitement and offered you a toothy grin, which was a little bloody. “You are my girlfriend!”

You chuckled. “I know I am. Now, will you get in the car, please?”

She nodded fervently and dropped into her seat, making sure to pull all her limbs in so that you wouldn’t shut the door on her. You bent down, clicking her seatbelt into place, and on your way back up, Vada tried to pull you in for a kiss. It was easy to avoid, however, and her lips landed on your cheek.

She pouted up at you, clearly confused as to why you wouldn’t kiss her. “You can’t kiss with your gauze,” you said, which was half-true. The other half of your avoidance was that you didn’t want her mouth-blood anywhere near you. “Once we get home and take it out, and we get you cleaned up, then I’ll kiss you, okay?” you promised. She nodded solemnly.

You shut the door and rounded the car to get into your own seat. When you were settled, you pulled out your phone, plugged it into the aux cord, and played the playlist that you and Vada had made together softly over the speakers.

You glanced at her. “This good?” you asked, referring to the music.

“I don’t care,” she said brashly. “Let’s go home so we can kiss.”

You bit back a smile. “Okay, babe. We’re going right now.”

* * *

You were halfway to Vada’s house when the nonsense-talk started.

“Can we have sex when we get home?” she asked innocently.

In your surprise, you pressed on the brake a little too hard as you pulled to a stop at a red light, jolting both you and Vada forward slightly. “No,” you said.

“Why not?”

“Because you need to rest, Vads. Plus, your mom and Amelia are going to be home.”

“That’s never stopped us before.” You blushed to your ears at the thought and stepped on the gas pedal when the light turned green. “Besides, who needs rest when we could fuck?”

“Vada!” you hissed, glancing at the girl. She didn’t seem to realize that her words were a little out of pocket, grumbling something about ‘dying from lack of pussy,’ as if the two of you didn’t have sex literally the night before.

You were able to scratch by with a few more minutes of quiet, humming along to the music that was playing, before Vada cut into it again, another question racing to slip past her lips.

“If I buy a cowboy hat, and wear it around daily, would you say that I’m a cowboy?”

You tilted your head at the question. “Why? Are you planning on doing that?”

She shrugged. “That depends. Would I be a cowboy?”

“I guess.” You bit at the inside of your cheek, thinking. “But, I think you might need the boots, too, and, like, a horse?”

Vada huffed. “But if you saw me walking around with a cowboy hat on, your first thought would probably be ‘cowboy’, right?

“Probably,” you answered, thinking that the conversation would be over the sooner you gave into it.

“And you’re all for letting animals have freedom, aren’t you?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Uh, yeah.” Your eyes flitted toward her in suspicion. “Where are you going with this, Vads?”

She giggled a little, and then coughed violently. “Sorry, choked on spit ‘cause of the gauze.” Vada cleared her throat to the best of her ability before saying, “So if I’m a cowboy, and you like free animals, then would you save a horse and ride this cowboy?”

If you weren’t driving, you would’ve slapped her across the back of the head. Instead, you settled for heaving out a sigh and shaking your head. “That was terrible,” you confessed.

Vada frowned. “Rude.”

“Sorry, babe, but it’s true.”

She mumbled something you couldn’t hear and then said, “You didn’t answer the question, though.”

You pulled into her driveway, parking the car and turning to her. “I pray you never have to be given anesthesia again,” you muttered beneath your breath.

Vada looked at you. “What?”

You laughed at the sight. Her cheeks were blown out like a chipmunk because of the gauze, and when she spoke it looked like she was stuck in the middle of a yawn. There was some drool on the corners of her lips, and some on her shirt, and yet…

“Yes, Vads. I would ride this cowboy.”

#vada cavell x reader #vada cavell #vada x reader #the fallout #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega

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chlerc · 10 months

Text

on the move ; jude bellingham

— summary; being in love with the guy you said yes to no-strings attached has to be the worse thing ever. He made it worst by moving to Madrid, no goodbyes.

pairing — jude bellingham x fwb!f. reader ( third person story )

word count — 1070 with a mix of social media posts.

content — lil angst(?) the girl who wants a forever with the guy who’s always on the move for his career. lil tadbit of asshole & toxic jude i think

NAVIGATION + author’s note: tbh idk where this went near the end, it’s sketchy…

is jude toxic if he’s based off this song…

Liked by judesgf, judeupdates and 29,462 others

ftballwags Jude Bellingham spotted with rumoured girlfriend, @ynusername ( last picture from her story captioned 2+2=22 in black and yellow )

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files4jude damn he got a girl now

luvjb22 she’s literally so gorgeous…

jbellinghamdaily caption @ my account wrongly, that’s me sorry guys

Liked by gioareyna, jobebellingham and 2,581,654 others

judebellingham what a place 🇬🇷

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jobebellingham who the flowers for

judebellingham @jobebellingham a cute photographer / my stalker

gioareyna cutie 😍

judebellingham @gioareyna all you 😘

ftballwags the flowers 🫣

j22de flowers are for me calm down guys

WAKING UP IN THE embrace of Jude had become her favourite thing over the past month. It was the way he had his arms around her waist, legs tangled with each other, the warmth radiating off his bare body and the comfort within him.

Him sleeping over at her apartment wasn’t foreign anymore, not with how the friendship escalated between them. From a friend to the rumoured girlfriend who in truth was actually a friend with benefits. Pictures of them together all over every social media platform but not once had Jude denied it but fueling it.

Her eyes gazed upon him as she adjusted to the golden streaks pouring in through her curtains. He had the kind of face that stopped her in her tracks. He was the kind of handsome that got into her bones, that spoke to her of olden times before he’s said a word. And he was so handsome as he slept, that steady heart, those steady breaths, more than enough to make her feel something she shouldn’t have.

She reaches for her phone and the screen lighting up, notifications flooding her lock screen but one catches her attention. “@fabrizioromano OFFICIAL: Jude Bellingham, Real Madrid player until 2029 for €103m plus 30% add ons!” She could feel the way her heart dropped, the blaring ringing sound in her ears and beads of tears threatening to spill.

“Why are you crying, m’love?” Jude shuffled under the covers, fingers running to swipe the tears off her cheeks as his hand cupped the back of her head. “You’re playing for Madrid next season?” The vulnerability in her voice almost broke him with how soft her sentence came out. “Yeah.” That was all he could get out knowing what was coming next.

“You’re leaving Dortmund? I thought you said you were staying.” Jude takes the moment to sneak a quick glimpse of her before looking away again, unable to maintain eye contact with her. “I did but if a club like Real Madrid offers you a contract would you have said no? It was for my career, not the money. Any amount of money from the team wouldn’t have been able to get me to stay.”

She knew this was coming all along, the talks and posts of Jude transfering to Madrid during the summer transfer yet she still got herself tangled in his mess. “So you’re moving to Madrid?” Her lips quivered at every word she’d said, struggling to compose herself when she should and had to. “Yeah, of course I‘m leavin’. You wouldn’t expect me to travel to and fro Spain, would ya?”

“So you’re leaving me behind too.” She mumbles under her breath, hoping to god Jude hadn’t heard it but he did with the close proximity between them. “There’s no way you’re acting sappy all up on me now. You went into this knowing you’ll never get anything out of it, I'm not staying just because you want me to or you need me.”

He untangles himself from her, throwing on his white sweatshirt that was on the floor. This was the kind of talk he wanted to avoid and he had never expected it to be with her. “I tell you I love you every night and I wake up to find you’re leaving for Madrid? I’m not even mad you’re leaving for Madrid, I’m mad I had to find out through a Twitter notification and not you when you were right in front of me this whole time.”

“Yeah what were you expecting me to say? I’m leaving for Madrid, whatever we have now ends here. No shit that was going to hurt your feelings like it is now but I told you that nothing will ever come out of this. Weren’t all your ‘I love you’ platonic?” There’s a hint of frustration in his speech as he huffed, hands crossed over his chest as he towers over his girl who was now standing. Once his girl, in his heart.

“Platonic? I literally am in love with you, Jude. The bare minimum you could do was to tell me you signed a contract with them, that would have prepared me for all this. I would have celebrated it and let you leave just like that.” She refuses to let him see the tears she’s gonna weep for him, not when he was being heartless but right.

“Love love love, all this bullshit coming from you. Then just continue being in love with me but I’m telling you I’m not staying for you. Wow it’s like you’re making me choose between my career and you! We agreed there’d be no love between us and you agreed, don’t push the blame on me like I’m heartless.” No one could ever experience it and she wished no one would ever experience the sorrow she felt. It’s almost like she’s his plaything, using it and throwing it however he wants.

“So it was something like you leading me on? Not addressing the girlfriend rumours?” And when his eyes were shifty and looking everywhere but her, it was more than a clear sign she needed. “No, not leading you on. I was just tryna be a gentleman but you obviously misunderstood that too. Addressing the rumours only makes it more complicated that it already is now, and you’ll just misunderstand it too.”

“I think you should leave, it does end here like you said. You’re not heartless, I was just stupid and wanted more from you even though you promised nothing. Thanks Jude, for opening my eyes.” She smiles meekly at him, not quite like the same smile he’d always see that reaches her eyes. “Yeah that’s what I’m doing, you’re living in wonderland and dreaming. Wake up, I’m not like how you imagined me to be. Nothing lasts forever, get over it.”

God he had been exactly how she imagined him to be but without this part. He definitely was everything she wanted even now despite everything he had said. Her eyes followed Jude as he left her bedroom, the shuffling of his feet and the slamming of the front door.

She should have known nothing lasts forever, she had walked into it knowing she’d never get anything out of it. She isn’t getting anything out of it and that shouldn’t affect her, that was what she planned to do after hearing his words. Nothing lasts forever, get over it.

Liked by gioareyna, masonmount and 348,937 others

ynusername ibiza, you were amazing 🤍

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gioareyna miss you

ynusername @gioareyna miss you too, catch up soon when i’m back in dortmund 💋

sofiamartinez gorgeous girl love ya

ynusername @sofiamartinez love you 🤍🤍

ftballwags absolutely stunning 😍

julianbrandt Ist diese hübsche dame single? (is this pretty lady single?)

ynusername @julianbrandt haha nein, aber für dich könnte ich 😂 (haha no, but for you i could)

Liked by ynusername, jb22daily and 34,837 others

ftballwags Stories of rumoured girlfriend of Jude Bellingham, looks like there’s no more Jude in the picture. ( last picture from her bf’s story. )

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ynusername 🤍

ftballwags @ynusername 🤞

judesgf NOW I HAVE A CHANCE 💪

jude_updates_22 damn i was rooting for them

bvb.updates bottled it like the title 😓

Liked by judebellingham, jobebellingham and 693,927 others

ynusername Love, Madrid 🎞️

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gioareyna always stunning

ynusername @gioareyna can’t even see my face 🙄 but thank you gio 😘

gioareyna @ynusername still pretty in my eyes

jobebellingham food looks good

ynusername @jobebellingham always saved some for you 😁

judebellingham pretty girl

ftballwags @judebellingham 🤔👀

charlottehartz my girl ( who has a bf ) 💋💋

ynusername @charlottehartz nope, all yourssss

Liked by jobebellingham, gioareyna and 6,065,709 others

judebellingham recently but life was better with you

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gioareyna your fault though 😓

judebellingham @gioareyna like i didn’t know that

jobebellingham fire caption 🔥 took you 7 months to realise

judebellingham @jobebellingham 🤬🤬

bvbdailupdates blud thinks we’re clueless

ftballwags now this is kinda sad

540 notes · View notes

isuckatwritingsobenice · 3 months

Text

Pearls.

Synopsis: Raising a child was the hardest thing a mother could do, especially alone.

A/n: I was listening to Pearls by Sade and thought of Alastor’s mother, so I decided to write about it because I feel like no one talks about how much of a godsend that woman is. Everyone’s always talking about Alastor and the reader, or Alastor this and Alastor that , we need to thank the woman who gave us Alastor. (Vivziepop) HIS MOMMA THE SWEETEST WOMAN IN NEW ORLEANS LOUISIANA DAMNIT, anyways hope you guys enjoyed :)

Pearls by Sade

Warnings: Mentions of Cheating, mentions Racism, typical 1900’s - 1930’s stereotypes, NOT AN ALASTOR X READER, just a background one-shot on Alastor and his Momma because we need more of them out here

Navigation!! // Masterlist!! // Serendipity Writes (event)

There is a woman in Somalia

Scraping for pearls on the roadside

There's a force stronger than nature

Keeps her will alive

Sylvie tried her hardest. She was raising a son on her own, working anywhere she could. Lord knew things weren’t easy, but what was? Life was hard, and it wasn’t going to go soft on Sylvie just because of her newborn son. If someone would have told her a year ago the man she fell in love with would have left her with a child, she’d have incense all over her all the time.

Alastor’s father was not a bragger. In fact, he hid Sylvie as best as he could. Giving her money every week by midnight, enough to keep her mouth shut, though she would never tell anyone, but not enough money to last her and her son. Babies were expensive, and things were only becoming worth more and more money. Who in their right mind would hire a black woman to work for them? Hell, even showing her face was a bit risky, the only reason she hadn’t been thrown into jail was because of her son. Though she didn’t like admitting this fact.

She dressed in her best clothes, shined her shoes and kissed her son goodbye, leaving him with her most trusted support, her mother. Sylvies mother knew of her, frivolous activities, to say the least. But, that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to be there for her daughter any less. Sylvie tried her best to straighten her hair, despite her mother’s warnings not too. She needed to look pretty, tamed, and well kept. Having her large fro wouldn’t land her a job anywhere. She needed to look her best, even if it came off as a desperate attempt to survive. But she needed too.

She stands in front of the mirror, brushing her now straight head of hair as carefully as she could. A red hat sitting perfectly on her hair, her long beige skirt stopping just below her knees. Her long sleeve white shirt embellished with a perfect pearl necklace. Ironically, it wasn’t hers, but her mother’s. Her father had worked hard to get enough money to gift it to her mother. She sighed, mentally hoping that she got this job. It was hardly anything, fifty cents an hour. If she worked every day for a week, four hours the way the ad in the paper said, then she’d have ten dollars a week. With the money from Alastor’s father, that left her with thirty five dollars. The heat alone was forty dollars. She’d be five short, but thankfully living with her mother made things a bit, easier.

“Are you leaving in time?” Sylvie’s mother asks. She stands in the doorway with the small child in her hands, gently rocking him. He’s silent, soft snores flowing through Sylvie’s ears and she smiles. She walks toward her mother, away from the mirror and stops. She reaches out slowly, and her mother gently hands the child to her. She takes her son in her hands and smiles, turning away from her mother while slowly rocking her son. Her mother reaches forward to close the door quietly, letting Sylvie have her time with her son. Sylvie smiles down at him, sitting at the edge of her bed slowly.

“I’ll give you the best life I can.” She whispers, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I promise.”

This is how she's dying

She's dying to survive

Don't know what she's made of

I would like to be that brave

By the time Alastor was five he knew how to read and write fluently. He could read books for days and knew all the latest dances as Sylvie made it her priority to make him versatile. She wanted her son to be the best little man he could, well, little now at least.

“I don’t get it. Romeo was in love with every girl he saw.” Alastor said, adjusting his skeeters to look at her better. She stood at the stove, sliding peppers, onions and a few other spices into the pot in front of her. It had been two years since her mother passed, and she stayed in her house with Alastor, wanting to raise him around love. She knew her mother was looking down on them, and one day, hoped to be with her too.

“Honey, stories aren’t for you to understand. They’re just there to make you think.” She says, swiping her hands over the pot after putting the cutting board down. She smiles and turns to him, stopping her movements. She pinches his cheek before smiling. “From the looks of it, seems like it has you thinking too.” She says, before letting go to walk to the sink. Alastor follows behind her quickly, still speaking.

“Maybe, I’m not sure. Do you think they deserved to be together?” Alastor asked, before Sylvie shrugged, letting the cold water hit her hands. She cleans her hands off, shutting the water quickly before wiping her hands on her towel tucked neatly into the waistband of her apron.

“I think they deserved to be happy, and if that means the two of them being in love then, yes.” Sylvie says, perking up at the music flowing through the radio. Though fairly new, the small box was her favorite thing in the world, and raising Alastor with that love almost made it feel genetic. “Oh look honey, our song is on.” Sylvie says, turning the volume up a bit. Suddenly, Alastor begins dancing quickly in his place, and as Sylvie turns back to him, she finds herself laughing, watching her son dance his heart out all on his own, albeit a bit odd, but he was having fun, and that was what mattered. She danced her way back over to him, holding her hands out for him to grab, which he did, happily spinning around his mother with laughter.

“Oh the food!” Sylvie said through her laughs, walking back over to the pot while Alastor continued to dance until the songs end. He sits on the floor, watching his mother stir the pot, fixing his skeeters.

“What’cha making?” Alastor asked, standing on his tip-toes to see, leaning against the counter.

“Jambalaya.” She said with a wink.

She cries to the heaven above

There is a stone in my heart

She lives a life she didn't choose

And it hurts like brand new shoes

Alastor was eight years old when Sylvie found out his father was married to another woman. He was eight years old when the woman showed up to their home, her two kids with her. He watched the woman yell at his mother in their doorway, her kids behind her as they observed Alastor standing behind his mother.

“You filthy slut! Sleeping with my husband! How dare you?!” The woman screamed, jabbing her finger into Sylvie’s chest. She was in tears, embarrassed, confused, heartbroken and ashamed.

“I didn’t know! He didn’t tell me anything! I never knew you were married or even had kids!” Sylvie defended, an arm in front of Alastor to shield him from her. The woman stoped, looking at Alastor with disgust, before dread washed over her.

“Don’t tell me that boy is his…” She trailed off, voice getting quieter. Sylvie said nothing, turning to Alastor with a sad smile, teary eyed.

“How about you go, go to the sitting room. Okay?” She asked quietly, giving him her best smile. He nodded, giving the woman and her children one more look, before listening to his mother. Once he was out of earshot, Sylvie turned back to the woman and sighed. “Yes, that is his son. He doesn’t come to see us, and he never has.” Sylvie said, before looking at the woman’s children, a boy and a girl. Both were pale, with light blue eyes and lighter hair to match their mother. The boy looked more like Alastor’s father, and Sylvie couldn’t deny the way it hurt to look at him, so she looked away. “He doesn’t come here anymore. I haven’t seen him since I told him I was pregnant. That was eight years ago.” Sylvie said. The woman’s eyes widened.

“Eight years ago?” She asked in a whisper. Sylvie said nothing, smiling at the two kids.

“Please don’t let this tear your home apart.” Sylvie said, her heart going out to the woman’s children. “They don’t deserve that. It was in the past and I-… I’ve moved on.” Sylvie said, though it sounded like she was trying to convince herself. In truth, she had been jumping from job to job at night, while homeschooling Alastor during the day. Paying for good paper, school books. It was bad enough she had been wearing the same clothes for years, only spending money on Alastor. His clothes were larger than him, it was easier to buy them bigger so she didn’t need to keep wasting money on out-grown clothes.

“I see…let’s go children.” The woman said, putting her hands on the children’s shoulders and guiding them down the porch steps, which had been rotting away slowly due to the old wood. When they were finally out of sight, Sylvie shut the door, sighing with a heavy heart. She walked through the halls of the home and to the sitting room, finding Alastor sitting in silence, looking down at his hands, radio playing softly in the background.

“Hey honey.” Sylvie said softly, the boys head looking at her quickly.

“Hi momma.” He said quietly. She gave him a sad smile and sat down next to him.

“You okay?” She asked, and he just sat in silence again, looking down at his hands.

“Who was that?” Alastor asked, and Sylvie just sighed. She knew one day she would have to tell him, but so soon? Sylvie took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on Alastor’s questioning eyes. “Alastor, those children… they’re your father’s, and that woman is their mother,” she began gently, choosing her words with care. “Your father and I share a past that happened before you came into this world. It’s a complicated story, and I’ve been doing my best to shield you from it, wanting to give you a chance at a simpler life.” She paused, gauging his reaction before continuing, “Their family is a part of your history, and while I’ve moved on, it seems the past has a way of catching up with us. I want you to know that whatever happens, we face it together, as a family. You’re the most important thing in my life, Alastor, and nothing will change that.”

Hurts like brand new shoes

There is a woman in Somalia

The sun gives her no mercy

The same sky we lay under

Burns her to the bone

Alastor was ten when the topic of his father came up again. It was after Sylvie and him had come back from groceries. Sylvie was still working multiple jobs at night, leaving at eight once Alastor was tucked into bed and sound. She had begun to sell some of her things, he was growing quicker now. He was up to her shoulder, and he was only ten. Sylvie was average height, five feet and four inches, with Alastor at five feet and two inches. His hair was getting straighter the more he grew, his tight curls softening into looser ones, but still made him handsome nonetheless.

Walking up the stairs to the porch, Sylvie and Alastor stopped dead in their tracks upon seeing two children, around his age, sitting on their front porch chairs, plates of hot food in their hands. Sylvie had remembered them instantly, the boy especially looking like Alastor’s father.

“Hello. May we help you..?” Sylvie asked carefully, Alastor staring the two children down. The girl just frowned and looked to the ground, while the boy stood up. He was the same height as Alastor too.

“We wanted too… speak with you Miss..?” The boy questioned, unsure of Sylvie’s name. She lied on the spot, giving him some dumb white name instead of her own.

“Adam’s.” She said quickly. Alastor said nothing, but his face said it all as he watched his mother open the door to their home, paper bags in hand. Alastor held the rest, all the while staring at the young boy and girl. “Would you like to come in?” She asked the children, and the boy shook his head.

“No thank you Ms. Adam’s, we just wanted to ask you something. Is that alright?” The boy asked. Sylvie nodded slowly, opening the door wider for Alastor to step in. Alastor stood behind Sylvie, curiously watching.

“Oh alright, just a moment please then.” Sylvie said with a small smile, and the boy nodded back to her. Sylvie shut the door, and Alastor turned on his heel to the kitchen.

“Momma, are those the kids you told me about?” He asked, knowing Sylvie, his mother, had given him bits and pieces of his father’s history, his children and life. Sylvie said nothing until the two got to the kitchen, placing the groceries on the counter. Sylvie gave Alastor a thoughtful look, uncertainty clouding her features. "I'm not sure, honey. They didn't mention the reason," she admitted, her voice tinged with a hint of worry. "It seems they're here with questions or concerns. I'll find out when I talk to them." Alastor, sensing his mother's concern, stepped closer to her. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her in a reassuring hug. Sylvie embraced him back, the shared warmth a silent acknowledgment of their unbreakable bond.

"Alright, Momma. Let me know if you need me," Alastor said, offering his support as Sylvie prepared to face the unexpected visit from his half-siblings. Alastor stood in the kitchen, putting groceries away per Sylvie’s request. Sylvie steps back outside, nodding to the two children.

“So, what can I help you with?”

Long as afternoon shadows

It's gonna take her to get home

Each grain carefully wrapped up

Pearls for her little girl

Alastor moved away from home when he was eighteen, going to New York to pursue his career in journalism. Sylvie supported him fully, saving money every month since he was thirteen for the occasion. She’d have him read her the paper while she made dinner, listening to him talk and perfect his voice.

Recently for his birthday, Sylvie had taken him to see a play. Romeo and Juliet, the first ever ‘complex’ book he’d read, so naturally it was only right his first play follow the same format right?

“Take care of yourself for me, okay honey?” Sylvie asked as she stood at the station with Alastor. He just smiled down at her, watching her dust off his shoulders and straighten his tie.

“I will, don’t worry about me, please.” He said with a smile, allowing her to fix his hair and shift his skeeters, knowing it was just her nerves.

“You know I can’t help it.” She said with a soft smile, hearing the train horn go off again. “Go, before you miss your train.” She said quickly, stepping on her tip toes to kiss him on the cheek before stepping away. To her surprise, her son, who usually truly disliked anyone touching him, embraced her. She smiled and patted his back softly, trying her hardest not to cry right there. “Write me when you get there.” Sylvie said, and Alastor just nodded.

“Love you momma.” He said quietly to her, before he pulled away, a bright smile back on his face. “I’ll write you as soon as I get to the city.” He said, and Sylvie nodded. Watching her son get on the train and leave, adorned in his best suit, brand new as Sylvie had saved so much for it just for this moment.

Sylvie returned home that day, walking into her now empty home with tears in her eyes. She went to her bedroom, opening a small box out from under her bed. Tears streamed down her face as she opened the box, picking up a small bottle from inside, popping the cork off and tracing her finger along the rim. Then, quietly, she spoke to herself.

“s'il vous plaît, ancêtres, protégez-le aussi longtemps que vous le pouvez” ( “please ancestors, protect him for as long as you can”)

In the bustling city of New York, Alastor found that it was a bit easier to land a job, though not much, it was a start. He settled into the fast-paced rhythm of city life, immersing himself in the world of news and media. Soon enough, he climbed his way to the top, changing his accent and becoming so well known his mother listened to his broadcast everyday.

Back home, Sylvie eagerly awaited Alastor’s letters, cherishing every word that bridged the distance between them. The letters became a lifeline, a way for mother and son to stay connected despite the miles.

As Alastor navigated his way through the competitive world of journalism, he found success, but the city’s relentless pace also brought its own set of trials. He was a mixed man, people did not take kindly to that fact. But status meant more than anything and he had the money to get by. With each triumph and setback, he continued to write to Sylvie, sharing his experiences and seeking comfort in her unwavering support.

Their bond, though physically stretched, remained unbroken.

Hallelujah

Alastor was twenty three when he came back home. He had gotten a transfer and began to host his show in Louisiana. Living with his mother hadn’t been a difficult adjustment. In fact, to Alastor, it felt like things had fallen right back into place. Until it hadn’t. As Alastor grew, the shadows of both the roaring twenties and the practice of voodoo cast their complex hues over their lives. Sylvie, a practitioner of voodoo, had passed down the sacred traditions to her son, weaving a tapestry of mysticism and heritage into the fabric of their existence.

In moments of desperation, Alastor found himself drawn to the potent rituals he had learned from his mother. The voodoo practices, once a source of connection and understanding, became a tempting tool to manipulate circumstances in his favor. Alastor, in the pursuit of success and happiness, began using the ancient arts for personal gain, delving into a darker side of the mystic practices.

Sylvie, sensing her son's divergence from the righteous path of voodoo, couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. Yet, beneath her disapproval, a mother's unwavering love persisted. She yearned for Alastor's happiness, even if it meant witnessing him tread on ethically murky grounds. Sylvie grappled with the conflict between her teachings and her maternal instincts, understanding that her son's choices were his own to make. However, it was easier to ignore things when the shadows around her home didn’t taunt her, despite her son’s warnings to them. Often times, she’d find him tracing symbols onto his hand during a conversation with someone, always behind his back as he spoke. She’d find small towers made of sticks her backyard sometimes, hanging around tree’s and something’s hiding in bushes. She said nothing, deciding it was his choice, but she’d always cleanse her area, and began to beg the spirits to lead her son in the right direction.

Their home, once a haven of warmth, now harbored the echoes of decisions made in pursuit of desires. Sylvie, despite disapproving of Alastor's misuse of voodoo, remained a steadfast pillar of support. For a mother's love, resilient and unconditional, transcended the boundaries of right and wrong. The tangled threads of voodoo, jazz, and maternal love wove together in the backdrop of their lives, creating a narrative of complexity and nuance.

Hallelujah

It was when Sylvie fell ill that Alastor had begun to change his ways, or partially. Becoming bedridden, Sylvie could no longer do things. Her son had grown into a well respected man, one she loved and cherished so much. But, she feared her time was coming soon and thus could no longer keep him safe anymore. He had done so well as an adult, he made something respectable out of himself. He became someone. Her biggest hope for him had come true, he had made a name for himself, left his mark on the world through radio. She was so proud of him.

In Sylvie’s final days, Alastor found himself torn between the guilt of his previous actions and the desire to make amends. The echoes of the past whispered in his ear, urging him to rectify the missteps that had strained the sacred bond between mother and son. He knew his mother disapproved of the way he used her teachings, but it wasn’t easy living in the world, fighting to make ends meet and fighting for respect.

One evening, as the dim light of a fading sunset painted Sylvie’s room, Alastor made a silent vow to honor his mother’s teachings. With a heavy heart, he delved into the mystic arts not to manipulate fate, but to seek guidance and help. The flickering candles cast dancing shadows as Alastor immersed himself in the rituals he had once misused. He had tried everything, saving money for the best medication, home remedies, having specialists see her, everything.

As Sylvie’s condition worsened, Alastor found solace in being by her side, tending to her needs with a newfound tenderness. The past haunted him, yet the present held the opportunity for redemption. In caring for his ailing mother, Alastor discovered a profound connection that transcended the barriers of time and choices made.

The world outside continued to applaud Alastor’s radio success, unaware of the internal transformation transpiring within him. Sylvie, weakened but perceptive, observed the change in her son with a quiet pride. As Sylvie lay in her bed, the fragility of life evident in her every breath, Alastor approached with a mixture of reverence and regret. The room was adorned with flickering candles, casting an ethereal glow that danced on the walls.

“Mother, I… I’ve come to seek your guidance.” Sylvie, her eyes conveying a deep understanding, nodded weakly.

“Honey, my time here is waning. But I feel a shift within you. Talk to me, what’s wrong?” She asked, tightening her grip on her son’s hand. Alastor hesitated, the weight of his past actions pressing upon him.

“I’ve used the mystic arts for my own gain, tarnished their sanctity. I’ve tried everything to help you- I… I tried so much.” He said, at a loss for words. Silent tears bordered his eyes, Sylvie, though weakened, managed a gentle smile. “I should have listened more, learned more. I should’ve been better.” He said frustrated, angry tears slipping from his eyes and down his cheeks. He looked down, skeeters fogging as he fought his tears, holding onto his mother so tight and afraid to let go. “Is this my fault?” He asked quietly.

“No, never dear.” Sylvie said shaking her head softly. “I know you tried your best. All will be okay. I taught you well, raised a good man. You will get everything you want and more in this life, I promise you.” She said weakly, coughing a bit with the tissue in her hand. Finally she calmed down, speaking again. “The world is a stage. Make it your own.” She said smiling at him, and he just chuckled. She sighed and spoke again. “Life is a tapestry, my love. We learn, we grow. I know you are hurting.” She said, placing her hand weakly on his chest, but she continued. “I know you missed out on so much. So much I tried to give you, but you turned out so wonderful, so special. You did not disappoint, and I would do it all again to love you dear.” She said, hand cradling his cheek. “Don’t stop living when I’m gone.” She said to him, and he nodded, teary eyed, holding onto her hand.

“I love you momma.” He said, smiling sadly as he cried to her. Sylvie just smiled back, tears welling in her own eyes as she held onto him. She sat up slowly, beckoning Alastor to lean closer. She placed a kiss on his forehead with shaky hands, pulling away with a smile.

“I love you too honey.” She whispered.

As Sylvie’s final breaths approached, Alastor held her hand, seeking solace in the fragile yet profound connection they had forged. The room, filled with the scent of candles and the soft strains of jazz, became a sanctuary for a son bidding farewell to his guiding light.

The final moments with Sylvie became a sacred passage, where Alastor whispered words of love and gratitude, promising to carry forward the legacy she had bestowed upon him. As the room filled with a bittersweet melody of jazz playing softly in the background, Alastor prepared to face a world without his guiding light, determined to walk a path worthy of her memory.

She cries to the heaven above

There is a stone in my heart

She lives in a world she didn't choose

And it hurts like brand new shoes

Hurts like brand new shoes

#hazbin alastor #hazbin demon #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #human alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader

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wasjustred · 1 year

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ahhh iloveyourworkssomuch!! 💖 i'd like to request something along the lines of sugar mommy!larissa (maybe with smut, who knows *wink*) 'cause she's all i can think about these days... anyways, happy early new years!!!

Easy Does It - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: Larissa spoils you beyond comprehension. Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x f!Reader Warnings: Smut. A lot of it. (Cunnilingus, fingering, strap-on — all Reader receiving) Word Count: ~4.7k

Author’s Note: I hope this meets your expectations, anon! I originally intended to make Larissa way more domineering, but once I began writing it just didn’t feel like her——I tried to stay true to her character where I could. As always, feedback is welcome ﹠. appreciated! ♡ (un-beta-ed as per usual!) ╱ AO3

The arrangement you and Larissa have has been smoothly gliding along for about six months now: you meet for dinner every weekend, in a town about half an hour outside of Jericho. You wear an outfit she’s picked out for you, she pulls your seat out, you share conversation and good - expensive - food and drinks, and you end on the stoop of your apartment, leaning into the kiss she places on your cheek, with a weekly allowance in cash in your purse. It’s the perfect set-up, nothing you’d dare protest, but sometimes you honest to god wish she’d just break her own rules and rail you ‘till the bed breaks.

Tonight you meet her at The Aviary, draped in a black satin dress with a deep slit up the leg––one of her favorites. Larissa helps you into your seat as she usually does, but before she takes her own, she places a long velvet box on your empty appetizer plate.

“Ooh, what’s this?”

“Open it and see.” A small, proud smirk turns her lips, eyes sparkling. You run your fingers over the velvet and lift at the seam, features going slack with surprise when you realize what’s hidden inside: a collar necklace, glittering diamond-cut, softening into a single falling arc of gems which ebbs, finally, into a small, shining teardrop. Light from the restaurant’s fixtures seem drawn to it, gleaming to and fro in a scattered stream of reflection. Your gaze snaps back to hers almost immediately, heart pounding.

“Larissa, I–”

“Do you like it?”

“I– Of course I do, it’s– it’s so beautiful..” Your voice softens and tapers off as you return your attention to the box before you. It’s probably the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given to you, but you stop short of admitting this. “Help me put it on?”

Larissa’s smile grows as she gathers the box in her hands, lifting the necklace from its cushion. She moves to stand behind you and tenderly brushes your hair aside; her hands are as soft as anything, so gentle in the way they handle you, securing the piece around your neck. Your own hand raises to rest atop the new weight at your clavicle, and when she sets her palms along your shoulders and squeezes, you shift your hand up to capture hers.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need one?” Larissa presses her lips to your cheek from behind before she retakes her seat, arching a brow in challenge. The answer is no, of course; this is how you work, special occasion or not. She always manages to keep you on your toes, though, far more thoughtful and intimate than any other ‘financeur’ you’ve ever humored in the past: Tennis bracelets set with gemstones which perfectly match your eyes, a new coffee bar set-up when you mentioned off-hand that Starbucks had discontinued your favorite drink, a signed first edition copy of your favorite book she ‘just so happened to come across’ while out of state. Much more than the simple, routine bank deposits and luxury brand pieces that were never quite you which you received from others. Larissa’s gifts have always been astoundingly personal.

You’ve never told her this, but you stopped dating altogether once your little dynamic began. How could anyone else compare? She makes you feel important without ever having to work for it ––– like you’re lovable, worthy, because you exist, and nothing more. You’re breaking your own rules, being so enamored with her, but you refuse to dwell on it.

“No, you don’t…” You trail off as your food arrives, ducking your head in thanks as the waiter sets everything out before you. Any discussion of her gift to you ends there on Larissa’s own accord, swiftly and advantageously moving on to a new topic as soon as the waiter has left you. The rest of the night is spent sipping expensive wine and musing instead on all of the high-culture goings-on you never get to discuss with anyone else: Art, ballet, classical music. Larissa’s a delicious trove of knowledge and opinions and she impresses you with each turn of a new topic. You often find yourself wondering - not just tonight, but many nights whilst basking in her presence - why she’s chosen you. You can hold good conversation, of course, and have an appreciation for the finer things in life usually reserved for those older and/or wealthier than you, but what’s always been curious, what’s always given you pause, is that she never asks for anything else in return. You have no choice but to ask yourself what it is you possibly have to offer to a woman like her––but you almost always fall short of a satisfying answer.

She’s talking you both through an analysis of the most recent play she brought you to when you take one of her hands in your own, tracing the lines of her palm as you listen. Larissa stumbles over her words at first contact, a rare occurrence for her, and blushes pink at the sensation. When you glance up at her in question she quickly averts her gaze and carries on, moving to smooth her thumb over yours as you continue. You love her fingers: they’re long, delicate, awfully reminiscent of the Greek statues she enjoys waxing poetic about. It’s an instance in which you’re reminded art, very often, echoes us in a continuous cycle of give and take.

You don’t say a word when you notice her face darken another shade as you press a kiss to the inside of her wrist before moving on to dote upon her other hand.

She’s not once explicitly told you, but Larissa’s never expected you to take a physical liking to her. She set the rules she did early on for a reason, knowing she could live with looking and not touching, taking care of you and watching your face turn alight with each gift or special night out without ever ending the evening by your side. No sex necessary, no physical affection expected. But here you are, fawning over her, and she’s never been more conflicted.

To assuage the feeling, she convinces herself it’s the wine that’s made you this way––a good bottle will go a long way, thus your touch must be the product of inebriation, not genuine affection. You’ve both long since finished off your meals when Larissa pays the bill and drives you home as she normally does, to an apartment she partly finances (not fully, at your own insistence that there are some things you should take care of yourself) and walks you to your door, stooping to kiss your cheek. Routine.

She is right about one thing, however, and that’s the potency of the house wine tonight. Not on your reasoning, but your self-control. You spent the car ride home admiring her profile in the passing streetlamps and traffic lights, studying the way each red light cast itself across her, how the passing headlights of opposing traffic bathed her in a cinematic glow you associated only, appropriately, with Vivien Leigh in A Streetcar Named Desire. Ghostlike, almost. Ethereal. And at that same wine’s behest, you lean further now into her goodnight kiss than you’d normally allow yourself.

It’s as she prepares to leave that you decide - anchored by the weight of the diamonds around your neck - that this is the night you’ll throw caution to the wind, fervently hoping it won’t backfire and end with her rejection and a ruined arrangement that you’d both worked to preserve over the past six months.

“Do you want to join me for a nightcap? I know we don’t usually, but.. I’d like you to. If you’d like to, of course. If you don’t that’s–––”

“Y/N,” she interrupts. You can hardly tell but her heart’s just about burst out of her chest. There’s an inner battle waging right on the precipice of her ribcage and your bright, hopeful eyes staring up at her aren’t making it any easier to parse out. Do you feel obligated somehow to pay her back for the necklace? She knows you know she’d never ask that of you, that your arrangement is not a traditional one, but has she unknowingly pushed the bounds all the same? Did you simply imbibe too much and don’t really have a clue what it is you’re saying?

Or, perhaps.. Most dangerously: Do you mean it?

“I don’t want you to feel as though you have to… ‘pay me back’ for tonight. That was never my intention.”

She volleys her own inner turmoil dead straight in your direction and stares down at you with what might be, if you squint hard enough, a nervous expression.

You lean sideways against the door and cross your arms over yourself, appraising her. Does she really not want you? What the hell does she get out of this if she doesn’t? You just can’t wrap your head around it, and while you insisted to yourself you’d never outwardly question the bounds of your relationship and why they’ve settled where they are, you’ve put yourself at a crossroads.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

She balks.

“What? Of course I do. What does that have to do with anything?” Larissa’s expression is a mixture of incredulity and apprehension. You decide to bite the bullet then as she lingers uncertainly beneath the moonlight.

“I don’t understand what you get out of this. Am I not–– you think I’m pretty but you don’t want to touch me? You pay for my livelihood but you don’t want anything tangible in return?” You both purse your lips simultaneously and you’d laugh if the situation weren’t so dire all of a sudden. “You confuse me, Larissa.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, a small cloud bursting forth as she sighs.

You fucked it, didn’t you? Fucked it right to hell, and now she’s never going to speak to you again.

“You’re an idiot, do you know that?” The air goes still.

…

It’s news to you.

Larissa suddenly pushes forward and traps you against the front of your door, hands leveled at your waist. “I’ve always wanted you,” she grits out, her arms tensing at your sides. “I just didn’t want you to feel as though you had to. Return the sentiment, that is. You’re too precious for that.” Her voice is low and rough in your ear, strangled. You grab hold of her forearms to keep yourself upright when her tone shoots right through you, breathing heavily. You gradually lift your gaze, poring over every curve of hers as you do, and meet her eyes. They’ve nearly gone black with lust, and a subtle quiver in her lip tells you everything you need to know.

“Kiss me.”

Larissa groans, which is admittedly not the reaction you’d expected, and presses further into you, her nose brushing against your cheek. You can feel the heat of her grow, ensnaring you in perfect contrast to the cool night air.

“You have to tell me you want it, darling. I need you to say it.” … Oh. A new wave of arousal surges through you as you turn your head ever so slightly, her lips hovering just out of reach. The shared breath between you has become fraught with possibility, with the overwhelming, unspent energy that’s been collecting over the last six months without either of you quite noticing. Of course this is what she needs: confirmation, not that you’re hers but that she’s yours, by choice and choice alone.

“I want you, Larissa. Please,” you whisper, squeezing her arms in an attempt to ground yourself. She says nothing in return, instead immediately closing the distance and engulfing you in a desperate, searing kiss. Your cheeks burn and it’s all you can do not to melt into her fully, sucking in a sharp breath as her tongue slides against your bottom lip. This, this, you realize, is exactly what you’d imagined: Feeling her against you, wrapped up tightly in her arms, being drawn in and freed all at once, struggling to contain the desire you feel pulsing within yourself. It’s like Larissa’s split open your mind and picked through every thought there, coming away with only the most indecent imaginings and putting them to use as her hips pitch forward and her hands grasp achingly at the roundness of your thighs.

“Open the door,” she husks, suddenly ripping herself away and turning you at the waist to face the door. You fumble for your keys as she scores your neck and shoulders with hot, open-mouth kisses, running the tip of her tongue along the muscle that pulls taut there.

“F-fuck.” The chuckle she gives in response to your whimpering, shaking when you can’t fit the key into its slot, only weakens you further. Larissa must know her effect well as she wraps an arm around you to hold you upright, the other grabbing the key from you and swiftly unlocking the door in one go.

“Trust me, I’m trying.”

Laughter follows you both as you take the stairs one at a time, pausing every few to take her tongue in your mouth and run your hands along her front. You bypass the living room once you reach the landing - a feat in itself - and lead Larissa straight to your bedroom, kicking one heel off in the hall and the other at the threshold of your room.

She stops you just before you reach the bed and holds you steady for a moment: “Hold on, I want to look at you..” You hair is mussed, curls losing their hold in the heat of your entanglement, chest heaving and red. Larissa steps forward to brush her thumb over your lips, searching your face for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

She doesn’t find any.

“Christ, you’re a pretty thing,” she hums. The pad of her thumb pulls at your bottom lip and you acquiesce, tilting your chin up before taking her finger into your mouth, rolling your tongue against its tip, watching her with wide eyes that imply an innocence you don’t possess. A hiss escapes her when your teeth come down around her knuckle and she scowls, gripping your jaw with an intensity that rivets the surrounding atmosphere as she rips her hand away, smashing your lips together once more.

In the next second the backs of your knees are buckling against the edge of the mattress and you squeak; Larissa had slipped a hand over your sternum and shoved, launching you down hard into the bed. Wet heat urges your hips forward as she crawls over you, but her hands swiftly come down to force them back into the mattress, trapping you there.

“Patience, darling.” You scoff as she begins the journey down your body, placing lazy kisses to your lips, cheek, jaw, chest while her fingers deftly work to pull your dress from you. You lift your back so she can snake a hand around and drag the zipper down to its end at the top of your hips, wriggling free and moving to pull at her own dress–––but she grabs your wrists, pinning them above you with a devious smirk.

“Ah, ah. Let me spoil you,” she murmurs into the crook of your neck, one hand traveling to cup the dampness between your legs. Electricity cracks against your spine at her touch; you’re sweltering and freezing all at once, watching her eyes rake over you with a hunger you’ve never seen on her before. Her fingers draw idle circles around your clit as she works her way down your body, leaving a trail of wetness in her wake where tongue meets flesh, nipping at the precipice of your hip bones, glancing up at you before she licks you through your panties. There’s no helping the whine you turn free when she all but purrs at the taste she gets of you from the soaked fabric.

“Larissa, please,” you huff, lifting your hips up to meet her mouth. She takes three steps then in quick succession: chuckles into the skin of your inner thigh; pulls your panties down and off of you; and presses a series of messy, teasing kisses to your bare sex. Your fingers clutch at the top of your duvet as she finally begins to devour you, breath hitching as her tongue circles your entrance and delves into you. In a moment of white hot desperation, you hook your legs around her, calves flexing against her back as you shudder into her touch. She’s ravenous, consuming you with long, uninterrupted strokes that ride on the flat of her tongue, lapping your slickness up and winding into you all at once. The coil is tight within you already, pulsing with every movement of her mouth. You’re almost worried it’ll be over before it scarcely has had the chance to start, but a quiet, bemused voice in the back of your mind ridicules you: Larissa is nothing if not generous.

“You taste divine,” she breathes, before returning her ministrations to your clit, sucking and popping with the filthiest fucking moan you’ve ever heard. The feeling of her tongue against that tight bundle of nerves prompts your eyes to roll back, eyelids fluttering, and imbues your hands with a mind of their own, working them swiftly into her hair and pulling her as close to your cunt as you can get her, hips lurching in an unsteady rhythm. You can feel her amusement at your desperation as distinctly as you feel her mouth, but it’s quickly forgotten when she slides two fingers into you with an ease that makes you lightheaded. The sound of your wetness is sinful, and you have to admit it only spurs you on.

“Fuck me, fuck me, pleasefuckme––” Larissa’s grinning against you as she pumps her fingers, curling into you with a startling accuracy that leaves you breathless and aching. You press your cheek to your shoulder in a feeble attempt to keep yourself above the threshold dividing pleasure and bliss, useless as she slips another finger into you and flicks her tongue against you, quickening her pace as she follows the mounting tone of your pleas. Every touch spreads a warmth through you impossible to ignore, stirring a frantic need beneath the surface of your skin.

“Cum for me, darling, cum for me, that’s right.” Larissa presses the heel of her hand into the space just below the swell of your stomach and the coil snaps suddenly, sharply, sucking all of the air out of you at the same time that you yelp and tense with equal force, clamping around her face as your orgasm tears through you. She continues to lap at you even as your hands push at her, holding fast to your thighs to keep her place. Your legs shake as she builds you up in the same breath that you’re coming down, a second orgasm already rearing its head.

“I can’t,” you keen, but Larissa shakes her head and unlatches briefly to disagree.

“Yes you can, Y/N––be a good girl for me.” It washes over you when she lowers her face again and wraps her lips around your clit, sucking with an unfazed firmness that shocks you to your center. You’re tingling over every limb, pacing your breaths to ride you through this second crest. “That’s it..” Larissa coos, running her hand over your leg comfortingly. You can hardly breathe as the shockwaves roll through you one after the other, and the darkness of the ceiling above you seems to double in size as you stare in a daze.

Your muscles melt into the mattress one by one, sinking deep as Larissa finally pulls her head away and crawls forward to kiss you; you can taste your slickness on her tongue, familiar and tangy. When you part, gasping for air, you wrap a hand around the back of her neck and press your foreheads together, gazing up into her eyes with the softest look you can muster after so thoroughly falling apart in her hands.

“My turn?” She laughs loud and heartily at your doe-eyed demeanor. You’re itching to touch her, to taste her, and she knows it.

“Mmm, maybe.” Larissa shrugs and rises up from her position over you, sliding off to the side of the bed where you can’t reach her––and not for lack of trying. A whine catches in your throat when she shoots a withering look over her shoulder, patting the space beside her. “Help me with my dress, darling.”

You waste no time in flipping over onto your knees, shuffling over to her and grappling with the zipper of her dress. You flush when she laughs both at your inability to get it down in one swift motion and the frustrated little growl that bubbles up from your chest.

“Not funny,” you complain, gritting your teeth as she shifts and the zipper gives, revealing the smooth, snowy expanse of her back. Instilled with a renewed sense of hunger, you push the fabric away from both of her shoulders and continue the journey down and around to her breasts, thrilled she’s forgone a bra tonight as you palm the supple flesh there and roll her nipples between your fingers. The sigh she expels is a ragged one, her hands dwarfing yours whilst her head falls back against your shoulder. You revel in the sight of her lip caught between her teeth.

“I want to fuck you.” You just barely catch it in between her labored breaths and your own thunderous heartbeat, but you do, and you turn to glance at her curiously before her meaning hits you square in the face.

“But––”

She cuts you off. “I want to destroy you, Y/N. You can taste me later,” Larissa mutters, pivoting without another warning and capturing your lips again. You wouldn’t complain if it weren’t for the utter distress you felt to get your hands on her. She doesn’t give you a chance to rebut, however, as she slips out of her dress and climbs over you, guiding your hands to grip her ass. “Later, I promise.” She pulls back to appraise you, taking a rigorous inventory that she’ll commit to memory if it’s the last thing she does: Your flushed skin, the way you can’t keep still under her touch, the unmistakable shine of desire in your eyes.

“In th-the nightstand,” you stammer. Suddenly the realization that Larissa is here, in your bed, and you, at her mercy, is too much at once. You’re trembling with need and anticipation. She tilts her head at you, one second, two passing before she follows your guidance and pulls the drawer open, grinning wickedly at what she finds there.

“Harness?”

You nod vigorously, propping yourself up on your elbows and directing her through another drawer of your dresser. The slow, methodical way in which she fastens the leather around herself surely burns itself into your brain, and you can’t help the shameless moan that seeps out when she smooths an indulgent layer of lubricant along the silicone from base to tip, a delicious sight between her legs.

Larissa approaches with an emphasized swing to her hips, bending at the waist to press a chaste kiss to your lips before she nudges you to scoot back into the middle of the bed, positioning herself above you with a hand on either side of your head. She dips her face down into the hollow of your throat.

Her voice vibrates against you despite her hushed tone. “Are you ready for me, darling?”

Your brain short-circuits at her words, imperfect timing. God, she’s fucking hot.

She lifts her head again to catch your gaze and smirks, nibbling on the tip of your chin. “Use your words.”

“Yes, yes, I’m ready,” you rasp, drawing your nails down the broad expanse of her back in anticipation.

The moment she slides into you is pure ecstasy: your toes curl and you haphazardly clamber for purchase upon her skin as she buries herself deep within you, stalling for a few moments to give you time to adjust. The way Larissa groans into the motion draws out an amusing - filthy - rumination about her being able to feel every stroke as with her own body, delighting in your wetness. She fills you seamlessly, snapping her hips against you before slowly drawing herself back, only to repeat the pattern and plunge into you as deeply as she’s able. It’s bruising and pleasurable all at once, how she brushes up against your walls and the ridges of the toy hit what your mind insists is every nerve-ending within you.

You rock together desperately, bodies moving as one as if you’d been doing this for centuries, mapping each other out and bringing each other to your peak. You savor the novel, tangled scent of sweat and arousal, a newly formed association with the sound of Larissa’s broken whimpers now frozen in your psyche.

A startled breath leaves you as Larissa abruptly anchors her weight to one side and pulls you on top of her, flipping your positions. Her arms wrap tight around you, looped at your back and around your shoulder as she fucks up into you at a crushing pace. You whine into the crook of her neck and realize you’re on the verge of tears, an overwhelming wave of pleasure and desperation wracking your body. Quiet grunts accompany her each thrust, slowing just so until it’s a steady pattern you can count to like clockwork, brutal and sharp at every buck of her hips. Your knees are aching, folded as they are, but the tight, coiling sensation within you overrides any and all discomfort, merely a quiet nagging in your brain; your focus is settled precisely on the angle of her cock and how her nails dig into your skin as you grind against each other. She’s close, too. You can feel it. It’s there in the shallowness of her breaths, in the urgency of her pelvis against yours, in the subtle arch of her back. You try to meet her where she’s at in your muddled state, pitching your hips backwards and down when she thrusts upwards––and you know it’s worked when she gasps and her hands scramble to lock together at the small of your back.

“Yes, that’s it darling. Just like that,” Larissa pants, using the leverage of her hold on you to help you fuck yourself. The only sounds permeating the room are that of your mingled breaths and her cock driving into you with a consistent, almost unforgiving rhythm.

“Pleasepleaseplease, ohfuck––”

“Y/N–––”

She tenses with you and cries out as your orgasms hit you both at once, ravaging you beyond reason. You’re hyper-aware of the way her breasts feel pressed against you, the way one of her hands flies up to bury itself in your hair as you ride her through your climax. Larissa’s hips stutter as she whines into your shoulder, sinking her teeth into you, and you marvel at the feeling of her muscles clenching around you, from the sinewy stretch of her arms to her thighs rested between your own.

Everything you’d hoped for. Fantasized about. Greedily deliberated again and again whilst watching her across the table in another fancy restaurant in another unfamiliar town.

Larissa is careful as she pulls out of you, slow and deliberate so as not to disturb the tenderness there. You remain curled on top of her but she doesn’t complain, rather rubbing your back in long, languid movements and whispering affirmations in you ear, a sweet mixture of ‘breathe darling, I’ve got you’ and more headily, ‘you did so well for me, you’re so good, you took me so well’. When you allow yourself to fall to the side of her, she shimmies out of the harness and tosses it somewhere off the edge of the bed, ignoring its clatter as she wraps you up in her arms. You burrow yourself further into her warmth and sigh at the feeling, content.

“Now is it my turn?” you ask, voice low and raked over with exhaustion. The belly laugh she gives is worth all the weariness in the world. “You’re incorrigible!”

#i also tried not to dive too deep into any specific kinks since there was no request for any #i think what i’m gonna do is add to my masterlist what kinks i will and won’t write and go from there!#that way ppl can request as they please :)#if anyone has any constructive/technique-specific comments on the smut pls send them my way!!#i have a tendency to be super explanatory/forward in a way that i don’t think always works for smth so intimate #so i’d love any help i can get!#ANYWAYSSSSS enjoy #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x f!reader #principal weems x reader #larissa weems imagine #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems x you #principal weems imagine #larissa weems reader insert #larissa weems smut #answered (request)#wasjustred

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ghcstao3 · 1 year

Text

drabble? fic? ficlet? i barely know the distinction atp. ghostsoap (ish), 1.1k words, on y va !

Soap is the proud owner of an asshole cat.

This cat—a Ragdoll named Precious, of all things—only tolerates three people in her life, and even that’s a stretch: Soap, is one of the obvious, and both Soap’s parents because that’s who she stays with while he’s away for work.

Now, Soap loves Precious. Sure, she can be mean sometimes and has left him with a few scratches, but those were just because he hadn’t respected her wishes to be left alone, obviously—because maybe an hour following those sorts of incidents, they’re back to cuddling, and Soap is back to cooing at her and giving her treats just because a particular meow sounded cute. He treats Precious like his child, and whenever he’s on leave that cat gets spoiled.

Unfortunately, however, he’s had previous partners complain about Precious just because she always swatted at them, or because she’d hissed every time they attempted to pet her without ever approaching the way strangers should—but in the end, who got to stick around? Certainly none of Soap’s exes. And that gets Soap thinking if he had to choose, Precious would always come first. It has him realizing that maybe he wouldn’t ever have a partner because of it, but he decides that’s alright. Precious is all he needs for companionship.

Soap is also the less-proud brother of two rather nosy sisters.

Usually the chain of information about Soap is passed in one way: Soap’s older sister pries something out of him, tells that something to their mother, and his youngest sister easily gets that something from their mother because she still lives with their parents. His father is often out of the loop, or tied somewhere in the chain with Soap’s little sister, and thank God for small mercies.

But regardless, nothing gets past anyone, and that’s how one of the biggest domino effects of Soap’s recent life is set off.

Back to the cat.

Even though Soap had long since decided that he wouldn’t ever need a partner, and may never end up with one, he is willing to try one last time with his lieutenant. It’s a long story with lots of rule bending, and the most awkward confession spoken by man on Soap’s part—but by the time Soap ventures to introduce Ghost to Precious for the first time, he thinks he may already be in love.

He’s nervous, though. Because he’s never wanted a relationship to work out so badly before, and if Ghost doesn’t like Precious, or wouldn’t be willing to learn to live with her and her flaws, then Soap will be more than a little heartbroken.

Then a miracle happens. Or maybe less so a miracle and more so Precious deciding for Soap that he’s found The One. Because Precious warms up to Ghost immediately, which is saying something considering it took Soap himself a while to earn her trust. But Ghost? Precious takes one sniff at his hand and essentially declares him to be her new favourite (not that she really had one of those before).

In all, this series of events ends up with Soap’s only photo of Ghost unmasked on his phone, amidst photos of the 141 and Precious and various places he’s been, when one afternoon on leave he witnesses Ghost napping on the couch with Precious comfortably curled up on his stomach, the two of them snoring like motors. Ghost never finds out about the image, Soap forgets about it, then his older sister reenters the picture and reminds him while also becoming the reason Soap’s family finds out that he’s finally dating again.

He was going to tell them. Just not yet, is all. He’d been waiting on the right time, or something like that.

Soap is on leave alone for the first time in a while. His sister pays him a visit, asks to see something on his phone, and because he’d only been half-listening, Soap thinks nothing of it to hand it over.

This is his first mistake, and, really, the trigger event to the worst month of his life by way of exasperated berating from his mother and a bombardment of questions from everyone else.

“John?”

“Hm?”

“Who’s this?”

Soap looks up from the book he’d been half-heartedly reading to have his phone shoved in his face with the photo of Ghost and Precious napping on the screen. His stomach drops.

“He—uh.” Soap blanks. He doesn’t want to tell the truth, but knows the lie about to leave his mouth would be anything but convincing. “A one-night stand.”

His sister raises her eyebrows, entirely unimpressed. “You take pictures of your one-night stands?”

Soap shrugs helplessly, fingers curling tighter around his book as he tries to casually look anywhere but the image. “Thought he looked cute? Y’ken how Precious is with people.”

“Not buyin’ it,” she says. She pulls the phone away and scrutinizes the screen herself, zooming into something, then scrolling to something else. “He is cute, though.”

“Can you just—“ Soap attempts to swipe his phone back, but she raises her arm before he can. He scowls and sets his book down. “Please give me my phone back.”

“Not ‘til you tell me who he is.”

Soap groans, scrubs at his face with the heels of his palms. Having a sister is the worst. He can’t imagine how this would go if they’d both been here.

“He’s…” Soap sighs, shoulders sagging. He grumbles, “We’re dating.”

“How long?”

“Six months.”

The gasp his sister lets out makes it sound like he’d just told her someone died. He’s then left to answer a million-and-one questions about Ghost, accidentally reveals that he is, in fact, dating the lieutenant he’d been non-stop pining over for far too long, and is eventually threatened to invite Ghost to Christmas dinner that year, “or else.”

He goes through the same thing with his mother two weeks later, once the chain has been started up again. And Ghost, the bastard, has the audacity to laugh. He just thinks it’s so funny the verbal ass-beating Soap gets over the phone until the call ends and Soap shows Ghost the reason this was all happening. Tells him he snores, too. And loud. It puts Ghost in the defensive long enough for Soap to feel a little less miserable about the whole situation, and gives him time to think about how he’s going to ask Ghost to come home with him for the holidays in a few months.

All because Soap is the proud owner of an asshole cat, the less-proud brother of nosy sisters, and the very-proud boyfriend of the best man he’s ever known.

Soap is definitely going to buy Precious some expensive treats the next time he’s home.

#john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #soapghost #ghostsoap #secret relationship #drabble #writing #fanfic #cat owner soap is a necessity tbh

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tipsyleaf · 2 days

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OH MY GOODNESS, LEON WOULD LITERALLY BE SWEATING.

Knowing Leon; he’d probably show up in a fancy suit. Him and his now wife had been dating for a couple of months, having to push back when he’d finally be able to meet her parents because of work. He wanted to look presentable and nice, especially after finding out her father was a high ranking military official.

He’d probably show up with flowers in hand for your mother, giving her a hug as she kissed both of his cheeks and treated him like a baby. All while her father stood back and watch with his arms folded, poor guy was probably shivering as his girlfriend’s mother introduced her husband, giving Leon a nice firm nod and extending his hand out.

They had planned a nice little dinner together; His girlfriend and her mother would finish cooking in the kitchen as her father quite literally conducted an entire interview with Leon in the living room.

“What do you do for work?”

“What are you trying to do with my daughter?”

“How long were you in training for?”

Being the nice respectful guy he was, he’d reply with “No sir” or “Yes sir” to his questions. Go into further depth with the harder ones, really trying to get on the old man’s good side. They had a little talk about the army and stuff, listening to his old stories before your mother and you finally finished the food.

Dinner went well, so far your parents absolutely adored him. Especially your mother; she’d probably be telling your father “Can you believe it Dave? Our little girl with an amazing man like him! I know he’ll protect her, especially with that fancy government job he has!” Leon would just blush and thank her, smiling and happily eating his steak.

Let’s just say, as soon as he felt, your mother was already gossiping with you. Talking about how “Handsome” and “Strong” he was. You just blushed at giggled, agreeing with her every word.

- Anon! 🎀

Love this 🎀anon, but I have a feeling as soon as her father heard his name he knew who Leon was. Everybody knows everybody in certain lines of work!

The second he hears your father is a general in the military he has a lot of questions. He's questioning you and you're answering to the best of your abilities. But his rank pops up. Four star general... Your father is a four star general. One of the highest ranks you could possibly get...

Then his brain starts turning, your last name moving through his head until it finally sticks. He's scrubbed floors at the rumor of that man showing up. Knows stories of how ruthless he is and the things that man's done. Climbing ranks quickly in the Army with the amount of raw potential he had.

"General Tarkin..." You freeze for a minute looking at him.

"The Star Wars character?"

"No, the other cadets... They'd call him General Tarkin. I know your father... Well, know of your father. Never met him personally but I've heard he's... Terrifying." Your father? Terrifying? You laugh at the thought, smiling at your boyfriend who seems to look a lot more tense than he already was.

"Daddy's not terrifying. He's like a giant teddy bear if anything." Leon knows you mean well but the thought of meeting this man has his stomach in knots. Not only would he have to impress her parents but the man who he knew could do a lot of things to make his life more miserable if he pissed him off.

Leon was definitely gonna have some kind of stomach ulcer with the amount of stress by the end of the night.

Your mother adored him, wouldn't stop calling him handsome and welcoming him into the family without even thinking about it. But Leon could hardly focus feeling the generals burning glare on him from behind your doting mother.

As soon as Leon introduced himself, your father tightens his grip on Leon's hand.

"I know who you are boy."

Boy... That's the name Leon gets stuck with for a chunk of the night and sometime after.

Your father tells you to go help your mother with dinner and you happily follow. Leaving the two of them alone in the den. Sitting across from each other in silence for a few minutes.

"You know me?" Leon's the first to speak, your father still staring him down with his arms crossed.

"Hard not to. President Graham speaks highly of you for helping him with his daughter. We're friends, told him personally who my daughter was seeing and he couldn't stop talking about you." His face tightens as he leans forward, towards Leon.

"I've read the reports from '04. Know what you saw. But I don't take too kindly knowing my daughter's dating a man who skipped around in Spain with another woman. Even if it was to protect her."

Leon's at a loss for words. What even could he say!?

"What're your intentions with my daughter?" Oh thank God something he can answer.

"To be with her, Sir." The generals face softes slightly with a nod.

"You love her?"

"More than anything, Sir."

"You wanna marry her? Have a family?"

"When the time comes, Sir."

The grilling continued until you came in to save him with the news of dinner being done. Your father didn't say much after that. Your mother talking all through dinner and dessert.

Upon leaving you and Leon say your goodbyes and take off. Your mother looks at your father as he shuts the door and smiles.

"Well?" She questions, looking at him.

"He'll do fine." He says, smiling ear to ear.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy #🌿 ivy replies #🌿 ivy writes #resident evil x reader #🏡 domestic life with leon kennedy

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sequinsmile-x · 29 days

Text

Etch

She gets her first tattoo when she’s 15.

An exploration of Emily's tattoos and the meaning behind them.

-x-

Hi friends!

This was inspired by an ask from @sometimesitswho, who asked my opinion on what I think Emily's tattoos are and what I think Aaron would make of them.

As we all know by now, I get carried away and now a day later we have a 4k fic haha

I hope you all enjoy this, and please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: Mentions of tattoos/needles, pregnancy

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She gets her first tattoo when she’s 15.

She walks into a parlour the first day she’s back in the USA, her trusty fake ID in hand, and a fist full of cash. When she looks back on it as an adult, she thinks that the tattoo artist must have known her ID wasn’t real, the look he gave her and her private school uniform before he took her money was one of suspicion, but he tattooed her anyway. She’d wondered since how many teenagers he’d tattooed, if he simply thought that private school kids with too much money deserved to live with a life of regret whenever they looked at the fading ink etched into their skin.

If Emily ever looked at pictures of herself from that age she was always struck by how young she looked, her finger tracing over her own face staring up at her, her youth faded by ink and time as she touched places she now had fine lines. She looked young even for 15 and she doubts anyone would have truly believed she was 19 like her ID claimed. At the time, she hadn’t felt like a child. She hadn’t acknowledged that she was a kid making decisions that most adults would struggle with, scared and alone other than the help of a teenage boy who never truly recovered from what he had watched her go through.

She remembers walking around the parlour and checking the designs on the walls, idly looking through everything, trying to find something that represented how she felt. Something that would be a full stop for what she’d gone through, an end to something that even then she knew was a turning in her life. A physical reminder of what she’d survived. She walks around for what feels like hours, the artists looking at her curiously, an edge of impatience in the air until she finally makes her decision.

In the end, she settles on a butterfly.

It’s small but intricate. It looks like it’s in flight. Like it’s taking off, ready to start somewhere new now it has escaped its chrysalis, excited to explore its new form now it’s no longer a caterpillar. She decides to have it on her hip. She holds her skirt down to expose her hipbone, and shivers in disgust when the tattoo artist places his gloved hand on her skin as he starts to tattoo her.

There’s an edge of excitement at the thought of what her mother would do if she found out, if she somehow managed to see the small tattoo that was mostly hidden by her underwear, just the top of the wings peeking out, let alone her clothing. It’s a secret rebellion she relishes in for years, a physical mark of anarchy carved into her skin. More than once she almost yells it at her mother mid-argument, almost tells her something she knows she’d hate just to disarm her, to stop the tirade about how she’d let her down again, but she never does.

She keeps it to herself, the tattoo itself becoming just as much of a closely guarded secret as the reason she got it in the first place. Any time a partner sees it, their fingers pressed into her skin as they ask her about it, surprised she has a tattoo in the first place, she doesn’t tell the truth. She claims it was something she chose without thinking, a silly compulsive decision she’d made when she was young and stupid.

She never tells anyone, until she tells Aaron.

___

She gets her second tattoo when she’s 21.

She’s just graduated from her undergrad, any pride she felt for her achievement dampened by the fact her mother hadn’t made it to her graduation, stuck somewhere in Europe on an assignment she wasn’t willing to fly home from even for a weekend.

She’s bored and has nothing to do, all of her friends out with their families for dinner. She’s invited by more than one of them, but she refuses, not in the mood to sit with a normal family, to witness what she’d always wanted to be a part of. She insists she’s fine, even though she isn’t, and she takes her diploma back to her apartment and then heads out, unable to deal with the quiet, the silence and loneliness overwhelming.

She finds herself walking down the street and she stops outside a parlour, her eyes fixed on a ‘walk-in’s available’ sign before she makes a snap decision and does just that. It’s everything she’s always told people the butterfly was - compulsive. Very little thought involved, her decision almost immediate when they ask her what she wants, her very real ID in her hands this time.

She chooses Arabic script, the word ‘home’ emblazoned on her lower back. She writes it out for the artist, a physical representation of something she’d never had, something her mother’s work had taken from her. It’s something she’d always have with her wherever she was, something she would later need when she was living under a different name, Lauren’s reasoning for the tattoo not the same as Emily’s.

The artist asks her to check the letters and the spelling several times, her expression unsure as Emily confirms that it was correct, that she spoke Arabic fluently. The artist didn’t ask any other questions, seemingly aware that Emily wasn’t in the mood to talk. She lays there, concentrating on the sting of the needle, the sharp scratching almost cathartic, a well needed distraction from the ache in her chest, the understanding that once again she hadn’t been enough for her mother to put her first.

When she gets home, she takes off her shirt and looks at both her tattoos in the mirror, turning again and again as she studies them both. The slightly faded ink of the butterfly on her hip, the lines that had blurred ever so slightly in the 6 years since she’d had it done, a stark contrast to the sharp bright black lines of the script on her back. It fascinates her, two moments of her life permanently printed on her skin, their meanings only known to her, secrets she was sure she’d hide forever, convinced that she’d never find anyone she’d trust enough to share them with.

Her mother never sees her second tattoo either, and she is forever grateful for that, not sure she’d ever have the words to explain it to her even if she asked.

___

Emily sighs contentedly as she settles into her bed, her limbs a delicious mix of heavy and light as she stretches, the cool sheet soft against her bare skin.

“You ok, sweetheart?”

She smiles as she looks at Aaron, walking out of her ensuite, naked apart from a smug smile on his face. They’d come back to hers after their date, something he’d insisted on before they had sex, his gentlemanly nature both something she loved and hated about him in that moment, and they’d barely got inside her apartment before they were all over each other. Their clothes were strewn throughout her apartment, starting from just inside the door.

Their transition from friendship into more, into this which felt a lot like the last first date she’d ever go on, was easy. After years of both of them pretending they didn’t have feelings for each other, years of circumstance getting in the way, they’d taken the leap together, something that she thinks with anyone else would have terrified her.

“I’m perfect,” she says, laying on her front, her pillow gathering in her arms as she lays her head on it, “Come over here.”

He doesn’t need asking twice. He’s across the room and under the covers in a moment, his warmth immediately seeping into her skin, removing the slight chill that stepping out of their shared shower had created.

He’s immediately touching her, tracing hills and valleys he’d imagined for years, ones he now wanted to commit to memory, the time they’d taken to take each other apart again and again before their shower not enough. He’d been reverent earlier, paying close attention to her scars. She hadn’t been with anyone since Ian had left her for dead, her skin torn open just like her life had been. With anyone else she thinks she would have been worried, self-conscious about the scars she’d been left with, but Aaron had made her feel nothing short of beautiful.

She’d felt the same way about his scars, raised bits of skin made up of him where he’d had to pull himself back together. A tapestry of the things he’d survived to make it here to her.

He runs his hand up and down her bare back, chasing the goosebumps he creates. He smiles at her, something relaxed and soft to it she would have once seen thought he wasn’t capable of. His hand pauses where her tattoo is, tracing the letters as his smile turns into a smirk.

“I never took you to be a lower back tattoo kind of person,” he says, his smile only getting wider when she narrows her eyes at him.

“Shut up,” she says, unable to fight her smile when he leans in to kiss her, her words slightly muffled against his lips, “It was the 90s.”

“I like it,” he says, kissing her again before he pulls back, his hand laying on her lower back, covering the tattoo in its entirety, “What does it mean?”

She hesitates for a moment, the usual, well-practised lies about her tattoos and their meaning on the tip of her tongue ready to go.

She’d lied to Ian about them. In the grand scheme of things she’d lied to him about it didn’t even scratch the surface, something that flowed easily from her tongue when she considered he didn’t even know her real name. It was something she was grateful for later when he taunted her about them in Boston, a sense of satisfaction found in the fact that she’d never shared with him the part of herself that had only ever been for her. She’d taken those parts of her to her grave, buried alongside any fleeting remaining hope she’d one day find someone she could share those pieces with. That she’d have a partner who’d help her dust them off and treat them with the reverence she’d long since convinced herself she didn’t deserve.

She looks at Aaron, her cheek resting on her hands as their eyes meet, and he’s looking at her with such reverence, such love she realises that she wants to tell him the truth. She knows that whilst it’s their first night together it’s the start of something important, the feeling of forever in the air around them, what she feels for him as permanent as the black ink his palm was currently covering.

“It means home,” she says. She turns onto her side, his hand following her lower back as if magnetized to it, his arm coming to rest over her waist. She puts her elbow on the mattress and rests her head in her palm, her smile sad, “I got it the day of my college graduation. Mother was…” She blows out a breath and shakes her head, her teeth briefly digging into her lower lip, “Somewhere. I don’t even remember where now, but she wasn’t here and she didn’t come,” she reaches out and presses her thumb into the dent between his eyebrows when he frowns, his indignation for a young her clear, “And instead of going to dinner with my friends and their families I wandered around, found myself in a tattoo parlour,” she shrugs, an edge of embarrassment sneaking in as she scrunches her face up, “I’d never really had a home, and at the time it made sense to make sure I always had one with me.”

He leans in to kiss her, his hand skating up her back to tangle in her still damp hair as he holds her in place, “That makes sense,” he replies, kissing her once more before he pulls back, his curiosity getting the better of him as his gaze drifts to her hip. She was covered by the thin sheet over them, but he could picture the small butterfly, the intricate wings having caught his attention where it sat on her hipbone, “What about the butterfly?”

She tenses, the question she knew was coming still somehow taking her by surprise. He knew about Rome. She’d told him months ago when it was just the two of them one evening, talking about anything and everything over a bottle of wine when Jack was in bed and the two of them were still insisting they were just friends. She was talking about all the places she’d lived, all the places she’d love to go back to, and Rome came up. A city she had complicated feelings for, the beauty of it somewhat diminished by what had happened to her when she was young, the famous landmarks everyone always wanted to see tainted by memories of a positive pregnancy test in the bottom of her school bag. She’d told him that night, a secret she’d guarded so closely coming out without her even realising it would.

He’d been nothing but kind and supportive as the final puzzle pieces about the case all those years ago fell into place. That night when she left to go home he hugged her tighter than usual, a safety in his embrace that she’d been seeking ever since.

When she looks back on it, she knows that’s the night she realised that if she could trust him with the parts of her she’d always considered the worst, she could trust him with her heart.

He sees the hesitance, feels how her shoulders get tighter as he asks, and a sense of panic unfurls in his chest. He never wanted to push her too far, to make her curl back in on herself like she so often did when she was uncomfortable. He tucks some of her hair behind her ear, hoping his smile is encouraging when her eyes meet his.

“Em, it’s okay if you don’t want to-”

“I got it when I was 15,” she says, cutting him off before she lets his kindness talk her out of it “I’d just got back from Rome.”

She doesn’t have to say anymore, and she sees the realisation wash over his face. His hand skates down her side, his thumb coming to rest over the tattoo hidden beneath the sheet, his placement exact even though tonight was the first time he’d ever seen it. For a few seconds, he’s silent, contemplating the best thing to say, how to proceed now she’s told him her deepest secrets.

“I really like them,” he says eventually, stroking her skin through the sheet, his smile soft when their eyes meet. She presses her lips together and shifts closer to him.

“Really?” She asks, relief she hadn’t anticipated rolling through her, her cheeks warm with it as his hand once again drifts to her lower back.

“Really,” he confirms, stamping his lips against hers, “They are beautiful,” he says, kissing her, “Just like the rest of you,” he kisses her again, her action lost to her wide smile, her cheek warm as his nose presses into it, “Thank you for telling me.”

She rests her forehead against his and closes her eyes, taking a moment to breathe the moment in, to breathe him in, before she replies.

“Thank you for listening.”

___

She gets her third and final tattoo when she’s 41.

It’s Aaron’s idea. It takes her by surprise when he suggests it, his smile soft as he says they should both get a tattoo. He’d been obsessed with hers since that first night, always pressing his thumb or palm against them at any given opportunity. He asked a lot of questions, fascinated by the process, and she agrees, the thought of doing this with someone this time, with the man she was sharing her life with, making her skin fizz.

It’s different to the last couple of times. Aaron does research. Reading endless reviews for each of the artists and parlours in DC, his face serious as he goes over them, narrowing it down to a shortlist. She finds it endearing, love for him sparking in her chest when she pushes his laptop from his lap and sits there instead, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kisses him. They go back and forth on a design, deciding that they want similar ones but not necessarily matching. They settle on a blackbird, a symbol that means different things to both of them - a conversation with a friend for her when she was dead to almost everyone she knew, and a song that had got him through the worst parts of his life.

They go to get them done a couple of weeks after they move into their house. They own a house together and she’s got a ring on her finger but when the artist shows them the stencils for the tattoos it somehow feels even more intimate, love for each other etched into their skin. She goes first, shows him how it’s done when he jokes that she’s the ‘expert’, something that heavily tattooed artist raises and eyebrow at when he sees her other tattoos.

“Want me to hold your hand?” Aaron asks, his hand already offered out as she sits down, her shirt tucked in under the band of her bra as the small blackbird stencil is applied to her ribs. She raises her eyebrow at him but takes his hand anyway, linking their fingers together as she squeezes.

“You’d better not wimp out on me,” she says, hiding a wince as the artist starts, the vibration of the needle against her bones worse than she remembers.

“Never,” he replies, winking as he squeezes her hand again. He ignores when she tightens her hold on him every now and again, her grip at its fiercest when the artist does the shading.

He watches with fascination when the artist wraps the tattoo, the ink bright and stark in comparison to her older ones, and he clears his throat when she catches him staring, a mischievous glint in her eyes when he looks away. He feels briefly anxious when it’s his turn, a familiar churn in his gut as he takes off his shirt, the scars on his chest on show for the artist. He relaxes when the other man doesn’t flinch, his focus merely on confirming that the scar closest to his heart would be fine to tattoo over.

Emily laughs at him when he has to have a patch of his chest hair shaved off, her hand over her mouth in a half-hearted attempt to cover her amusement, his glare doing nothing as their eyes meet. She watches intently as the stencil is applied to his skin. It was a larger tattoo than hers but similar in design, a matching set that seemed to perfectly represent them. Their pasts different but similar, two paths that had crossed over and brought them together, everything they’d endured leading them to this.

She smiles and offers her hand out to him, “Want me to hold your hand?”

He smiles at the repetition of his question back to him and he nods, reaching out and linking their fingers together, “Always.”

She rolls her eyes at his response and shakes her head. He was never shy about his love for her. He always let her know, took every opportunity to let her know. It was something she’d spent so much of her life living without, but now it felt essential. Something as necessary as breathing. She couldn’t remember what it was like to live without it, without him, and she never wanted to again.

He clenches his teeth as soon as the tattoo artist starts, his body tense and his grip on her hand tight. She squeezes back and smiles when their eyes meet, her expression soft as she gently makes fun of him.

“Honey, you’ve been stabbed by a psychopath. I think you can handle a tattoo,” she says, and he raises an eyebrow at her, his amusement clear.

“Some of us have never had a tattoo before,” he deadpans, squeezing her hand a little tighter as the discomfort briefly gets worse.

When they get home, they look after each other's tattoos, gently rubbing the ointment the artist had given them into each other's skin.

The team find out about Aaron’s tattoo a few months later when he’s hurt on a case, his shirt cut apart by the EMTs as they check him for internal injuries. It surprises them, any attempt to gently make fun of him for it stopped in its tracks by Emily’s glare, her worry for her husband overriding anything else. Instead, they ask a few questions, a hint of amusement tinging their shock, the blackbird on their boss's chest changing their deep seated perceptions of him.

Emily only surprises them even more when she tells them she has a matching one.

___

The butterfly stretches when she’s pregnant.

At first, she thinks she’ll get away with it, that maybe she’ll carry her son in a way that will leave it untouched, the tattoo low enough that it might not be affected. It’s only when she slips from her second trimester into her third that it happens, the wings stretching up over the base of her bump whilst the rest of it disappears, hidden by her son as he grows.

The blackbird on her ribs remains unaffected, almost sitting on top of her bump, as if keeping watch over the baby growing beneath her skin.

She looks at herself in the mirror, turning to the side and smiling softly when she sees the blurring lines of the wings peeking out from under her bump. She’s standing there in a pair of Aaron’s boxers, the band pushed down to lay below her belly, and a sports bra. It was hot, too hot, and she would frequently complain to Aaron that if they had another baby, they’d have to time it so she wasn’t pregnant in the summer.

“How are you two doing?”

She smiles and catches his eye in the mirror, “He’s fine,” she says, placing her hand on top of her bump, “My back hurts.”

Aaron walks over and stops just behind her, his chest against her back. He kisses the top of her head and skates his hands down her sides, lingering briefly on her bump when he feels their son kick. He hooks his hand under her bump and he lifts it, taking the weight of the baby in his hands. He smiles when she groans in satisfaction, resting her head on his shoulder as she looks up at him.

“Does that feel better?” He asks and he kisses her forehead.

“So much better,” she says, stamping her lips against his jaw, “Can you stand right there and do that for the next nine weeks?”

He chuckles, “Whatever you need, sweetheart.”

She smiles and looks at them in the mirror, her gaze drifting down to her tattoo, the slightly warped butterfly fully in view now Aaron was holding her bump up, “I don’t think the butterfly is going to look good when I’m done being pregnant,” she says, watching as he looks down too, “It’s going to look more like a moth.”

He kisses her cheek, encouraging her to turn her head to look at him, his lips stamped against hers as she does so.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, something he’d repeated countless times since that first night together, “It always will be, no matter what.”

She hums and rests her forehead against his neck, her eyes closed as she breathes him in for a moment before she looks back at the tattoo. It was something she’d had done close to 30 years ago, a final page of that chapter of her life. It felt strangely fitting that it was being changed by the start of this next chapter.

A transformation taking place right before her eyes, like a butterfly escaping a chrysalis, breaking free from the bounds made of its own skin.

“Yeah,” she says, placing her hand over his, linking their fingers under her bump, “I think you’re right.”

-x-

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 10 months

Text

Imagine Prt 5

Was this all a dream?

“Wake up.”

Her eyes shot open and a blinding light almost burned through her retina like a magnifying glass to an ant. She shut her eyes tightly, opening them again only this time the light had been replaced with a face you’d love to wake up to every single day.

Only this face was the face of an unhinged, sadistic murderer with deep-seated obsessive-compulsive personality disorder. So, naturally, Y/N wanted to scream. She wanted to kick and scream. But for some reason, her throat felt as if she’d swallowed glass. Her limbs were bound to a flatbed with no support and it was bone-chilling cold.

Her dry tongue tried to bring moisture to her dehydrated lips but there was no use. The feeling began to over power her limbs. Why does it feel like she’d been running on rocks? She couldn’t wiggle her toes. Why is there cushioning lining the walls? Why is everything so stark white? Why does the door remind her of a prison?

Still trying to gain her motor skills, Y/N tried moving her head from left to right. She allowed her tired eyes to scan her body as best as she could. Thick leather restraints and rusty buckles kept her imprisoned to the bed. She could taste the fear on her tongue and it was far from pleasant.

“Hello, Y/N,” a smooth baritone filled her ears, “You’ve been out for a while now. Glad to have you back with us.”

She refused to speak. Who are they?

“You’ve created quite the ruckus this time around. Had I not saved you from what would have been your death, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

She could feel hot tears pricking her eyes.

“We had to put you out. Heavily sedate you. I usually don’t agree to this, but you somehow got your hands on a knife from the kitchens. Sadly, I couldn’t help you out of this one. Not when you almost killed me…”

The sound of his dress shoes click-clacked across the polished floor. He seemed to pace back and forth. Y/N kept her eyes on the padded wall. She thought she’d escaped his wrath. She wondered if her sister made it out safely. After everything April had gone through, she deserved to live. As for Y/N, she was the dumb bitch who fell in love with a psycho.

“Y/N? What are you thinking about?” He questioned with a patient voice.

She couldn’t find it in her to speak.

“One way or another, you’ll have to talk to me. Even if that means you’ll be tied to this bed.”

He approached her side with slow strides and reached out to stroke her hair back from her face. He then used his knuckle to wipe away her tears before quickly moving his hand away when he realized what he was doing.

“I care so much about your well-being because I have such a soft spot for you, Y/N. I know I shouldn’t say things like that…but I’ve grown fond of you as my patient.”

Patient?

Y/N turned her head quickly to look at him. To make sure she’d heard him exactly. She somehow missed the hospital band with the number 67 on it and her name.

“What?”

Her voice was cracking.

“What do you mean patient?”

Drinking him in, he’s wearing a white button down shirt, black slacks with a black belt, and polished black dress shoes. Gold-rimmed specs decorated his obsidian eyes and his hair is loc’d with a crisp tapered fade. A navy blue lanyard hung from his sturdy neck and a laminated badge attached to it. She studied the badge very closely.

Dr. N’Jadaka Stevens

She couldn’t believe it. This can’t be true. A Doctor?

He had a pleasant smile in the picture on the badge. It’s slightly faded and his hair was styled in a kinky fro.

“We’ve been through this many times before, Y/N,” He took a seat at the foot of the bed, “yes, you are a patient here at Gateway. You’ve been a patient here for over a year now.”

“Wha—no–this–no–no I–I’m not a patient.”

“Hm,” His eyes became sorrowful, “this is the deepest delusion episode you’ve had since being admitted.”

“Delusion?” Y/N squinted her eyes with confusion, “Are you trying to say I’m crazy?”

“No, no,” Erik shakes his head, “You suffer from delusional disorder. It’s what you’ve been diagnosed with.”

“I’m delusional?! Me?! After the way you’ve acted?!”

Erik adjusted his glasses as he stared at Y/N with no emotion.

“What is this? Another sick game of yours?! Where the fuck am I?!”

A hard knock to the door caused Y/N to jump.

“Everything is good,” He shouted towards the door.

A burly man turned his back away from the small panel of glass in the door.

“What is this place, Erik?”

“Gateway.”

“This where you keep all of your victims before you murder them?!” Y/N snapped.

He smirked, “No, Y/N, I’m not the psychopath you think I am. Maybe that’s how you see it in your altered reality, but I’m just your psychiatrist.”

Y/N laughed maniacally.

“Okay! You’ve won! Now let me go!!!”

He stood from the bed. Y/N began to kick and writhe. The bed was mounted to the floor with bolts specifically for this reason. She started becoming light headed from her dehydration and the urge to vomit overcame her.

“I FUCKING HATE YOU!” She screamed.

“You hate the fantasy you’ve created in your mind. To you, I’m Erik, The one that held you captive, kidnapped your sister, murdered her boyfriend, murdered your ex—”

“YOU DID ALL OF THOSE THINGS! So what is this?! Are you really some twisted doctor?! What are you going to do now, torture me until I beg you to kill me?!!!”

He turned his back on her. He removed his glasses and placed them in his shirt pocket. He couldn’t keep up with the amount of times this has happened. It always ends in this very room.

“But, would you even do it? Would you do it when I’m pregnant with your baby, Erik? If you kill me, you kill the one link to you. All of those lies about how you would never hurt me,” Y/N broke down crying between sentences, “You lied to me. You don’t love me, you don’t love anyone or anything. You’re not capable of love. All you know is death and heartbreak. You’re fucking crazy. You’re the one that should be tied to this bed, not me. I wish I never fucking met you.”

N’Jadaka shut his eyes slowly. Y/N’s words stung. He knew that she wasn’t well, but why did her made up world hurt his feelings so much? No one can see or know how that made him feel. He’d lose his job and never see her again.

“Y/N, I’m going to show you something,” He finally turned to look at her, his face expressionless, “This is your file. Your patient file. Everything within this manila folder is between you and I. It’s worn out because I’ve shown you this file many times before. This is the only solution to your episodes. Showing you proof that THIS is the reality you are in…”

N’Jadaka took long strides towards Y/N. Her chest heaved up and down rapidly as if she were chasing her own breath. He opened the file and held it above her head so that she could read it. The first page was her information, including her diagnosis. Delusion Disorder. She squinted to focus and when the words seemed to connect, her eyes scanned the page. Her brows creased with worry and her lower lip trembled.

N’Jadaka flipped the page. Now, she was seeing her criminal profile. It was a crime of insanity. Not guilty by reason of insanity. Remaining confined to Gateway. A double homicide. Y/N’s eyelids fluttered and a fresh swell of tears rolled into her hairline. N’Jadaka couldn’t bear the look on her face each and every time.

“April…Darrell…no…no…I wouldn’t have…”

“I’m sorry, Y/N…”

“This—you made this up. You typed this up to make me look crazy—”

“You murdered your sister and your fiancé in cold blood. You can’t remember any of it because you were having an episode. You blacked out and woke up in handcuffs. This happened almost two years ago, Y/N.”

“No…”

“You’ve been admitted to Gateway Mental Hospital as an inmate and you were assigned to be my patient.”

“This…what is…no…”

She could feel the blood rushing to her head. Her eyes darted back and forth. Visions of blood and the sound of pleads and cries pierced her ears.

Slash!

Y/N no! Please, please, I’m so sorry!

Y/N!!!! Don’t do this!!!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!

Slash!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Splatter splatter splatter

I—I’ll always love you…

_________________________

“Time to wake up.”

Y/N could hear a voice…a sonorous voice. She stood up on wobbling legs and covered her ears. Y/N stumbled and hit the padded white wall behind her. Only one light soaring high above her illuminated the room. She turned to press her face into the soft yet firm wall to hide her eyes. She felt like a vampire.

She woke up from a dream. She was caressing her pregnant belly while sitting on the beach in the sand. She was alone and there was a sunset. She couldn’t see the man that had her sitting between his legs with her head resting against his chest, but she could see his bloody hands with deep slashes palming her belly.

Both hands were covered in tattoos. It looked like a scripture with faded ink. Squeezing her eyes tightly, a sharp pain in her temple had her keeled over in pain. She was having a migraine. Y/N was exposed from behind, the curve of her nude cheeks and the smooth dip in her spine on display for whoever could see.

“Y/N, this is Dr. Stevens. I’m at the door. Please, don’t fight today.”

A loud buzzer sounded off and she leaped away from the padded wall. Dark circles beneath her eyes, Y/N studied the heavy door. It opened and in walked Dr. Stevens with a tray of food. Behind him were two men wearing all white from head to toe. They had disgusted looks on their faces. Maybe that was a disguise, because Y/N could see past the pure hate in their eyes and sense desire. She wanted to rip their eyes out and feed it to them.

There is a table next to her bed mounted to the floor and Dr. Stevens placed the tray of food there. Y/N cut her eyes to the tray to see what it was. Her stomach rumbled then.

“Turkey and cheese. Apple juice. And a fruit cup.”

Y/N slowly looked up at Dr. Stevens. He was dressed in another white button down shirt again but this time he wore khakis that hugged his tight ass and strapping thighs. Brown loafers on his feet and a gold Rolex completed the look. His gold-rimmed specs were in his shirt pocket again.

“You haven’t eaten in 24 hours,” N’Jadaka turned to the men, “Go ahead, unchain her.”

The two guards gave each other a look before they both approached her. One man yanked the long chain connected to the cuffs on her wrists while the other crouched down to take the ankle cuff off. Y/N looked down at him with a burning desire to knee him in the face. He could feel her staring, so he looked up and glared at her.

“Whatchu lookin at, girl?”

His face was red with anger.

“Stop looking up my gown.” Y/N warned him.

He chuckled darkly, “you wish I was looking up your gown you crazy bitch—”

“Watch your mouth,” N’Jadaka shoved the guard, “Time to go.”

The guard got into N’Jadaka’s face. N’Jadaka stared at him with amusement with his hands folded in front of him and his feet wide.

“You gon’ hit me? Do it. I can have your ass fired in a heartbeat. I know how much of a dirty mother fucker you are. Did you think I forgot?”

The guard's face turned purple.

“Now, I suggest you get out of here. And don’t let me find out you’ve been harassing the female patients again.” N’Jadaka said.

He twisted his lips and clenched his fists but instead of making matters worse for himself, he stormed off leaving the other guard behind. They shut the door with a slam and N’Jadaka looked to the ceiling to calm himself. Every day he has to remind himself that he is a professional and this isn’t the time or place to get into an altercation. He’d already been warned many times in the past and it almost cost his license.

“Sorry about that,” N’Jadaka exhaled slowly, “I can get a little…why don’t you sit down and eat, Y/N?”

She watched N’Jadaka sit on the bed.

“Come on, sit.”

Y/N finally took a seat in front of the table. She pulled the tray closer to her with her finger tips. Picking up the sandwich, she slowly took a bite and began mashing it with her teeth. She could feel her teeth chattering as if she were cold. Her leg bounced with nerves and she could feel tears cascading down her cheeks.

“Good?” N’Jadaka questioned.

Y/N simply nodded her head.

“Is today better than yesterday?”

Y/N wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands. She swallowed her food down before speaking.

“What happened to my baby?”

N’Jadaka paused. He leaned forward onto his knees with his elbows before locking eyes with her again.

“…you’re baby never made it, Y/N. You had a miscarriage.”

Y/N touched her belly gently. Her fingers gripped the gown tightly. Now she was bent over wailing into her food. Her tears soaked the bread of her lunch meat sandwich. N’Jadaka watched her cry, his fingers itching to comfort her. Pull her into an embrace. But, he knew he was being watched. The only place he couldn’t be watched was his own office. But Y/N didn’t have outside privileges for another month.

“I—I just don’t understand any of this shit,” Y/N sniffled, “Why would I kill them? I loved my sister. I—”

“The knowledge of the affair broke you. What you didn’t know, and what your mother failed to tell you, was that your father suffered from the same thing. He had obsessive-compulsive personality disorder and he suffered from delusions. It got so bad that he jumped out of a window to his death. When you started showing signs of the same thing, your mother kept it from you. She felt ashamed to get you the help you needed.”

Y/N couldn’t tell her reality from fantasy anymore. She felt like she was living a lie.

“April and Darrell didn’t deserve what happened to them, but that doesn’t make you a bad person, Y/N. You’re just ill. I’m here to help you work through that. You’re one of the most difficult patients I’ve ever had but that’s what I love about my job. I will never give up. I’ll find a solution.”

Y/N fidgets with the hem of her gown. The hard metal chair beneath her naked butt made her feel numb. She badly wanted to see her sister. Not bloodied and slaughtered, but smiling and full of life. Memories of Darell made her aware of her delusions at times. She hadn’t met Erik at a poetry reading, it was Darrell. The home on the beach belonged to him as well but there was no glass chamber, sound proof walls, and cuffs to the bed. So why had she replaced Darrell with Dr. Stevens?

“I am a bad person. I killed my sister and my fiancé because I found out they’d been fucking. Cut off the engagement, sure, disown my sister, sure, but murder them in cold blood like I did?”

Y/N pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes to stop herself from crying.

“These cuts on my hands…are from the knife…I used to kill them…”

“Y/N. Breathe. Remember the exercise I taught you. Breathe in and hold for five seconds then release.”

Y/N did the exercise a few times.

“It must feel very frightening to have these nightmares. To have these delusions.” N’Jadaka said.

“…why do I keep seeing you in my delusions as the monster when I’m the monster?”

N’Jadaka stands to pace back and forth in front of her. This was something he did often.

“…Sometimes a person with delusions will treat others as though they are someone else. It’s a reaction to the delusions. It’s a type of delusion called persecutory delusion. It’s when you have a belief of harassment or persecution. It also plays into your OCP.”

Y/N clung onto every word.

“…you’ve somehow decided to see me as the villain because I represent your current life. Your life is confined to these walls,” N’Jadaka placed his hands in his pockets, “you see my face everyday. You speak to me everyday. It shows that you are trying to fight your way through your recent struggles, but also you’re…”

N’Jadaka halted his footsteps. He stopped speaking mid sentence and blinked his eyes rapidly, as if he were remembering where he was.

“I’m what?” Y/N questioned.

N’Jadaka looked over his shoulder at the door and then he glanced over at Y/N. He struggled with what he wanted to say, but ultimately, he decided to keep it to himself. For now.

“I think we can end this session for today. I’m going to discuss with the hire-ups about resuming your personal sessions. I feel that with many eyes on us, no matter if they can’t hear, it doesn’t make this personal. Private. Do you understand?”

Y/N stared at N’Jadaka with a bewildered expression.

“I’m sorry,” N’Jadaka glanced down at his watch, “I have to go for now, it was nice talking to you today.”

He walked away and knocked on the door. The loud buzzer sounded off again and the door opened. Dr. Stevens left without a backwards glance and the door shut behind him, leaving Y/N alone to her thoughts.

______________________

Curls tangled, nails cut short, and skin dry.

Y/N was in the showers for the first time in a long time. She’s now back in her old room that had normal walls, a softer bed, and better lighting. She has all of the things she enjoyed from puzzles, books, and stress balls to warm sheets. She returned to the circle room that reminded her of a large sunroom where she could do a myriad of activities and even play games with the other patients. All supervised of course. The soft carpet with colorful shapes would feel so good compared to the hard floors in her room and those cozy socks with the sticky bottom would keep her warm and cozy on colder nights.

She was able to comb her hair out, pull it into a messy bun, and she was able to apply lotion to her body. All supervised. Despite looking like the undead with dark circles under her eyes, Y/N felt better. She wondered if they would ever get tired of putting her away for a month in the padded room. She can’t control her delusions. They know this. Y/N walked into the circle room accompanied by two guards and found an empty table near a window. She said hello to some of the patients that she recognized and found herself a puzzle to complete.

Now that she was living her reality, she felt so alone. No family, no friends, no fiancé, no baby. She was going to die alone and crazy. She mustered the little strength left within her to fight back tears. The only person who understood her was Dr. Stevens and she hadn’t seen him in three days. He’s always patient and understanding with her, even when she’s accusing him of being a psycho. Y/N wouldn’t admit it to him, but there was a part of her that couldn’t stop reliving the delusions because she enjoyed the way he made her feel.

He was attentive, affectionate, and assertive. The sex was amazing. While she sorted through her puzzle pieces, the thought of sex with Dr. Stevens had Y/N squirming in her seat. He would never think of her that way. A murderer who’s crazy? Nah. He probably has a loving family of his own. Probably leaves this hospital every night to go home to a home cooked meal, a hot shower, and wet pussy. He probably kisses his children good night and tucks them in like the good daddy he is.

The way he defended her and the glint in his eye and the rasp of his voice turned her on something vicious. She’d have thrown herself at him if it wasn’t for her current predicament. She desperately wanted to know what he’d wanted to say to her. Where is he?

Y/N looked up to see the nurses entering. They were bringing around snacks and their second round of meds. Y/N rolled her brown eyes and returned to her puzzle. One of the nurses finally came around and Y/N never put up a fight. She accepted her lorna doone cookies and orange juice. She took her antipsychotics in front of the nurse and washed it down with a small cup of water. She would have to speak to Dr. Stevens about them upping her dosage.

Thirty minutes into her puzzle and loud thunder brought her attention to the window. All the other patients seemed to gravitate towards the windows as well. Y/N closed her eyes and imagined herself dancing in the rain. Gown soaked, the smell in the air, the breeze blowing her curls into her face.

“I enjoy a rainy day myself.”

Y/N turned to see Dr. Stevens. He’s wearing a black long sleeve fitted sweater and dark blue jeans with black dress boots. His badge is clipped to his hip this time and he replaced his gold-rimmed specs with Calvin Klein frames. It must be a casual Friday for the doctors today.

“Where have you been?” Y/N asked.

“I took some time off. Another puzzle?”

N’Jadaka made himself comfortable in the seat across from her. He picked up the box to see what the picture looked like since Y/N wasn’t finished.

“The Disney castle. Cinderella’s castle?”

“Yes…you took time off to do what?”

Dr.Stevens placed the box back down and cut his eyes to Y/N. She clenched her thighs shut.

“To see other patients. You’re not the only patient I treat, Y/N.”

Y/N tilted her head at him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Y/N leaned into the table with her elbows, making herself closer to Dr. Stevens.

“I thought that I was the most difficult patient you’ve ever had?”

N’Jadaka picked up a puzzle piece, “yes. But I have to put in time with other patients as well.”

“I don’t like it,” Y/N cleared the table and placed the puzzle box at the end of the table, “what if I have another episode? I almost killed you, remember?”

“Breathe,” Dr. Stevens spoke with a hushed tone, “After dinner you will resume sessions with me in my office. Don’t worry, we can talk for an entire two hours about anything.”

“…and you’ll tell me what you wanted to say the last time but couldn’t?”

N’Jadaka lowered his gaze to his hands and his mouth twitched slightly.

“Breathe,” Y/N smirked.

“I have to go. Finish your puzzle. It keeps you focused.”

N’Jadaka rose from his seat and took one final look at Y/N before walking away and out of the circle room.

__________________________

Y/N adjusted the oversized heather gray pullover she had on that matched the sweatpants covering her lower half. The guard that had the chain to her cuffs stopped in front of Dr. Stevens’ office door. He knocked twice and she became jittery. The guard, Anthony is his name, looked down at her with annoyance. Y/N couldn’t recall the last session she had with him in his office, but she were nervous. No cameras. Just him and her.

“Thank you.”

Released, Y/N walks into the office and Dr. Stevens shuts the door behind her. Everything about Dr. Stevens' office screamed welcoming. The soothing colors surrounding her promoted a sense of calm and relaxation. The artwork on the walls told Y/N a little something about him. Art of the African diaspora. As her eyes scanned the walls, she came across the tribal mask she’d seen many times in her delusions. The mask Erik had worn the night he gunned down the kind man behind the club.

Plants decorated window sills, comfortable seating whether on the floor or a chair, and nothing distracting and triggering crowded the space. It smelled clean, and it felt like home. Y/N took a seat on a tufted dark gray chaise and propped her legs up.

“Welcome back, Y/N.”

“Feels good to be back,” Y/N pulled on the sleeves of her sweater anxiously.

“How was your day?” N’Jadaka asked.

“Better than I thought. I didn’t have a nightmare last night.”

“Oh? That’s good to hear, Y/N. I’m proud of you.”

“Ha,” Y/N shook her head bashfully, “don’t say things like that.”

“That I’m proud of you?” N’Jadaka questioned.

“What is there to be proud of?”

“You’re improving.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why’s that?”

“Why’s that?” Y/N echoed, “Well, I’m still having episodes.”

“Fewer episodes. You’re getting better.” N’Jadaka clarified.

“I’ll feel better when it stops.”

N’Jadaka crossed his arms over his chest.

“You keep having these delusions so frequently because something is triggering it.”

Y/N creases her brows.

“Elaborate.”

“Let’s see,” N’Jadaka rolled up his sleeves and took a seat in front of Y/N on an ottoman, “You have these delusions because you still haven’t forgiven yourself for what happened. You want to blame everyone else around you instead of accepting what happened as truth. That’s one part of it. Another part is…your desire for me.”

Y/N leisurely looked up at N’Jadaka. They stayed that way for a moment, just staring at each other, never turning away. Y/N’s eyes welled with tears and she took her sweater to wipe her eyes.

“Is it that obvious?” She said between sniffing, “Am I really that messed up?”

“I never implied that,” N’Jadaka smoothed his hands down his face, “Desiring me doesn’t make you messed up.”

“Why do you give a fuck?” Y/N sassed.

“I’m supposed to—I’m your doctor—”

“N’Jadaka,” Y/N spoke softly, “Tell me how to get over you.”

N’Jadaka nibbled on his bottom lip. He shook his head and stood up from the ottoman. Why was he struggling with this? Having feelings for your patient? That’s completely inappropriate.

He had to come up with a response that was the complete opposite of what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t want her to get over him. He desires her just as much as she does him.

“…I keep thinking about the way Erik made me feel,” Y/N was staring off into the corner, lost in her words, “He has his demons, and he is a sadistic person, but he did it all for me. I was his world. He loved me and made love to me. And while I’m having sex with Erik in my delusions, it’s your face that I see.”

“…I told you why that is, Y/N, and why you have to let go. Every bit of information I’ve given you isn’t to steer you wrong. I can’t begin to imagine the struggle—”

“Ain’t no breathing or meds or forgiveness gonna stop me from wanting you, Erik.”

N’Jadaka locked eyes with Y/N.

“I’m not Erik, my name is N’Jadaka. And you refer to me as Dr. Stevens.” N’Jadaka reminded her with a stern voice.

“How long will it take for you to admit your feelings for me? Hm?” Y/N threw her legs over the side of the chaise, standing up, “This back and forth is getting old. You said that we could talk about anything, right? Let’s talk about Erik.”

“Fine. Fine.”

N’Jadaka motioned for Y/N to have a seat. She didn’t recline back this time. Her back is ram-rod straight and she’s staring across at N’Jadaka like she wanted to eat him alive. He kept the connection going, watching her closely.

“I thought you said that you hated Erik?”

Y/N pondered.

“I hate the way he makes me feel. He makes me feel helpless and complete at the same time. It’s scary. Like…being here kind of does.”

“Helpless and complete. Helpless in the fact that you can’t do anything about being here and complete…I’m going to be honest, what exactly makes you feel complete about your life now?”

Y/N stroked hair out of her face, “when I’m by myself…in my head…I feel…I feel alone. When I’m with you…I feel better. The hole in my chest fills up again.”

N’Jadaka’s jaw clenched.

“Yes, you’re Erik in my delusions, but you’re Dr. Stevens in my reality. It keeps me balanced.”

_________________________________

When N’Jadaka had first laid eyes on Y/N, he could see how broken she was. He has all kinds of patients with many behavioral disorders. Sociopaths, PTSD, obsessive compulsions, phobias. And yet, when he’d seen Y/N and learned of what she’d done after reading her patient profile, N’Jakada could see that she was different. Her case of delusions was something beyond what N’Jadaka had ever imagined.

To Y/N, her psychiatrist knows her inner thoughts and feelings better than anyone. She can say anything to him and he doesn't judge her, but only seems to understand her better. She feels safe and comforted whenever she sees him. He knows just when to hand her a tissue when she's about to cry, and they share laughs together because her sense of humor is so like his. She finds herself looking forward to sessions and even wondering what to wear. She daydreams about him and wonders if he feels the same special connection to her. Perhaps she's become his favorite patient.

“…These are typical experiences of what occurs in many forms of psychotherapy that focus on exploring and understanding the patient's inner psychological life known as transference. It means that the patient is transferring feelings she has toward a parent or authority figure, onto the therapist…”

“…Erik is like an authority figure to you. He controls you. He keeps you handcuffed to his bed and you can never leave that beach house. He’s overprotective. Dominant. Unhinged. I’m hoping, Y/N, that you’ll gain some insight into your distortions onto other relationships in your life. With my help, you can come to grips with this pattern, put your distortions into perspective and move on with your life.”

N’Jadaka tapped the pin in his hand against his notepad. Y/N sat wringing her hands, a nervous energy surrounding her. Maybe he was right. Maybe she didn’t actually love N’Jadaka.

“I’m going to put you under,” N’Jadaka stood up and walked over to Y/N, “I want you to lay back and prop your feet up for me…good…now, close your eyes…that’s it…now, listen to the sound of my voice…”

Erik stood behind her while she reclined on the chaise. Her fingers are clasped over her abdomen and she looks like a sleeping beauty. He studied the contours of her beautiful features–more so her lips, and then he cleared his thoughts to speak.

“You’re at the luxury beach house. You can sense that the morning is approaching. As your eyes peel open, you scan the room and reality hits you. You’re cuffed to the bed once again…what have you done this time to upset Erik?”

Below him, Y/N’s breathing increases. Her face is contorted with fear and she brings her arms above her head to mimic the position that Erik has her in.

“You can hear him coming into the room from the bathroom…what does he look like to you?”

Y/N licks her lips, “He–he’s naked.”

“Naked?” N’Jadaka’s eyes drop down to stare at her, “why is he naked?”

“I…I can smell the YSL body oil he puts on after he showers. It’s sweet yet…woodsy.”

N’Jadaka uses YSL body oil. He makes a mental note of that detail.

“So he’s taken a shower? What happens next?”

Y/N’s eyelids move rapidly.

“He crawls on top of me..I scream…he covers my mouth…”

Y/N folds her lips into her mouth to mimic Erik’s hand covering her.

“He says…don’t scream…I won’t hurt you…I love you.”

“Do you believe him?” N’Jadaka questioned.

Y/N arched her back, thrusting her chest towards N’Jadaka. His eyes scan her body, wondering what is happening now.”

“What’s happening, Y/N? What is Erik doing to you?”

“H–he’s sucking my nipples.”

N’Jadaka arched a single brow, “So, you’re naked as well?”

“Yes,” Y/N exhaled, “He prefers me naked so that I’m ready for him.”

“Hm,” N’Jadaka grips the edge of the chaise, “Why do you keep giving into him?”

“Because he’s so addictive. No matter what he does…oh!”

N’Jadaka walks around the chaise, staring down at Y/N. He could feel his heart racing in his chest.

“What is it?” He questioned.

“Yessss,” Y/N raised her legs and spread them open, “Mmmm…just like that…”

“You seem to be enjoying Erik’s pleasures,” N’Jadaka didn’t move when her foot touched his chest.

“Erik…why do you make me feel the way you do?”

N’Jadaka parted his lips but no words came out. Y/N’s sock covered foot smoothed down his chest until it was on his crotch. N’Jadaka inhaled, his fists tightly clenched as Y/N started massaging his erection with her foot. He couldn’t believe how hard he was. She would use her toes to rub the print of his tip and then she would slowly drag her foot up his shaft. He could feel himself throbbing and it ached him.

“Time to wake up, Y/N.”

To his disappointment, her foot dropped, but the throbbing didn’t stop. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this turned on. N’Jadaka took a seat on the ottoman to try and hide his stiffness when Y/N sat up. Her curly hair was wild and the sweater she was wearing was hanging from her left shoulder.

“You want to remain in these delusions because of Erik. I…I think it’s because of me and…maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Y/N said.

“Maybe it’s best that I stop being your psychiatrist. I feel that I am a trigger for you.”

Y/N was taken aback.

“Where the fuck is this even coming from?” Y/N argues.

“Watch your language,” N’Jadaka stood up, “I want you to get better. In order to do that, I have to make this sacrifice. I don’t want to—”

“Then don’t.”

N’Jadaka looked at her, “It would be for the best—”

“For you? Or for me? Who are we really talking about right now?”

N’Jadaka sighed, “For the both of us.”

“Explain!” Y/N commanded.

“Lower…your…voice.”

N’Jadaka turned his back on her. The silence between them stretched on but the storm raging outside matched their inner turmoil.

“Or what?”

N’Jadaka placed his pad and pen on his desk. Y/N’s eyes scanned from his sturdy back all the way down to his legs. His arms are covered in bulging veins from his fists being clenched.

“This stays between me and you.”

He turns, removing his glasses. He didn’t look away from her as he folded his frames before placing them on the desk. Y/N held her breath.

“I’ve grown to have feelings for you, Y/N. Feelings that I know I shouldn’t have. I try every time to–to be professional when it comes to you…but I can’t. I’ve become obsessed.”

Y/N couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“…And I know that I shouldn’t. Which is why we have to stop these sessions. There is another great psychiatrist here, Dr. Jane—”

“No. I refuse to see that bitch.”

“You know who she is?”

“Yeah, and I don’t like her. I like you. So no. You’ll just have to fight the urges.”

N’Jadaka stroked his chin, “And will you?”

Y/N turned away from him and looked out of the window.

“You have to make me that promise, Y/N.”

“That’s the thing,” Y/N stood and made her way towards Dr. Stevens, “I don’t want to…”

“Then we can’t do this,” N’Jadaka looked down on her with his arms folded, “You know what happens if they find out? I lose my job. My practice. I will never get to see you again. You’ll never get better.”

Y/N looked up at N’Jadaka through her lashes, “No one has to know…”

N’Jadaka chuckles. Those dimples she loved appeared in his cheeks.

“Easier said than done—Y/N, what are you doing?”

She’s on her knees in front of him now. N’Jadaka doesn’t make any attempts to stop her despite his words.

“Get up, now. I don’t want to have to pick you up myself.” He warned her.

“I like how demanding you can be,” She smirked.

He fought the urge to smirk and Y/N giggled.

“I plan to be here for the rest of my life, N’Jadaka.”

“Fifteen years isn’t the rest of your life.”

“That’s if I’m being good,” Y/N traces N’Jadaka’s solid girth with her finger, “and I don’t want to be good…and I think you like it when I’m bad, right?”

N’Jadaka grunts.

“Stop doing that.” He spoke darkly.

“Or…what?” Y/N challenged.

_____________________________

Somehow his pants found their way down to his ankles. His briefs were there too.

The tightest mouth was practically inhaling his dick. Tip to base. He couldn’t believe it. Not what he was doing, but how impressive it is that she could fit him all the way down her throat. That shocked him more than her sucking his dick like those popsicles on a hot summer day.

He was unbelievably hard. Each pass of her soft lips, wet tongue, and tight throat had him groaning. He lost all control and gripped her by her curly hair, guiding her. His hips started pumping as she was sucking and he imagined himself bending her over doing the same to her pussy.

This was madness. How long before he comes to his senses?

“Fuuck,” N’Jadaka spoke with a low register, “Suck that fuckin’ dick…”

He couldn’t hold back. Professionalism where?

He twitched in her mouth when she started slowly sucking on his top. He could feel his balls tighten.

“Y/N…that’s it…you’re such a bad girl…”

“…such a bad girl…yes…suck this dick like you would suck Erik’s dick…mhm…all the way down…that’s it…mhmmmm…”

She was back to doing it with no hands. N’Jadaka was staring at her with knitted brows and his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Does Erik make you swallow?” He questioned with a whisper.

Y/N nods her head.

“You better swallow every fucking drop of my cum, Y/N.”

Stroking him, she started sucking on his sack.

“I bet that pussy is so wet…”

She popped her mouth off, “It is…for you.”

“I can’t wait to see it for myself.”

She ran her tongue up the length of his shaft and back down to his balls. She twisted his length at the base of his tip and N’Jadaka could feel pre-cum oozing from his slit to prepare for his release.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long…that perfect ass…that pretty mouth…those eyes…I beat my dick to you in bed at night…”

“I play in my pussy at night because of you, Doctor,” Y/N looked up at him while stroking him, “and I can show you just how I do that anytime you want…”

“You’re such a freak…”

“And so are you,” Y/N smiled, “This dick is so fat..”

“Stop playing with it and suck it.”

Y/N alternates between sucking his tip and balls. It was the way she took care of him that had him lost for words. All he could do was grunt and moan. Tongue on the underside of his length, N’Jadaka groaned and the sound was deep and sultry. He kept his eyes locked with hers as he coached her to bring him to climax. Over and over she would bring him closer and closer.

N’Jadaka wasn’t prepared for the way his body seized all control. It hit him so suddenly. He quickly grabbed Y/N by the hair and shoved his hard dick into her mouth. He took control and pumped her mouth like a mad man. Spit flying and her gags filling the room, N’Jadaka spurt deep down her throat. His hips stuttered out of control the more she emptied him.

“Look what you made me do.”

His saliva covered dick bounced in her face. The thinnest stream of cum dropped from his tip and Y/N used her tongue to clean him off.

“Get up. We only have fifteen minutes left.”

N’Jadaka stepped out of his pants and took off his shirt. Y/N couldn’t believe how identical his body is to Erik’s. Muscles covered his entire frame. He had a thickness to him that screamed pick me up and toss me around.

He did just that.

N’Jadaka laid her down on the chair and started undressing her. She helped him so things could move along quicker. He climbed between her legs and took a nipple into his mouth. Y/N moaned softly, this feeling so foreign to her. She couldn’t recall the last time in reality that she had her nipples sucked on. To see this fine ass man do it and WANT to do it had her lost for words.

“That feels so good…please don’t stop, N’Jadaka.”

Y/N pressed her nose into his neck and inhaled his scent. He was warm to the touch and soft yet sturdy.

N’Jadaka popped a nipple out of his mouth, “I want that pussy in my mouth…”

Y/N shoved his head down between her legs. His teeth dragged over the skin of her abdomen before finding the mass of curls between her legs. That turned him on even more. Frustratingly, N’Jadaka positioned Y/N so that she was slightly on her side with one leg elevated and the other bent out of the way. He got down on his knees and spread her outer lips with his tongue.

“Ooooh, shit,” Y/N’s thighs shook out of control, “Dr. Stevens…”

With a fist full of his locs, she rode the pleasure. He had his entire face buried between her hairy pussy lips and he didn’t give a fuck. All she could see was his nose pressed into her mound and his eyes shut. He was making all kinds of sounds down there like some primal animal. That tongue and those plump lips were working overtime to make her cum. Whenever she would move her legs, he would force them back. His hands were firm and at times it hurt the way he was holding her legs. His tongue was unrelenting. His lips were lapping her up as if it were his last supper.

“Unh, fuck,” Y/N couldn’t say much else. He had spit dripping from her pussy. He had her clit swollen and sensitive. He was doing things with his mouth that she never felt before. Tongue in her pussy? Never. He had her muttering incoherent words when he used the tip of his tongue to flick her clit.

When he started sucking on her clit, Y/N had to cover her mouth to keep quiet. He opened his eyes then and watched her closely. It was an unspoken command to shut the fuck up and take it. What good will it do to make it known that he was eating her pussy? If she made a sound, it would mean no more of this in the future. Y/N couldn’t have that. Dr. Stevens couldn’t have that.

She couldn’t explain the way he was sucking on her inner folds. No words could describe it. He did it like he waited his entire life for this moment. The desire he felt for her resonates with the way his lips suckled her expertly. She could hear the raunchy sounds and to her shock he even dragged his tongue through her wet curls.

Y/N bites down on her lip, drawing blood, fighting with all her might to not moan out loud. When he started sucking all over her pussy with his hands on the back of her knees, leaving not one spot untouched, Y/N’s mouth dropped open and her eyes crossed. Toes curling, thighs shaking, body convulsing, she came in his mouth. The hold she had on his locs was enough to scalp him.

N’Jadaka finally came up for air. His heavy breathing and wet beard turned her on so badly.

“We only have eight minutes…”

He didn’t waste time picking her up and carrying her over to his desk. He pushed all of his belongings out of the way with a rush and sat her on the edge of his desk. She let him move her body in whatever position he wanted her in. He decided on holding her by her ankles up in the air and whispered in her ear to hold on.

“Keep still, Y/N. When I put this dick in you…you better not make a sound, understand?”

Y/N nodded her head and N’Jadaka wasted no time sinking deep inside of her. His eyes shot up to give her a warning look to keep quiet but how could she when he thrust inside of her like that? She wasn’t prepared. It’s one thing to have delusions about the dick, but to feel it in reality? He stretched her good.

N’Jadaka for a moment couldn’t believe how tight she was. He began snapping his hips into hers, wanting to feel it again, watching the way his dick would enter her. There was a lot of wetness down there. He almost slipped out a few times. Y/N had to hold his waist with one hand. His locs fell into his eyes and it reminded her of Erik. The way he stroked her reminded her of Erik.

“I wish I could take you home with me,” He whispered between strokes.

“So you can do what?” Y/N asked with a seductive tone.

“So I can put you like this and in any other position I want.”

“You love this fucking pussy?”

“Yes,” N’Jadaka pressed forward and held his dick there, “I don’t have to ask if you love this dick, I can tell…look at all this mess.”

Y/N’s eyes fell to the creamy mess all over him.

“Didn’t know that pussy could do that, huh?” He whispered.

Y/N’s mouth fell open but no sound came out. Tears fell down her cheeks because of his words and because he was hitting her spot. He picked her up and dropped her down onto his dick. She let him take control of her body. She was so small compared to him.

“Daddy, I can’t take it like this,” Y/N said.

“I’m daddy now? You’re gonna take it like a good girl.”

Y/N felt as if she was ready to burst, “Wait—”

“You pushing?” He looked down, “Don’t squirt…”

She didn’t listen. Thankfully it wasn’t a lot.

“You don’t listen, Y/N.”

N’Jadaka pressed her back against the desk and he was practically on top of her, dropping ten inches deep. She gasped, unable to control the liquid that followed. At this point N’Jadaka didn’t care. He was close. She felt amazing. What did he get himself into?

“This my fucking pussy…”

She didn’t argue that.

“Don’t look away from me,” He commanded, “I want you to look at me when you cum.”

Y/N was in a trance staring up at him. Her body jerked beneath him and as her back arched, she came all over him, making even more of a mess.

“Ahhhh, yes,” He withdrew his hips and came all over her stomach, “Hmmmm…”

N’Jadaka bit down on her shoulder. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck. She wanted to stay like this. With his cum sticking to her flesh and his still hard dick resting between the lips of her pussy.

“We have to get dressed…”

Reluctantly, he peeled himself from her embrace. He helped Y/N down from the table and she rushed to get her clothes on. They were all dressed in time for Anthony to come knocking on the door. One last look at Y/N and N’Jadaka grabbed her by the face to kiss her. He hadn’t kissed her the entire time.

He broke the kiss, “Give us a second.”

His tongue slithered into her mouth and they kissed like that for what felt like five minutes.

“Alright,” he pulled away after she sucked on his bottom lip, “You have to get back to your room. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Y/N pressed her face into his chest to remember his scent.

“I’m looking forward to it, Dr. Stevens.”

N’Jadaka grabbed her by the hand and squeezed while his other hand tapped her on the ass. He walked her to the door and finally let go of her hand. Opening the door, Anthony was waiting patiently with her cuffs. She fought hard not to look back at him because it would give too much away.

“Same time, after dinner.”

Anthony started making his way down the hall pulling Y/N along, reminding her that she was imprisoned to this place.

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