#this is so long and I feel like I haven’t even begun to cover how numb and lonely I feel lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

empresskylo · 7 months

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➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓

ZOMBIE!SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY X AFAB!READER

SUMMARY | Simon is dead. And you were forced to leave him behind as the rise of the dead took over. When you volunteer to sneak back into base to grab med supplies, you don't expect to run into Simon—alive, but certainly not himself...

WARNINGS | dead dove do not eat! this is literally smut about zombie!ghost... so... beware i suppose. gore. dub-con?? afab!reader. wc 3k

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ lock me up! send me to jail!!! i can't believe I wrote this yes i can. This is how down bad i am for Ghost, I literally wrote smut about fucking him as a zombie... someone send the authorities, i need my internet taken away. (happy oct 1st btw)

𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It had been less than two days since you lost Simon.

The image of him dying in the infirmary wing, bleeding out on the bed, was plastered behind your eyes. You saw it every waking moment and even dreamt of it during the night. You could still feel Soap’s hands squeezing your arms far too aggressively as he dragged you out of the infirmary while you cried out for Simon. You tried to claw your way to him but Soap was stronger than you by a long shot. “We have to get out of here!” he shouted at you over the cacophony of voices, people running around frantically. You let him drag you away to safety, your body limp in his hold, thinking of Simon’s dying breath.

The infirmary had promptly been boarded up, the doors all sealed tight. The breakout had begun a few weeks ago and it only just infiltrated the base. When Ghost had come back, bleeding out after a mission gone wrong, you furiously checked him for bite marks. The relief you felt when you didn’t find any was short-lived. Simon had lost a lot of blood. Too much blood. You could still see it covering your hands the days following like a wraith. You felt like his blood was still wedged under your fingernails even after scrubbing your hands violently in a bucket of water.

With the infirmary infected and the outside world gone, you had little options but to hunker down in the barracks. There were small hunting groups that would leave base and dare to edge into the city, trying to help people, and gathering resources. Ghost had been in one of those first groups to leave the safe confines of base. You wished you had begged him to stay. Pleaded with him not to go.

The lights above you flickered, the generator not the most reliable of equipment. You looked across the table to your teammates, trying to keep yourself pulled together. It was only at night that you let yourself feel the pain, crying yourself to sleep.

“We’re never gonna survive here if we don’t get that medical supplies,” Soap explained.

“It’s too dangerous, Soap. We have no idea how bad it got in there. We have no way of knowing if all the bodies left behind turned,” Price retorted, pulling off his beanie and running his hand through his hair in nerves.

“So, what then? We’re gonna send more men off to die, tryin’ to get shit from the city?”

Price closed his eyes momentarily. The bags forming under them showed just how little sleep he was getting. “We can’t risk more men. We’d be sendin’ them to their death, Soap. We don’t have the ammo to spare.”

“We don’t know that. We’re still not even sure if it's a guarantee the dead will change, or if they have to be bit.”

“It’s too–”

You cut the men off. “I can go.” Both their heads snapped in your direction. “I’m just a technician. With everything gone to shit, I haven’t been as much help as you guys have been. I can’t fight. I can’t–”

“No. We’re not riskin’ you,” Soap said sternly.

“Soap,” you breathed. “I’m the only one here that isn’t crucial to the team. And don’t argue with me. It’s just a fact. Let me go. I can sneak in and grab what we need. I’m far quieter than any of you boisterous men anyways.”

Soap breathed your name. He was worried about you. He could see the pain in your eyes after losing Simon. He was worried this was a suicide mission. And that you wanted that.

“Let me be of use,” you begged. Soap wanted to argue. So did Price. But you were right. You would be the fastest. And as much as they valued you, the remaining men couldn’t survive here without Soap or Price.

“Lass, are you sure?” Soap said finally. He wanted you to feel useful, but he didn’t want you running off and risking your life because of the pain you felt from losing Simon.

“Let me do it, Soap. Please. I need this.”

He couldn’t argue with you. He didn’t have it in him to hurt you more than you were already hurting.

“Fine. But I’m not happy about this.”

You stood in your gear, an empty backpack plastered to your back waiting to be filled with medical supplies. Price had gone over the layout of the wing with you, showing you exactly where you needed to go to get the right supplies on a map of the building.

You stood before the infirmary doors, the ones that would lead to a long, winding hall that would bring you to the center of the infirmary. Off of that were several rooms and more halls, and a surgical floor. It was a large span of space to cover, but you believed you could do this.

“Be quick about it, lass. We’ll be right here when you get back,” Soap said to you, his hand resting on your shoulder.

You took in a breath and walked up to the doors that had been unlocked, a large piece of plywood that had previously been nailed against it, removed so you could go in. Before you reached out to the door handle, you turned around and rushed into Soap’s arms. He held you tightly, your head tucked right under his chin. “Don’t you fuckin’ die on me,” he mumbled into your hair.

You pulled back and gave him a sad smile. Then you nodded at Price and faced the daunting doors again. Once you stepped through the threshold and the doors shut behind you, you could hear the plywood being put back up, a hammer nailing it in place. When you got back, you were to knock and Soap would be there waiting to let you back in.

The hall was flickering with a few overhead lights, the generator still powering a few of the rooms in this wing.

Ghost had a glazed-over expression when he rolled off his medical bed. The room around him was silent apart from the ticking of a clock in the corner. There was blood pooled all around him and dripping onto the tiled floor as he stood. He had some semblance of who he was, of what happened, but most of his thoughts were hazed over like he was stuck in a daydream.

He had walked the length of the room, a sudden craving for food hitting the pit of his stomach. Any sound made him snap in that direction, rushing towards it as if on cue. He heard banging coming from one of the med rooms, the door locked and nailed over with whatever scrap of wood they could find. More people like him were trapped behind those doors, their groaning echoing down the hall.

Ghost limped as he walked, remembering how he had been shot in his leg. He looked down at his crimson-stained pants, almost like he should be feeling pain, but he felt nothing.

Days had passed and he roamed the halls aimlessly, not even getting bored. His mind had drifted off, somewhere that wasn’t in his body, allowing him to walk around like a zombie, completely void of any logical thought.

He grumbled as he made his rounds, stuck in a time loop, walking down the flickering hall again and again, passing by bodies that had been left behind.

He hesitated when he heard something. He turned to look in the direction of the noise, intrigued. It sounded like someone had just walked blindly into a metal medical tray, knocking instruments onto the floor. His movements were fast and nimble as he approached the sound.

He froze in place when he saw you–though he didn’t know who you were at that moment. You cursed yourself for being loud but didn’t hear anything in retaliation so you figured you were safe. Your hand rested on the knife strapped to your hip anyway.

You were edging towards the main infirmary double doors, your hand touching the metal of the handle. You should go in there and get supplies, but that’s where you had last seen Simon. You didn’t have it in you to see what had become of him, his body rotting alone.

Instead, you walked down the hall and into a storage closet, oblivious to the shell of Ghost who trailed behind you.

You left the door to the storage room open to let in a few strips of light so you could see better. You hunched over and began to dig through the supplies that had been thrown all over the floor in panic.

Ghost rolled his neck as he saw you in the room, your back to him. He had a sudden urge to sink his teeth deep into your skin, to tear you to shreds. In fact, he wanted nothing more; the instinct was overpowering.

But when he got close, he could hear your voice as you mumbled to yourself, going over the list of the items you needed. You held up a pack of linens, trying to see if they were clean. “These will have to do,” you said softly, shoving them into your backpack.

A wave of familiarity surfaced inside Ghost, a strange feeling of being alive pumping through his veins. When he got to the doorframe, he could smell you. His senses heightened, the waft of your natural scent sent Ghost into a daze. He remembered—though he wasn’t sure what he was remembering. All he knew was that he recognized that smell.

His body had felt like it was in hibernation, his motors set on autopilot as he mindlessly walked down the halls. But suddenly, Ghost’s true mind was brought to the forefront. And his body craved you, though not in the way he had just moments earlier. He didn’t want to sink his teeth into your neck, he wanted to feel your warmth against him.

Ghost moved with such dexterity and silence, it was clear he was no longer human. When you stood, his arms immediately wrapped around you, eliciting a scream from your throat.

Ghost still wasn’t fully comprehending what was happening; all he knew was that his body wanted you. His hand slid up around your neck, leaving a trail of blood on your clothes. He tried to speak, but he couldn't fathom what he wanted to say. All that came out was a strangled groan.

You sputtered, trying to catch your breath as your heart raced in your chest. Ghost felt for your pulse beneath his fingertips, relishing in the way your blood pumped through your body.

You turned your head slightly, spying the man who had you trapped against the many shelves in the closet.

It was Simon.

Terror flooded your system. He didn’t look like himself. His eyes were glossed over, his pupils and iris almost unidentifiable, the entirety of his eyes were white, appearing like he was blind. The blood that had soaked his face had congealed, the rusted color running down his clothes where he was shot in the chest and leg. He looked just how you left him, and it sent a sense of terror through you.

“S-Simon?” You whispered, unsure if you were caught in a nightmare.

A groan escaped his cracked lips. You gulped. He had become one of them .

You were certain he was about to tear you apart, just as you had seen other fallen men do to your teammates. You closed your eyes, tears rushing down your cheeks as you prepared for the worst. His hands felt cold around your neck, like ice. You shivered against him. You accepted your fate—a small part of you actually wanted it. You wanted him to end you. To take you down with him. You didn't want to be alone anymore.

He nuzzled his nose against your neck and you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for him to bite you. But it never came.

Instead, he just moved his nose against you, smelling your hair and skin. His hands were still locked tightly against you, but they began to travel across your body. You opened your eyes in shock. Ghost’s hands trailed your chest, groping you with one hand, the other sprawling over the front of your thigh and stomach. You gasped in surprise.

You felt him harden against you, something you had experienced many times before now, and the familiarity of it made your heart pound with mixed emotions. Your mind was too caught up trying to decipher what was happening to truly take the moment in.

Ghost’s cold hands slid under your black shirt, snaking their way up to your breasts, cupping each one in his hands. Your nipples immediately hardened from the iciness of his touch. He ground himself against your backside, making you close your eyes in a moment of reprieve. You got lost in the past, imagining this was how it used to be. How he had touched you so many times before.

You breathed his name and he seemed to like that, for he rolled his hips against you harder, his chest rumbling in satisfaction.

The cold of his hands left you, making you oddly yearn to have them back on your skin. His fingers traced the hem of your pants before aggressively pulling them down. He got them past the curve of your ass and turned your bodies so your hips hit the edge of a shelving unit that acted as a table. You knocked all the supplies off as Ghost pushed you down against it, using your hands to catch yourself.

Ghost shuffled with his own pants, wasting no time at all to slip himself inside you. You called out in a brief shock of pain. He held himself deep within you, his hands squeezing as he held you, his body bent over slightly, his chest flat against your back. Your own hands reached out to grab the edge of the table to help steady yourself. The searing heat of you against his frozen skin spread through him like wildfire.

Your cries ignited a flame in Ghost’s chest—the feel of your body, the sound of your gasps, the smell of your hair—felt natural, like this was exactly what he was supposed to be doing. That he was made to take you like this. That your body against him was something so ingrained in his system, that he had no choice to to let his limbs move on muscle memory.

He began to thrust inside you, your hips hitting the table with each snap of his hips. His hand snaked around your neck, the smear of blood now coating your skin. One of your hands came up to wrap around his wrist, resting it there in support.

You groaned as he rocked into you harder. The pain from his sudden intrusion had subsided, and now you were filled with a haze of rapture. A tear slid down your cheek. You were unable to process what was happening, but what you did know was that you had missed Simon more than anything and that this wasn’t real. This wouldn’t last longer than this moment in time.

Ghost’s chest rumbled in pleasure as he thrusted into you. Your walls squeezed around him and he let out a loud groan. His arm not clutching your neck wrapped around your midsection, pulling you away from the table so you were flesh against him. He held you tight, almost like he couldn’t get you close enough. That if he had his way, he’d let you make a home beneath his skin.

His hips snapped vehemently against you, his pace quickening. You moaned, your sounds coming out strangled as his cold hand held your neck. Your walls tightened around him, your climax rapidly approaching. You couldn’t quite believe that you were not only fucking your dead boyfriend, but you were going to come in record time.

You were absolutely intoxicating to him as your warmth clenched down on him, your heat something recognizable to him, and yet, the intimacy was foreign at the same time. Now that he was devoid of his usual body temperature, the warm feeling of you around him was almost painful.

When you mewled and cried under him, your walls spasaming, he drew himself to the edge right behind you. Ghost came inside you with a great urge, growling in your ear as he tried to support the two of you. You felt him fill you, the white fluid seeping out around where his cock continued to pump in and out of you. His movements became sloppy, your legs shaking, your hand clutching onto his wrist for dear life.

You couldn’t hold back the cascade of tears, finally letting them flow as Ghost slowed his pace before stopping altogether. He edged out of you, his arms hesitantly letting you go, and you immediately turned around to face him, burying your face in his chest. You sobbed as he stood there. His arms didn’t reach out and hold you like he once would. He didn’t try to comfort you like he always did so well.

But still, he just let you huddle against him, taking what you needed from him. He didn’t attack you. He didn’t try to kill you. He wasn’t himself, but he wasn’t fully gone either. You turned to look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. He looked down and you stifled a cry. His white eyes were going to be permanently burned into your mind, haunting you for eternity. His face was sullen and blanched, blood smearing all across him; fresh blood dripping slightly from his mouth.

You tentatively reached a hand up and rested it on his frozen cheek. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. Ghost made no indication he could even hear you.

You took in a deep breath, willing yourself to do this, and stepped back. You adjusted yourself before slowly reaching down for your bag. Ghost stood and watched you, the only thing moving was the tilt of his head as he traced your movements.

You shuffled to the door, anticipating him to reach out and end this daydream, ripping you apart. But he just watched you go, his mind riddled with foggy thoughts. He wanted to tear into you, but another part of him prevented him from doing so. He wanted to grab you and hold you against him for some reason. He liked the warmth your body provided. But another part of him felt nothing at all.

He watched you leave in a stupor, his mind just barely grasping onto the image and memory of you. It’s true, he wasn’t completely gone, but he was fading fast.

You cried violently as you stumbled back to the exit. When you banged on the doors, you heard the plywood being ripped off and the doors swinging open. Soap pulled you back into the base and held you at arm's length. “What happened?” he asked desperately. You were sobbing and covered in blood.

Should you tell him? Would Soap let you return to Simon knowing he wasn’t gone? Or would they make you stay here, letting Simon slip away forever?

You suddenly regretted leaving him. You should have stayed with Simon, even if he was a shell of who he used to be. You should have waited the time out together until he fully lost himself, and you would let him take you down with him.

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yandere-writer-momo · 4 months

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As a follower who is also fatherless over the past few years, yes please, more Jack Henry. I want to make him my new daddy. And I want him to make me a mommy… 🙈🙈🙈🍆💦

Is this who we are as a society? 😭😭 because me too.

@amisalami03

First piece: You Are My Sunshine

Yandere Head Canon: Hold Onto Me

Yandere Dilf Sheriff x Afab Reader

TW: breeding kink, body worship, dubcon (alcohol), etc

His calloused hands eagerly ran over the smooth skin of your stomach and hips. His lips fervently pressed against your navel, his scruff lightly scratching your delicate skin like tiny knives. It tickled

Earlier you had downed so much beer until your head rested on his shoulder and your hands squeezed his biceps. You told him he was strong and handsome… didn’t that mean you wanted him too?

Jack ignored the way you drunkenly tried to push his head away. You’d want this… you cried on his shoulder about how you couldn’t find a husband and he was more than willing to take that spot after he made you his woman tonight. And every night that followed

Jack ran his tongue down the fabric of your panties. He was undaunted from the way your body instantly recoiled at the touch.

“These have to go, darlin.” Jack huskily whispered, his fingers hook around the band of your underwear before he teasingly slid them down your thighs.

A low whistle escaped his lips as he eyed your bare body up and down. “Such a pretty thing you are… can’t believe you was hidin this under all yer clothes.”

You can only whine when he pressed a lingeries kiss to your lower regions before he dove right in. His lips eagerly sucked and licked you like you were his last meal.

Your head spun from the alcohol and the tumultuous lust that began to be built up in you from his ministrations. Your fingers tangled in his brown locks as you arched your back.

“Taste so fuckin good… ya’ve probably never had a man do this to ya.” Jack chuckled before he pulled his head away, his lips covered in your juices. “But I can take ya to new levels of pleasure.”

Jack guides your hand to touch the thick bulge in his boxers. You could feel him twitch in your palm in excitement.

“I’m gonna make ya my wife but first…” Jack guided your hand to pull down his boxers. His erect cock nearly jumped out to greet you. “I’m gonna make ya a mother.”

Jack scrambled to kneel between your legs. The sheriff spits a little on his palm to rub it up and down his shaft. The precum and saliva mixed together for more lubricant. “I’ve been wantin to do this fer so long now… ya have no idea how much a I want you.”

You try to scoot back but Jack grabs your leg and yanks you back towards him. A chuckle left his muscular chest. “No need to be so shy… I ain’t gonna bite ya… not yet at least.”

You gasp when you feel him slide the tip up and down your slit. Your eyes wide and your lips slightly parted as fear begun to over take you. There was no way he’d fit in you… he was so big.

“(Your name)? I love ya.” A scream erupted from your lips when he fully sheathed himself into you in one thrust. Your nails dug into his back to try to deal with the pain of the stretch. Your body trembled as it stretched to accommodate him. A hiss escaped Jack’s throat.

“So fuckin tight! I knew yer pussy would be good…” You just hold onto him as he stayed still and peppered your face with tender kisses. “My wife’s so perfect…”

You gasp when he gave one shallow thrust. Pleasure consumed your body from how deep he was. How he hit spots you didn’t even know you had… and Jack noticed your shift in mood immediately. A smirk now on his lips.

“Ya like that? Well,” Jack leaned down to whisper, his scruff tickled the shell of your ear. “This ‘ere is just the beginnin. Haven’t even started yet, darlin.”

And that’s when he begins to thrust. Your hands held him close as the mattress creaked beneath the two of you. You could see the bulge on your stomach from where his body met yours. The older man mumbled incoherent curses and praises as he began to fuck into you like a wild animal

“I’m gonna get your fuckin pregnant. Gonna give you a baby.” Jack hissed as his thrusts became sloppy. “Won’t let ya say no to bein mine. Gonna fuck this ‘ere perfect pussy every fuckin day till you know who you belong to…”

You only moan and gasp as he throws your legs over his shoulders so that you’re in a perfect mating press. His lips pressed against yours in a searing kiss as you felt your high slowly start to approach.

“Love ya so much… just be mine.” Jack hissed as he moved his lips to press hot kisses on your neck. “Yer all mine… my beautiful darlin.”

And that’s when he bit down on the junction between your shoulder and neck. The coil within you unraveled as you screamed out his name.

“Jack! Jack!” And that’s when you feel him shudder as a hot, sticky substance fills your womb. The sheriff whined as he continued to fuck into you , desperate to keep his and your high going for as long as possible until he inevitably goes soft.

“Fuck… fuck.” Jack collapsed on you and kissed the angry red mark he left on your neck. His mark. “That was amazin, darlin.”

You gasp when he suddenly flips your body on top of his. A smirk on his rugged face. “But it’s not over yet. Gotta make sure yer gonna be bearin my child.”

Jack rubbed your lovehandles with a smirk. “Now ya gonna ride this cowboy all night, darlin. Till the neighbors know my name and whose god damn baby yer gonna be havin.”

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moonstruckme · 9 months

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Burnt Out

summary: when you're overworking yourself trying to please everyone, Remus wants you to take some time for yourself

cw: mention of not eating, exhaustion

Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Remus is reading in your bedroom when he hears the door open, screaming on its hinges, and slam shut. Just that noise lets him know what kind of day you’re having, but he gets up and moves towards the sound anyway, eager to see you.

“Dove?” he calls as he enters the kitchen, where he finds you already surrounded by sandwich supplies, slathering jelly onto a piece of bread you’ve placed directly onto the counter in your rush.

You turn around at his voice. “Remus, hi!” You beam, surging toward him.

He catches you as you stumble, clipping your hip on the corner of the counter, and a soft, sympathetic hiss escapes him. “Careful,” he murmurs, covering the spot with his hand protectively as you press yourself to his chest, your arms winding around his neck. Remus brings his other hand to the center of your back, squeezing gently, and he wishes he could pour his affection into you this way, through the palm of his hand.

“Sorry,” you say into his neck, though he’s unsure why you’re apologizing to him. It’s your poor hip that’s been slighted. “I didn’t know you were home.”

“I haven’t been here long,” he assures you.

You pull back, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that feels like it’s over before it’s begun, and he tries in vain to hold onto you as you move away. You resume rushing around the kitchen, letting cabinets and drawers bang shut behind you. Ordinarily you move almost silently, always easing the front door shut behind you and moving around the apartment on socked feet, much to Remus’ amusement when he comes into the living room to find you curled up on the couch with a cup of tea and dinner already in the oven, and he wasn’t even aware you were home. But on your busiest days, you turn into this—what he’s affectionately dubbed your Tornado of Productivity—and the time it takes to be your usual quiet, careful self simply doesn’t serve your goal of functioning at maximum efficiency. You’d been in this state for the last few days, never seeming to have more than a few minutes’ break between work and school and the myriad of social obligations Remus suspects you only agree to because of the guilt you’ve associated with the word “no.”

“How was your day?” Remus asks probingly.

You blow out a breath that answers his question before you do. “Crazy,” you admit, washing a tomato in the sink. “I had a test at noon, and I didn’t study yesterday because I thought I’d have time this morning, but then I had to go in to work.”

He feels his brow furrow. “Didn’t you work last night?”

“Yeah, but—” you absentmindedly grab a knife from the drawer, then another, until finally you find the one you need “—Mia didn’t sleep well last night, so I told her I could take her shift.”

“Dove.” Remus tries to keep his reprimanding tone gentle. “You barely slept last night either.”

“I know,” you sigh again, and you sound so exhausted Remus wants to seize you and swaddle you in blankets so you have no choice but to rest. Get you in bed and kiss the crease between your eyebrows until it fades away. Give you the cosseting you deserve. “But she asked for my help, and—anyway, I don’t feel great about the test since I only had a few minutes to study right before.”

“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. “I’m sure it went better than you think.”

You flash him a kind, if somewhat forced, smile. “Thanks.” You’ve just finished the sandwiches, of which Remus now notices there are three. Three completely different sandwiches: peanut butter and jelly, ham and cheese, and something involving lettuce and tomato. He can’t imagine what you need that variety for, but he rarely understands what you’re up to when you’re this scatterbrained. Your mission nearly complete, you seem to be short-circuiting in the middle of the kitchen, standing with your hands raised as if prepared for your next task and your features scrunched up bemusedly.

“Plates?” Remus suggests gently.

“No, sorry—I need, um—” You shake your head as if chastising yourself. “Tupperware. I need tupperware.” You roll your eyes, seemingly at your own forgetfulness. It makes Remus feel defensive, though to defend you against yourself seems like a conflict of interests. You open the cabinet above your microwave, reaching for the containers. “Marlene and Mary want to meet, but I haven’t had time to eat since breakfast…” You appear sheepish at Remus’ exasperated look, but he doesn’t interrupt. “...so I said I’d make us all sandwiches.”

You’re struggling to reach the tupperware, and Remus nudges you out of the way, passing them to you. “Dove,” he says, using his new proximity to set his hands on your shoulders, preventing you from dashing off again, “don’t you think you need some time to rest? You’ve had a long day, I’m sure the girls will understand you wanting to meet another time.” You bite your lip, anxious at the idea of canceling on your friends. “And,” he adds lightly, “I wouldn’t mind getting to spend some time with you too. I feel like I’ve hardly seen you the last few days.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen, so instantaneously guilty he wishes he could take it back. “I’m so sorry, Remus, you’re right. I, um.” Your brow furrows, gaze moving over his shoulder to some faraway place, and Remus can see your overworked gears turning again, your fatigued brain struggling to solve this new dilemma. “I have class in the morning, but I shouldn’t be home too late tonight if—or, I actually have about fifteen minutes before I’m meeting Mary and Marl, do you want to hang for a bit now and then maybe walk with me?”

“I want you to take time for yourself,” Remus says firmly, though not unkindly. “I’m not trying to give you another task, love, I promise.” He lets his hands drop from your shoulders to where your fingers are fidgeting anxiously, easing his own between them. “But you’re spreading yourself too thin. Marlene and Mary love you, and that’s not gonna change if you don’t always have time to meet when they do.” You slouch slightly against the counter, beginning to resign yourself unhappily to the idea of staying in, and Remus kisses the top of your head sympathetically. “You can put your sandwiches in the fridge so they stay ready for you, and I’ll make us whatever you want for dinner. Pasta?” he asks, to sweeten the deal.

Your gaze meets his again, your interest piqued. “That sounds amazing.”

“Alright, pasta,” he says decisively, smiling at you solely so you’ll smile back. It works, and he’s pleased to note that it looks a bit less strained than before. He begins herding you towards the living room, and maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he imagines he can see the guilt in your eyes slowly fading away as you let them droop slightly, giving into the relaxation Remus is peddling so persuasively. “And we can watch a movie, and cuddle, yeah?”

You hum assent, releasing a little sigh of contentment as you sink into the couch cushions and giving Remus your sweetest, most adoring look as he settles in beside you, covering you with a blanket. “Thank you,” you say, packing the words with enough sincerity to make Remus’ heart ache. “I’ll try to…cut back, a bit.”

“No one will hold it against you,” he promises, knowing you need to hear it, “and if they do, send them to me for a scolding.”

You grin. “That would be a cruel punishment, I’m not sure I could do that to some poor soul.” You tilt your chin upwards, and he meets you halfway, the kiss lingering and sweet. You brush your thumb tenderly along Remus’ jaw as you pull away, and he knows what you’re feeling before you open your mouth. The same sentiment echoes through his chest. “I love you,” you whisper, like it’s a sacrament. “Promise you’ll still love me back if I meet up with the girls tomorrow and pencil you in for after?”

Remus huffs a laugh, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Alright, love, I promise.”

#remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #marauders era #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin scenario #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin baby blurb #marauders

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pluvialpoet · 21 days

Text

bergamot

Summary: moments of quiet reflection reaffirm what you both already know to be true- he’s always going to come back, and you’re always going to be waiting with open arms

Pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader

Requested: no

Warning: idiots in love, friends to lovers, mutual pining, scarecrow's fear toxin, mentions of death and grief, slight angst, fluffy ending, loosely based off of batman: hush (2019)- but no major spoilers

Word Count: 3,930

masterlist

a/n: I know that dick has a tolerance against/is immune to scarecrow's fear toxin, but let's pretend he isn't...for the plot

Sleep is cruel in the way it continues to evade you when you crave it most. Mocking and teasing, exhaustion morphs into desperation. Even with your eyes shut dreams fail you, and nightmares taunt.

A siren wails, bellowing out into the night and echoing caution even after the initial cry has faded. Could be a police car, or an ambulance. Maybe even a fire truck. You try not to consider all of the possibilities, knowing it’ll only starve your slumber, further. With a huff, you adjust the heavy comforter, pulling it up until it bunches just under your chin.

In a few weeks, branches will be stripped of their leaves. Snow will fall, and the city will suffocate under a blanket of white. July was only yesterday, sticky and never-ending- infinite until finite. Now, January lurks around the corner- weeks away, but daunting, nevertheless.

The pillow tucked behind your back is a poor imitation of the brawn you wish feathers and fill could replicate, just as the one pressed to your chest acts as an imposter mimicking the body meant to be sleeping peacefully beside you. It’s impossible to tell feelings of loneliness apart from being alone, and deep down you know that reminiscence is merciless. Memory is wicked. But you can’t help remembering. It’s the only way you won’t forget- and even then, so much time has passed that you’ve begun to fade, and he’s begun to blur. Spiraling further and further away from reality and control, you drift towards hope, feeding each dangerous possibility until you have nothing left to give, but delusion takes and takes and takes…

Answers elude like comfort- and sleep. When, how, and why is lost upon you. He’s been gone for so long. Even so, your life has continued, evolving to accommodate the gaps he used to fill. Though, it’s about as effective as papier-mâchéing an open wound shut. Everywhere you look, everything you do, every time you shut your eyes, he finds a way to bleed into you, one way or another, and you welcome it every single time. All you really have are memories and a space in your bed which has always been his to come home to.

Outside, the wind howls. Angry and violent, the sound rattles the windowpane and you burrow deeper into the covers trying to block it out. Shadows dance across the ceiling, but none of them belong to the ghost you’ve been waiting for. Another frustrated huff fails to quell burning exhaustion, and you rub your eyes with the back of your hand before checking the clock next to you. Neon green flashes, all too pleased to report that it’s well past midnight and you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep. Already tomorrow, and you’re still mourning today.

Pushing the covers off, you shiver. There’s a chill in the air and little comfort to be found in the fact that the entire apartment feels cold and empty without him in it. At least it’s not just the bed. It’s the entire room, the hallway, and the kitchen, too. You reach for the light above the stove and begin to search the cupboards for a mug. If nothing else, at least a cup of tea will warm you up. Thanks to muscle memory, you act on autopilot, filling the ceramic with water and placing it in the microwave before picking a teabag and waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting, always waiting. Three monotone beeps call your attention back before it has another chance to wander away from you, and you retrieve the cup and place the teabag inside. Steeping time be damned.

You can’t wait any longer.

One leg curls under the other as you take a seat and bring the mug to your mouth. It burns the tip of your tongue, a small price to pay for your greed, and you swallow the too-hot liquid regardless of the consequences. The pain barely registers, anyway. With both palms pressed to the vessel, warmth finally finds you, and a barely contented huff passes your lips to blow the steam from the cup. It’s not always like this. It’s not supposed to be, but for so long, it has been. Never months, always weeks. You don’t know how to do this or how much longer you can put yourself through this torture when every sunrise twists the knots in your stomach tighter and tighter. How much longer until you snap?

You’re so tangled up in your suffering that you miss it the first time, until the hair on the back of your neck bristles. Did you imagine it? Silently, you wait, setting the steaming mug down to listen, and this time, you hear it. Faintly, but there. Real.

Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.

I’m here. I’m safe. Can I come in?

Your feet move before the rest of your body does, and the chair scrapes loudly across the hardwood as you jump from it in shock. A cocktail of excitement, worry, disbelief, and fear bubbles and swirls through you when you spot a familiar glimpse of black and blue through the window near the fire escape.

“Dick?”

Crossing the room without any memory of doing so, you fiddle with the latch that keeps you from him, and him from you, until finally it clicks. With only one foot through the window, you reach for him, desperate to savor the illusion until mass, warmth and a heartbeat prove it to be real. Upon realizing, your breath hitches. He’s real. He’s real, and he’s here. No longer a dream. No longer a nightmare. No longer a vision only sleep can grant or mold, he stands before you. He takes a moment to properly slide the window shut behind him, returning the lock to its rightful position- keeping the rest of the world and the winter, out- before turning to face you once more. He can’t even get a word out before you’re pressed against him, wrapping your arms around him and holding yourself back from crushing him with the intensity of your longing. Overly cautious of injuries you can’t physically see- mindful of bruises, tears of flesh, and wounds that remain eclipsed by kevlar and moonlight- you embrace him with a hesitancy that severely undermines your fervor. Holding him gently- delicately, tenderly- the way you’ve dreamt about entwining with him on nights when sleep has been generous instead of cruel, you finally look up at him.

A sigh of relief dispels the hoarded tension in your neck, shoulders, and chest when you rest your head against his chest and inhale. Sweat and copper muddle his natural scent, but even when he’s covered in his victories, even when he’s drenched in his defeats, he still smells like home- warm, safe, familiar, and comforting.

He hesitates to envelop you with the same thinly veiled desperation, holding himself back.

Every muscle in his body carries the strain of battles fought and won. His head throbs with the force of his thoughts, and the inescapable dizziness that always accompanies crashing down from a high. Then again, he’s never been one to ease into things gracefully. Tiny cuts and scrapes, angry blacks and blues, and even gaping gashes that are still seeping and tender to the touch hardly register as anything other than a stinging, burning sensation. Everything is dull. Ferocity and intensity both subdued. Through the haze of everything that competes for his attention, you’re the one thing that’s clear. As always, the hold you have on him, both physical and metaphorical, brings him back to his senses, but doubt keeps him withdrawn.

Warily wrapping his arms around you, Dick returns the gesture as best as he can. Cages built of muscle, meant to keep you close, refuse to lock you in place, and he finds it increasingly difficult to resist surrendering to you entirely. Just as his nerves begin to settle they spike once more when the gravity of the past few months finally begins to sink in. As you continue to tremble in his arms, he swallows a lump in his throat and fights the urge to hold you impossibly closer. If he weren’t so afraid, he’d never let go again. But he’s not the same man he was the last time you saw him. Having seen too much, he knows that he can’t let this become something more. Fear is rotten. He’s seen the future, and if he keeps leaning on you then he’s only going to drag you down with him. Regardless of what he really wants, he won’t let this become something more, but then he looks down at you in his shirt and realizes it’s always been something more- and it terrifies him more than anything.

When pink swirls around the drain- a muted severity of soapy lather and remnants of crusted, oozing red- he rests his forehead against the cold tiles and lets out a deep sigh. He can’t remember the last time he’d had a proper shower. Under the trickling scorch, he allows his shoulders to slump forward, letting the too-hot water soothe his muscles like a balm, and it stings in a way he welcomes- a reminder that he’s done it again, he’s survived the worst and now he just has to survive the recovery.

He’s never been good with the after, always losing himself in possibilities of what comes next without taking a minute to catch his breath, but he’s trying to be better. He owes it to you. Not only you but himself, too- but mostly you. So, he tries to forget. He pushes memories too fresh to be forgotten somewhere else, banishing them to the far corners of his mind and locking them away until he’s ready to face his demons at his own pace, on his own terms, but his wicked creations fight back. Even when they’re crafted from delusions, mirroring real-life counterparts with a precision too exact to be a figmented replication, he finds himself engaged in an internal match that never crowns a victor. It’s a conflict that never ceases, even after his own surrender. Still, he’s found that the intrusions are less when copper is overpowered by citrus, and when red, inevitably swirls into pink.

Steam amplifies the smell of sweat and body odor, so pungent that the only word to describe it is bad, and he holds his breath while he reaches for your soap once more. He can’t believe you let him anywhere near you. It’s even more unfathomable that you sought an embrace, despite the remnants of battle that’ve woven themselves into his being- lingering, even long after. He’s repulsed by that which exposes him, a stench so strong that it serves as a testament to the fact that he reclaimed you as soon as he could, coming right back to this haven of sorts without any prior stops, and his stomach churns uncomfortably, the once soothing mist tainting each attempt at air, and a weight teases the aching muscles of his chest which breath does not alleviate.

Through the haze, he sees the truth- when reality remains undistorted by the tricks of his own want and longing, he recognizes fact without his own warped perceptions of fantasy- and he realizes just how careless he’s been. By allowing desire to suade better judgment, he’s put you at risk. Guilt punishes with an onslaught of emotions ranging from frustration to anger, sadness to grief, and even regret to sorrow. His own reluctance to accept how dangerous it was, and always has been, to lean on your affections as a crutch has finally caught up to him. After all that he’s seen, after everything he’s been forced to bear witness to over the past few months, coupled with a lifetime of loss, he’s no longer able to ignore the thought that’s broken free from the shackles of elsewhere. What was once dull, always there but never really forgotten, has become intense and persistent.

Every time he finds his way back to you, he invites peril into your life. He’s hazardous. Even if he’s not, being attached to him- in any way- puts you at an even greater risk of endangerment. Trying to justify something even as tame as a friendship is absurd. You’re so much more than that. Whether he meant for it to happen or not, you’ve found a place within his heart. Every beat echoes your name and carries secrets of his devotion. All that remains of the walls meant to protect both of you is rubble, and Dick stands alone in the epicenter of the aftermath, unsure and torn between chaos and order. Selfishly, he wants. Greedily, he craves. Morally, he knows that he should just walk away- but he can’t.

The scene shifts, ceramic tile falling away to reveal an eerie, yet familiar boneyard, and he shakes his head. It’s not real. It was never real- but it was so vivid. Cold fog obscures his vision, and he closes his eyes. This is a trick. This isn’t truth. He knows what comes next. Forced to indulge in his worst nightmares, the shrill, piercing sound of your terror renders him numb. He can’t move. Paralyzed, he fights limbs of lead, but he can’t act. It surrounds him, your agony, and he can’t do anything to save you. He can’t protect you. With each cry of his name, you plead, but there’s nothing he can do. When silence follows his ragged breaths, he refuses to look down. He hates this part the most, but he doesn’t have a choice. Crimson stains the black and blue weave, and he can taste metallic. He doesn’t have any control over this hallucination, born and bred from his greatest fear, and all he can do is witness the fallout of your shared torture- your blood on his hands, his body slumped against your tombstone, and the triumphant laughter of a clown, a scarecrow, a ventriloquist, and a hundred more that delight in your demise.

He can’t catch his breath. Drifting further and further away from reality, he struggles to claw his way back towards the light. When his vision begins to fade, he reaches for more soap. In for three counts, out for four. In for three counts, and out for four, again, Dick feels lightheaded. There’s no limit to how far he’d go to keep you safe, not a single rule or code he wouldn’t break to protect you from anything and everything- and that’s an entirely different threat, in and of itself. His loyalty has the potential to become his ruin, and he’d let it- for your sake- but would that be enough? Could his devotion be enough to keep you safe from the otherwise brutal fate that awaits you with, and without, his intervention?

The bite of a washrag leaves his skin raw. Lost to his thoughts, he’s been mindlessly scrubbing away at his flesh, dousing himself with bubbled distraction. Another breath fails to alleviate his unease. All he can think about is that which is out of his control, and he can’t help but wonder, is there even a chance for the two of you?

Every thought is a contradiction.

He could wax poetic to Bruce about love- how precious and fragile and conscious it is- but he can’t even bring himself to act upon his own advice. Even worse than following in a denialist’s footsteps is being a hypocrite, but there are just too many variables for him to take into account- too many what-ifs and maybe’s that enable him to cower behind words left unspoken.

In spite of this, he dares to dream of a future where you’re his and he’s yours, and nothing else matters. Lost to his delusions, a smile threatens to work muscles that’ve remained dormant for months of disuse. It hurts. Stretching, pulling, and manipulating his face to actually convey what he’s feeling instead of trying to veil it, hurts. However, the worst pain follows. As he reaches for the illusion, it slips through his fingers- so close he can almost hold it, yet just out of reach, simultaneously- and just like that, reality distorts the mirage. Pried from him, ripped away and sporting his claw marks, what could’ve been remains what could’ve been- and it’s all his fault.

Fear suppresses his love.

He’s already lost so much, he can’t lose this, too. He won’t. However glutinous, he craves more- even when he knows he can’t have it, he wants with a desire that’s almost too strong to ignore. Almost. Locking his feelings away, he throws away the key, but his ribs begin to expand with the intensity of his longing, and his chest feels tight. This isn’t like before. It seems as if his secrets have outgrown their cages, and he finds himself at a crossroads. His mind begins to drift and he wonders if this agony is why Bruce kept Selina at arm’s length…

A sigh, and a revelation- he’s not Bruce, and you’re not Selina.

Dick’s been going about this all wrong. Despite everything he’s been taught about love and loss, he’s allowed a life outside of a domino mask and kevlar. He deserves to cherish someone, to protect and devote himself to something other than his work- someone to fight for, someone to come home to- and he deserves to be beloved, too. Even if only for tonight. Even if tomorrow isn’t promised and all you have is right now, you’re here. On the other side of the frosted glass screen and plaster, you’re waiting for him. Another smile, less forced and genuine, feels like a relief instead of a burden. His skin pebbles under the frigid stream left in the wake of molten steam. With a shiver, he seeks your warmth, reaching for the faucet and stepping out of the enclosure.

A worn shirt rests atop the counter, the fabric faded from years of wear and wash, folded neatly beneath a pair of fresh boxers and socks likely left behind from the last time, or the time before that, or even the time before…truth be told, he thought he’d lost it, misplaced it, or given it away. Of course, you’ve had it in your care, all along. The corner of his mouth threatens to twitch into a smile. Slipping the towel from around his waist, he begins to dress, wondering when you managed to sneak in without him hearing you. The door used to creak, and he realizes that you must have fixed it while he was gone. It’s hard not to think about what else might’ve changed since the last time he saw you. Would you have stayed with him, if he asked you to? You always have. Six years and counting, he muses if you always will…

His hair is getting long, again. Droplets fall from the overgrown strands at the base of his neck down his back, making him shiver and reach for his towel once more. He pats his hair down, ruffling it with the towel a few times before wiping away at the mirror. Making eye contact with his reflection he’s the first to look away. He’s looked worse and supposes that's a small win in and of itself, though he can’t stand the sight of himself any longer than he has to. A deep exhale and a shake of his head diverts his attention to the countertop where a spare toothbrush has been left out for him to use. Of course, he already knows where the toothpaste is. He helps himself with a growing smile and places it in the holder right next to yours when he’s done. His chest expands with something he can’t quite name when he finds himself surrounded by gentle reminders of your care. A small cup of water and painkillers act as physical embodiments of your thoughtfulness and he revels in the knowledge that you’re letting him know you’re there for him while giving him space to come down from whatever adrenaline rush the past few months have spiked. It’s in those silent gestures of love that he hears it the loudest, echoing and amplifying all around him.

It must be killing you to act so selflessly, and he tries not to be selfish with your affections, but it’s difficult not to feel like a burden when you’ve rearranged more than just a spot on the counter, or a place for him to keep his toothbrush next to yours, for him- giving him a home without expecting anything else in return.

Down the hall, the mattress protests against his arrival, angry springs squeaking from months of disuse before welcoming his weight and warmth on the side opposite of yours- his side, from the very moment, years ago, when he found his way back to you after a night that left him bloody and beaten but not broken. Never broken- not when he’s always had you. Though most memory of the first evening spent beside you remains a blur, the ability to recall details and specifics stolen from him as his wounds wept crimson tears that stained your hands and upholstery, fondness prevails. Despite robbed recollections, tender warmth, and affection remain. Even then, he knew. Without really knowing, without certainty, he was certain- he loved you, and you loved him, and every gentle, devoted gesture has always reaffirmed the one thing he could never doubt. Every silent offering, every selfless sacrifice, and piece of yourself that you’ve surrendered to him further insists that your heart acts in favor of three words never spoken.

His arm finds your waist easily, and he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to tiptoe around his reluctance to accept what this is, anymore. Not when you’re here. Not when you’re waiting so patiently for him, and snuggle back into his hold the moment he reaches out for you. Some limbs tangle, but not yours- the two of you fit perfectly together, like you were truly meant to be, and the moment that you’re allowed to converge, you press your palm flat against his arm, holding him close to you.

Reacquainting yourself with him after is always your favorite part. Though, your heart cleaves when your fingertips ghost over a new scar- the skin still raised and angry, even if the wound has closed. With something akin to sympathy, an apology for the pain he’s suffered that you can’t take away, you gently trace the new mark in acknowledgment.

Tomorrow, or later today, when the sunlight illuminates the sky, you’ll ask him about it. Or, maybe you won’t. When the first glimpses of warm light threaten to spill over the horizon, you might get answers to the questions you’ve spent the last few months pondering. Or, perhaps everything unasked will remain unresolved. Either way, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the fact that tonight, you’ll sleep- safe and protected, at ease and engulfed by all things him- and even if it only lasts for the night, you’ll cherish whatever small moments of intimacy the moon grants before the sun, inevitably, rips them away- a fate you’ve grown to expect, time and time again.

Still, you let your eyes flutter shut, basking in the silence for only a moment before it’s interrupted.

“I love you,” Dick confesses softly, words warm and whispered against your shoulder encouraged by a fleeting moment of courage- and the tender caress of your touch- that prompt the secret to spill from his chest, an accident he fears he may have to render excuses for to salvage whatever broken pieces are left of this unspoken relationship.

“I know,” With your back towards him he misses the stretch of a smile ghosting your lips, and finds himself tensing behind you. Could you have really known? All this time? Is that why he always comes back? Is that why you let him? “I love you, too,”

“No, I mean, I really lo-“

“Tell me in the morning, yeah?” You suggest before he can get too far ahead of himself. Torn between wanting to clarify his confession and realizing that maybe he doesn’t have to, Dick relents. He can’t really argue, anyway- having kept this to himself for so many years, another few hours won’t hurt. With a breath- of acceptance, not defeat or surrender- he closes his eyes and finally relaxes into your embrace.

It’s over.

For now, Dick can rest easy knowing that when the smell of bergamot fades, this tacit love will always remain, and he finds enough comfort in the realization to let it lull him into a peaceful sleep.

a/n: I love him so much!!! this has been rotting in my brain for nearly a year and I just found it in my drafts last night lol! anyway, this started as a challenge to myself where I wanted to see if I could write something with only five lines of dialogue, and I'm curious to hear how you all think it turned out! as always, requests are open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

everyone who requested to be tagged: @idyllcy @wicked-laugh @ul4lume

Send me some feedback, or request to be added to my taglist! (please specify which taglist you’d like to be added to- character or general) !Requests: OPEN!

buy me a ko-fi!

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson angst #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson fanfic #dick grayson fanfiction #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine #nightwing fluff #dc titans #dc imagine #dc comics imagine #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n

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acciopietro · 2 years

Note

Ok so I just read your “Bad Idea” smut and it was amazing! Can you do one where the roles are reversed? Like y/n has the sex pollen infect her?

combining with request #2: Hey 🧍🏻‍♀️ this is my first time ever requesting smut so- I feel super awkward 😅, I was wondering if you could write Pietro maximoff eating (fem?) reader out on a couch (or gn reader, anything you want :)

a week’s isolation - p.m.

pairing: pietro maximoff x fem! reader

summary: the strange plant thor brought to earth from asgard is housed in the lab on the upmost floor of the compound, it’s pollen safely contained; your room, however, is right below it. too bad they forgot to seal the vents.

word count: 3,878

tw: smut smut smut. oral (f receiving). apologizing in advance. both parties are 18+ and consenting adults!!!!

a/n: takes place in between the age of ultron/civil war era. pietro and wanda are adults but still young! i haven’t written smut in such a long time so forgive me for the long time it took to get this posted. i get embarrassed when writing shit like this so it takes me twice as long since after every word i have to close my computer and take a lap around my room. hope u enjoy :)

“DOES EVERYONE UNDERSTAND?” FINISHED BANNER as he stood before the team, his face flushed and his eyes wide. Pietro had been half-listening for the first portion of the man’s speech, but at the sound of the words “highly dangerous” and “do not go near it”, his interest had been inevitably piqued.

Pietro fiddled with the string bracelet on his wrist, eyes drifting across the long, meeting table. You were sat next to the head of the table, hair daintily curved along the edges of your face, hands folded on the edge of the table, lips pressed together in thought. He blinked before he could get too lost in you; it had happened before and he didn’t feel like getting caught staring again.

A chorus of yes’s and head nods washed over the team, followed by a short moment of awkward silence as they individually considered the strangeness of the situation that was now in their midst. Pietro sent a tired glance to Wanda, who rolled her eyes and mouthed Pay attention!

“I need you all to seriously recognize the dangers this plant might cause,” Banner went on after the group gave their half-assed acknowledgements of their understanding. “Thor brought this here on accident, and it is only he and other Asgardians that are immune to it. We’re only trying to find a proper, safe way of disposing it, maybe even using a way to harness it’s pollen without... well, killing ourselves.”

“Why can’t Thor just bring it back up to Asgard?” Barton asked, scratching his chin. Shifting in his chair, he said, “I feel like that should be discussed.”

“The issue with that, Barton, is that it’s pollen has already begun to cling onto other things. Our plants, here on Earth, need some kind of vector to move their pollen from place to place, like insects or wind. On Asgard, or at least with this plant, it’s very different,” Banner explained. “The pollen acts almost like a virus, one that clings onto surfaces and grows. We don’t know how to kill this virus, so it’s harder to manage than normal pollen.”

Pietro watched you raise your hand; always so quiet, so polite, you were. It was endearing, he thought, watching you always behave so accordingly. The only time he ever saw you lose yourself was in the heat of a fight, when fists would fly and guns were drawn. It was a treat to see you in such a state, a rarity.

“Y/N? You have a question?”

“The pollen isn’t spreading into the compound, is it?” you asked carefully, something in your voice telling Pietro you were nervous. “Should I be worried?”

“No, we’ve done our very best to contain it,” Banner reassured you; Pietro watched your shoulders deflate. “As long as you all stay away from the lab, you’ll be just fine. And anyone who enters the lab will need to wear facial coverings. I’d even go as far as to say we should invest in more hazmat suits.”

“It’s not that extreme, is it?” Steve Rogers asked in disbelief. “I mean, hazmat suits? C’mon, Banner, what’s the big fuss?”

“The big fuss?” Banner gave a dry scoff. “The big fuss, Cap, is that if you’re exposed to the pollen, it’ll make your mind go into such a sex-driven frenzy that you’ll lose touch with goddamn reality! Do you want that? Because I seriously doubt you want that!”

A wave of silence washed over the room. Steve pressed his lips in a thin line, his nose dusted pink, and said nothing in response, only slowly shaking his head.

“We get it,” Natasha Romanoff spoke up after everyone spent a moment of clearing their throats and adjusting their chairs. “Stay away from big, scary plant.”

Bruce opened his mouth to keep going, but Tony Stark placed a hand on his shoulder.

“They get it,” Stark said. “We’ll change the password to the lab, anyways. J.A.R.V.I.S. will make sure no one goes in.”

All the members fizzled off, going their separate ways. Banner, Stark, and Thor ventured up towards the lab, the latter the only one not donned in a white hazmat suit. Wanda scooted her chair closer to yours, nudging your shoulder.

“Interesting, huh?” she commented. “Wonder what they do with them in Asgard.”

“S’probably like a drug,” Pietro chimed in, dragging his chair towards the two girls’ and sitting backwards on it, legs spread, hands dangling on the back of the chair. You crossed your legs, one folded gingerly over the other, the glossy black toe of your Mary Janes brushing his knee. “No doubt they get a shit ton of that pollen stuff and sell it.”

“I thought Asgardians were immune to it?” you said. Pietro paused.

“Well, maybe if they take a lot of it, it’s like that weird stuff you Americans have. Viagra. Helps it stay up, you know,” Pietro joked, to which Wanda whacked him on the shoulder. “What? Just a hypothesis.”

“Don’t be so crude,” Wanda chastised him. You giggled, the apples of your cheeks rose dusted. Pietro’s lips curled up at your reaction; you glanced over at him, matching his smile, before glancing back down at your lap. “Let’s just stay away from the lab for next few weeks or so. Play it safe.”

“I wanna see it,” Pietro ran a hand through the icy blonde tips of his hair. Your eyes widened a bit. “I’m curious now, y’know? I mean, what’s a sex plant supposed to even look like?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Pietro,” you told him carefully, the sound of his name rolling so easily off your tongue that he almost felt goosebumps trail up his forearms. He smirked, cocking his head to the side.

“But satisfaction brought it back,” he finished the quote for you, raising an eyebrow. Your lips twitched, shaking your head a bit and looking away from him. Wanda rolled her eyes, patting you twice on the knee before standing up, strawberry-blonde hair tucked behind her ears.

“I’m going to find Vis,” she announced, the leather of her red jacket swishing against her waist. “I’m tired of this plant talk.”

“Your loss,” Pietro called after her as she walked off. She turned around and stuck her tongue out childishly before lifting a single hand; with a swirl of red light, the door slammed shut behind her. Glancing back at you, Pietro grinned. “You can’t tell me you’re not just the tiniest bit curious.”

“Of course I’m curious,” you told him, leaning forward a bit in excitement as you shifted around; the scoop neck of your black tee sat low on your chest as you moved, and he fought to keep his sights on your eyes. “But, it’s not worth the risk. Not in my opinion, at least.”

“Yeah, well,” Pietro shrugged. “Maybe I’ll grab ahold of one of those hazmat suits and head in there myself. Just to take a look.”

You sent him a look and sighed, “Just don’t be stupid.”

Pietro gave a toothy grin. “Oh, Y/N. When have I ever been stupid?”

---

THE NEXT MORNING, PIETRO WAS bewildered to see you absent from the kitchen. Typically, you’d wake up way before he did, and he’d find you sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea or coffee and a book, silently reading. Vision sometimes would join you, or on certain days when Peter Parker would come round, Pietro would find you chatting away with him at the table. This specific morning, however, you were not there. Vision was sitting on his own, a copy of Henry David Thoreau’s Walden in front of him; a cold cup of coffee was sat in front of the empty chair.

“Buna dimineata,” Vision greeted in Sokovian, not looking up from his book. Pietro rubbed the sleep from his pale eyes and glanced at Y/N’s empty chair. “I presume you are curious as to where Y/N is.”

“Where is she?” Pietro asked, retying the white strings of his plaid blue and silver pajama pants. Vision glanced up at the cold cup of coffee, staring at it until it lifted into the air and carried itself towards the sink, dumping itself out and sitting on the chrome interior of the sink.

“I poured that for her, but she had yet to arrive,” Vision explained. Pietro furrowed his brows, crossing his arms over his chest where the white tank top he wore to sleep was wrinkled up. “I sought for Captain Rogers and he revealed to me that she’s been quarantined to her room.”

“Quarantined?” Pietro repeated, the word sounding uncomfortable on his tongue. He cursed under his breath before tentatively asking, “What for?”

Vision closed Walden and set it down on the table, letting out a simple breath and shifting his eyes to meet Pietro’s.

“It seems that the laboratory and Y/N’s room share an air vent,” he said. Pietro said nothing, not following. Vision stood up, tucking the chair back under the table and holding Walden with one hand. “They sealed off that mysterious plant, however they seem to have forgotten the air vent underneath the desk it’s planted on. That air vent just so happened to empty into Y/N’s room.”

“The pollen,” Pietro pinched the bridge of his nose. “O, la naiba...”

“So it’s just wise, according to Banner, that she is confined to her room,” Vision gave Pietro look, bowing his head forward as though he knew something he wasn’t supposed to. “Which means you must leave her alone until she has recovered.”

Pietro let out a sigh before moving his eyes away from version, clenching his jaw and thinking; maybe there was a way he could get into your room without getting infected by the pollen himself, even if it was just to talk with you. The idea of you being all cooped up there by yourself made his heart clench, but he also couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the effects the pollen was having on you.

“Pietro,” Vision said, and Pietro met his eyes. “Do not try and see her. We don’t know how much pollen is still in that room.”

Pietro rolled his eyes and left the room, not letting Vision interrupt his brainstorming. Banner had been extreme in his warnings about the effects, but how sexually-frustrated could the damn thing make a person? Besides, you were tough. He was sure it wasn’t too bad.

And it wasn’t. But after a week, he started getting anxious. Your room was entirely off limits, the only people going in out being Banner, to asses the situation, and Steve Rogers, to talk to you. You had always been close with Rogers, however, Pietro wished Banner could lend him one of those masks so he could see you.

One evening, Pietro couldn’t sleep. The more he laid in bed, pale eyes staring blankly at the white ceiling, the more he thought about you, cooped up in your room and probably in an unimaginable amount of pain. It had been a week and change already, and this isolation was sure to be driving you mad. He swung his legs around so he was now sitting on the edge of his bed, and he paused.

Maybe this is a bad idea, he thought to himself as his legs carried him towards his door, Like, a really bad idea. He hand was still clasping over the doorknob and twisting, despite that little voice in the back of his head asking if this idea of his could potentially end badly.... or, he could end up helping you out. He couldn’t imagine being isolated for so long.

By the time he reached the outside of your bedroom, he paused, his knuckles hovering over the wood, hesitating to knock. He could hear you from outside, moaning and groaning in pain. His heart ached and he knocked.

The moaning stopped and Pietro gulped. “Hey, dragă...”

“Pietro?” you asked from inside. “You shouldn’t...” you paused, and he heard the sound of your bedsheets rustling. “You shouldn’t be near here...”

“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to see you.”

“Banner says it might be contagious,” you replied sadly. He could hear you frown. “I don’t want you to catch it.”

“It’s been over a week,” Pietro rolled his eyes. “I doubt it’s still airborne. Most viruses don’t last in the air for that long.”

“I guess,” you fell silent. More rustling. Pietro sighed and put his hand over the door knob. Taking a deep breath, he twisting and opened it.

You were a sight to see, that’s for sure. Half your body was covered by the white comforter, and the parts of you that weren’t were clad in a small tank top and small pajama shorts. The ceiling fan was on top speed, and there were two other fans propped up in the room, each pointing towards the bed.

Your face was a bright red, same with your chest, and your hair was pulled back into a low ponytail to keep it out of your face. But your eyes, that had previously been half-lidded, widened considerably when you saw Pietro open the door before you threw the entire blanket over yourself.

“You can’t be in here!” you shrilled. “You’ll catch it!”

You felt a hand grasp onto the blanket, slowly pulling it down and off of you. Pietro, his hair tousled by his hand and his lips curved into a gentle smile, let out a small laugh.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m, like, superhuman. I think I’ll be okay. Let’s go get some water.”

You hesitated, letting him slide the blanket off you. You clenched your jaw, cheeks flushing scarlet as your eyes raked him up and down; he was clad in a thin white tank top that was maybe a size too small, and white-and-blue pajama pants that hung low on his waist. Taking a deep breath, you swung your legs over the bed and got to your feet.

You walked behind him, scared to get too close. Pietro could see your hesitation to the leave the room, as well as your hesitation to touch anything.

“C’mon, dragă,” Pietro laughed at you. “It’s okay. I feel fine. You’re not going to get me sick.”

“We don’t know that,” you took another heavy breath, keeping your eyes off of him. The flushing of your face made it hard to breathe and the twisting in your lower abdomen was making your head whirl. The muscles of his back flexing every five seconds as he reached up in the cabinets for a cup was not helping. You gulped. “I need to sit down...”

“All right,” Pietro glanced back at you, holding the two cups of ice water. “You okay?”

“None of the medicines work,” you mumbled, hesitantly taking the from him. He sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, staring at you. You felt your neck get hotter and glancing down at your lap. “I just gets worse.”

“What does?” Pietro asked curiously. “What’s the issue? Nauseous? Headache?”

“Erm,” you took a shaky breath and squeezed your legs together. “Hard to explain. The plant, the one from Asgard that did this... it’s... it’s kind of odd...”

Pietro raised a brow. You had a death grip on both your cup and the couch cushion. Face beet red, you took a sip from your trembling hand, avoiding his inquisitive stare.

“How so?” Pietro asked.

“I don’t really know,” you mumbled. “Banner said it’s got these, like... coitus pheromones? I don’t really know what that word means, but he refuses to elaborate.”

It was Pietro’s turn to feel his cheeks grow hot. The word was the same in Sokovian, and he knew it was a fancy term for sex, but he was shocked that you didn’t know. You were supposed to be the smart one.

“Y/N... you don’t remember what it means?” he asked carefully. You shook your head.

“Do you?” you asked, finally meeting his eyes for the first time in a few minutes. Pietro bit the inside of his cheek. No wonder you were gripping the couch like a lifeline. This whole time, he had assumed you were moaning and groaning because of pain. His chest felt hot. “What’s it mean?”

“It means sex, Y/N,” he told you slowly. “If Banner says it’s got “coitus pheromones”, that means it’s like... it really is like alien viagra. Like I had joked about before…”

He saw your eyes grow wide, your chest beginning to rise and fall with greater speed. You averted your eyes away from him in almost an instant, pressing your lips together in a thin line and shrinking back as though to pretend he were not there.

“Great,” you mumbled. Pietro shrugged.

“S’not like you didn’t know what it did,” he said honestly. “You’ve been feeling like this for more than a week, you’ve had to have some idea. Probably driving you up a wall, huh?”

You gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah.”

Pietro stared at you, watching the rise and fall of your chest. “I could help you. If you wanted me to.”

You gave him a very odd look, brows furrowing just a bit. The air felt warmer, as though someone had turned off the A/C. “What?”

“You heard me,” Pietro muttered, and now it was his turn to shrink back, his back hunching. “Only if you want...”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” you mumbled. Pietro pursed his lips.

“You’re not,” Pietro said simply. “I’m asking you if you want me to help you.”

“I...” you bit the inside of your cheek, and he watched you take a deep, steady breath. “Of course I want you to.”

“Well...” Pietro trailed off, staring at you, awaiting your word. His knees were practically touching yours, the head radiating off of him making you grip the couch tighter.

“Well, what?” you asked. His hand left where it had previously rested on his lap and latched onto your knee, sliding upwards at a snail’s pace.

“Can I?” he asked softly. “Help you?”

You glanced down at where his hand rested on your thigh. Back up at his eyes. Jesus christ.

“Yes.”

You could’ve sworn you saw his lips twitch upwards, a half-smirk half-smile fighting to curl onto his face. You didn’t bother dwelling on it, though, considering you were too focused on the fact that his other hand was on your other thigh, his hands sliding up and down your leg leisurely before coming back down onto your knees.

He pushed your knees apart, his calloused fingers digging into your bare skin, pale blue eyes never leaving yours. You took another shaky breath, swallowing anxiously. He lowered himself off of the coffee table he had been sitting on, kneeling in between your knees. His fingers crawled up to the fabric of your pajama shorts, tugging on the hem.

“Y’know these gotta go, right?” he asked rhetorically.

“Mmhm,” you gulped and did nothing for a second, but as he continued to tug on them, you took the top elastic and pulled it down until it reached his hands. He did the rest of the work, discarding them beside where he knelt.

Your underwear was a light blue, which just so happened to be Pietro’s favorite color (this was a coincidence, you swear). He hummed in approval and spread your knees apart wider. His eyes darted down, spotting the darkened patch of fabric right over her sex. He gave a smirk and snapped his eyes back up to yours again.

Saying nothing, he brought his hand closer to you, running his index finger up and down the darkened fabric. You shuddered. He was barely putting pressure on you, but it seemed the pollen was making even the slightest touch feel a million times more intense than it was.

“These also have to go. As much as I like ‘em,” he said, tugging on the azure fabric of your panties. You felt yourself smile a bit.

“Okay,” you rolled your eyes, but grabbed the hem and pulled down down. Pietro grabbed them off of your ankles, and lifted them up in front of his eyes.

“Can I keep these?” he asked. You kicked him with your foot.

“Creep,” you said. He chuckled and put them on top fo your discarded pajama shorts. “Can you please just...”

“Just do what?”

You huffed and mumbled something unintelligible. He pressed his thumb to your clit rather harshly, moving in small, quick circles.

“What was that?” He asked as you gasped, hands grappling at the edge of the sofa. “What do you want?”

“Everything,” you breathed, your stomach fluttering. Pietro hummed.

“Well, I don’t have time to give you everything, but I can give you a... what do you call it? A taste?"

And then, before she could say anything more, he dove forward and pressed a kiss to your clit, eliciting another gasp from you. He skillfully traced his tongue up and down the length of your slit before returning to your clit, where he wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucked. You slithered a hand down to tangle in his hair, grasping at the white-blonde locks.

“Christ, Piet,” you breathed. You felt him smile before he lifted his mouth up for a second, licking his lips. Locking eyes with you, he brought himself back down to trace circles around your entrance with his tongue. Without a second to waste, he brought his hand up and plunged his index finger inside, pulling it out to only shove it back in over and over again.

Your head fell back onto the cushion of the couch, back arching, one hand grappling at the back of its foundations while the other grasped onto Pietro’s hair. Pietro’s eyes flickered back and forth between your half-lidded eyes and the finger that was moving in and out of you, and with a rush of adrenaline, he shoved his middle finger inside, too.

Curling his fingers, he brought his mouth to your clit. “Close, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” was all you could find words for, the combination between his fingers and his mouth making your vision go blurry and your mind go blank. “Uh-huh.”

“C’mon, dragă,” he coaxed, his words slightly muffled by his lips being pressed to your clit. “Give it to me.”

Back arching, the coil inside of your lower abdomen finally began to unravel at high speed, body spasming over his long fingers as pretty moans slipped from between your lips. Pietro was grinning as he sucked at your cunt, feeling your velvet walls tighten around his fingers as you orgasmed.

When the noises from you ceased, and your breathing began to slow, he pulled his fingers out and sat upright. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and just as they locked, he put his fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean. You shivered.

“Feel better?” he asked casually. You paused.

“Yeah,” you said in shock. “I actually do.”

“Told you,” he smirked. You smiled at him.

“Thanks.”

“Of course,” he replied, getting off his knees and sitting beside you, handing you your underwear and shorts. “Would’ve done it even without the pollen, y’know.”

“Yeah?” you raised an eyebrow. He gave a firm nod. “I’ll have to take you up on that, then.”

translation:

“Buna dimineata.” - Good morning

“O, la naiba.” - Oh, damn it.

“Dragă.” - Darling, Sweetheart, Love

taglist:

@childishnewt @mcximffs @minbeatriz16 @slvtforfictionalcharacters @kaqua @thorrealgf @pagesbetweensheets @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @eichenhouseproperty @niallhoransupremacy @criesinlies @fairydxll @cassiestars777

a/n: this is painfully unedited im sorry.

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koolades-world · 4 months

Text

Behind the Scenes

All it took was the watchful eye of your best man.

“How was yer day?” Mammon took your bag from you as the two of you began the walk home from RAD together.

“Uneventful mostly, but not bad. The fact that you were there during Seductive Speechcraft today was more than enough to turn my day around.” You turn and smile at him.

“What’d ya mean?” He glanced over at you.

"Just a bad day. Having you at my side make it better." You try to deflect.

"What happened?" He reached out to grab your hand, which you took.

"A couple things." You avoid his gaze.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” Mammon stopped you in your tracks by standing in front of you. He looks right into your eyes, and holds your chin in his hands.

“You’re so caring Mams, but I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” You place a hand on his arm, trying to continue walking. He stops you, holding you close.

"Ya've been havin' bad days for a while now. What's the root? Ya can't hide this from me." You sigh, realize the jig is up.

"There's been this demon at RAD who's been picking on me. Today he stole my Potions homework, shouldered me into my locker, and almost drowned me in the bathroom. Thankfully the professor let me off since I never forget my work at home, but next time I might not be so lucky." You admit.

"He what? Forget the whole homework thing, I'll kill the bastard. Who did this to you? You gotta tell me about this stuff. Where does it hurt? Tell me the truth." Silently, you lift one of your sleeves to reveal the bruise you got from being slammed into the locker and pull down the collar of your uniform reveal the outline of fingers on the back of your neck. You wince at the memory. “What were ya planning to do? Suffer in silence? Mc, I don’t tell ya enough that I love ya.” He cupped your face in his hands, speaking to you gently.

“Usually when this happens, I just use a spell to cover it since I'm not good enough at healing magic yet. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not telling you and I’m sorry for worrying you, but he…” You trail off, glancing around. “I don’t think I should even be telling you this.” Mammon looks at you, then around the both of you as well.

“Ya know damn well ya can tell me anythin’. Fuck him. If ya want, ya can wait until we get home.” Mammon knew whoever this demon was wouldn’t dare to both you while he was around.

“I want to wait until we get home.” You said. That was the only thing you had been sure about that entire conversation. Mammon, instead of letting you walk, opted to carry you, insisting it was for your own good. You couldn’t shake the feeling of paranoia, that he was somehow listening and that you said too much.

One you both arrived home, Mammon sat you down in the living room and called over everyone that was home. In a matter of minutes, Levi, Satan, and Asmo were gathered around you, concerned at how oddly serious Mammon had approached them. While you sat silently, Mammon explained. You could see the rage blossoming on Satan’s face, and the horror on Levi and Asmo’s.

“Sweetie, why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Asmo cuddled you in a similar way that Mammon did when he found out.

“I was afraid…” You search their faces for their reactions.

“What did he say to you?” Asmo asked.

“He told me he would hurt my family if I told anyone. Not you guys, my human family. I haven’t seen them in so long and I didn’t want anything to happen to them. I really miss them. He said it would be fun to…” You couldn’t continue. A silent tear makes its way down your face. Mammon wiped it away.

“You don’t have to continue.” Asmo pulled you in closer to him.

“What’s his name?” Satan speaks up for the first time. His face was a little red and his eye has begun to tick, but looked eerily calm otherwise. To the untrained eye, it may have looked like he was calming down, but that couldn’t be more wrong.

“Please don’t hurt him.” You begged them.

“Why?” Levi, who had also been silent, nervously asked.

“He must have a reason for acting the way he has been. He probably has a family, and friends. I don’t think he deserves to be hurt, just maybe talked to.” Asmo gripped you hand tighter at your words and swept some hair out of your face.

“We’ll see what we can do, honey.” Asmo exchanged glances with his brothers. “How about this? We take you to Purgatory Hall to spend time with whoever’s there right now while we go talk to Lucifer, Belphie, and Beel.” He asked you.

“Can’t it wait? What if he’s listening?” You pleaded.

“I can assure you if he is out there and dares to act on his threats, I will see to it personally.” Satan’s tick was stronger and more noticeable.

“Anyways, I trust Sol with my life! If there’s anyone I would let look after you, it’s him.” Asmo told you.

“Ok, if you’re really sure. I trust you. Thanks guys. Can I have a hug?” You rose from your stop to be swarmed by the four demons around you. They took care to not hurt you more. You felt safe in the middle of them.

All of them personally went with you to drop you off at Purgatory Hall. Simeon answered the door, and as soon as he took in the scene, his usual smile faded and called for Solomon. Mammon explained the situation, to which they promptly agreed to help. As Asmo transferred you to Simeon, you heard Solomon asking them to save him a piece. It send a sharp shiver down your spine. As soon as the door shut, their facades dropped.

“They never told us his name. Even if it means I have to check every student at RAD, I will. After all, there can only be so many who meet his description.” Asmo chuckled. Satan was still doing his best to hold in his explosive rage until they were far enough from Purgatory Hall.

“Levi, take Satan somewhere to decompress for a while. We’ll reconvene here once we find the others.” Mammon took out his DDD and began making the calls he needed. Asmo also took out his DDD to check as many Devilgram accounts as he could to see if anyone looked particularly guilty.

As soon as Lucifer found out, he practically flew out of the place to meet up with his brothers. It was easy to see the similarities between him and Satan at this point. Belphie and Beel weren’t far behind. It was rare to see them both so agitated. The three of them quickly went in to see you, to see for themselves that you were ok, and to ask for the name of who has been bothering you. After much coaxing, they finally got it. Lucifer made Simeon promise to heal you, and with that, they vanished again. You didn’t know what to think, and hoped they would adhere to their promise.

Once they found him, they didn’t know what to do first. Question him or get straight to what they were there for: to make him pay for what he did. Each of them had their own idea, that they would never dare tell you. While you were safe and sound at Purgatory Hall, the brothers were having the time of their lives. It was a side of them they would never let you see; the side of them that truly reveled in misery and pain.

That demon vanished.

About a week and a half later, he reappeared a changed demon. He apologized for everything he did and remained out of your way from then on. He seemed physically fine, but was a different demon altogether. He was much nicer, and quieter. His friends avoided you like the plague, afraid of something you didn't understand. In fact, after that, everyone treated you like gold if they didn't already. You weren't stupid. You knew the brothers did something but nobody dared tell you. It was a little uncanny as everyone outside your household was pretending nothing had happened in the first place.

But the brothers were kinder, if possible. They kept bringing you small trinkets and gifts, like flowers and anything they thought you would like. They checked up on you more frequently and took you out more frequently. They always made sure you had everything you wanted even if you didn't ask for it. They even arranged for you to see your family in the human world with one accompanying you, although you suspected the others were watching from a distance. It was still chilling to think about what they did to that demon to make them stop so suddenly upon their return, or where they even went, but you settled on never knowing what they did. You just took their gestures at face value and appreciated them for it.

The brothers were glad you were recovering from everything. Anything you refused to tell them, they got out of the perpetrator. Simeon was an amazing healer, and even Lucifer wasn't sure how he brought him back together, mentally and physically. You could never find out.

errrr i don't really like this </3 the concept was more fun but I can't scrap it after how much i put into it

i kinda wanted it more ominous with less words but i think I need more writing practice for that lol

#obey me #obey me!#obey me satan #obey me x reader #obey me asmo #obey me levi #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me mc

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anakinmybeloved · 5 months

Text

Home Coming

Warnings: 18+,softdom anakin, praise,pet names, oral sex(fem!recieving), size difference, kissing, fluff kinda, not proof read

a/n: first attempt at writing smut..

It’s a warm night on Coruscant, going to sleep was nearly impossible.You throw the covers off your body along with your sleep shorts and top. Totally miserable. On top of everything, Anakin has been gone nearly three weeks now on a mission. You miss him, you miss sleeping next to him, You miss him holding you, breathing on your neck before drifting off to sleep.

some time passes when you hear the front door of the apartment open then close. You peak your head off the bed, then spring up and run to the door realizing Anakin is finally home.

He’s setting his belongings down when he finally looks up and you run into his arms. “Oh ani I’ve missed you so much!” You cling to him, never wanting to let him go.

“I know my love, I have missed you more than you know.”

you slowly remove your face from the crook of his neck, to finally look into those beautiful blue eyes that you adore. Holding eye contact, drinking in the moment you both have been waiting for.

“There she is. I missed that beautiful face.” Anakin smiles down at you, while bringing his hand up to caress your cheek. You reach up on your toes and gently kiss him. It starts off slow, the two of you just taking in the simple fact that your finally able to kiss and hold each other again. The soft kiss quickly turns into Anakin giving you open mouth kisses, if you thought it was hot before it feels like your on fire now.

He pulls away to where your lips are just touching and breathes out “open”. You obey him without a second thought. Next thing you know his warm, hot tongue is invading your mouth. He sucks on your tongue as he lowers his hands to your thighs and lightly squeezes for you to jump.

“Have you been a good girl for me while I was away?” He says to you as he walks you both backward, now carrying you back into the bedroom.

“Yes baby, I'll always be good for you.” He places you back down on the bed. You look up at him giving him your best bedroom eyes because you know he loves when you do that, and suddenly he’s on top of you, his lips finding your favorite spot right behind your ear.

His hands practically swallow your body, caressing every inch he can get a hold of. His lips travel lower dropping feather light kisses down your neck, your collar bones, and chest then finally reaches your breasts. “My perfect girl, I thought about these tits every night, you know that?” He squeezes them together and takes the right nipple into his mouth, sucking, taking out his tongue and licking.

But he doesn’t waste his time, no tonight he’s on a mission. Hopefully his last one for a while. He makes his way past your breasts, taking his time down your stomach, kissing every inch he can get at. His huge hands are gently moving up and down your sides and stopping at your hips with a tighter hold. He’s now scanning your body with lust filled eyes. you begin squirming in his grasp, just wanting him to touch you already. You close your eyes not wanting to hold eye contact any longer, he knows how uncomfortable it makes you. He pinches your inner thigh, and your eyes jolt back open. “I want to see those beautiful eyes on me”

you watch as starts to kiss up your thigh, gently biting before switching to the other. He finally makes it to your centre, and you are sure he can feel the heat radiating off you and your slick stained panties. “already so wet and I haven’t even begun baby” he smirks as he slowly pulls your panties down. He parts your thighs and his pupils are blown wide at your glistening folds.

He slips his flesh hand down and his index finger gathers the wetness and brings it up to your clit, drawing slow circles. You buck your hips at the sensation, feeling so worked up from not having him for so long. He slides it back down and circles your hole, then glides his finger inside you for the first time in weeks. His thick finger slides in an out of you with no effort and soon he’s adding another. “So tight for me, you miss me stretching you out like this princess?” He asks and you moan at his filthy words. “I wanna hear you.” You arch your back as he curls his fingers inside you just right. “yes ani I missed you”. Once the words are out of your mouth you feel him start to pump faster, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. You can feel your walls clenching around his fingers, so close to your release. But soon enough he’s slowing his motions. “I wanna feel you cum on my tongue be patient for me baby.”

Suddenly his face is right in between your thighs and he’s pulling his fingers out of you and quickly slips them into his mouth. Releasing them with a pop he looks up at you “always taste so sweet for me.” then he is pressing an open mouth kiss right on your clit. Slowly he brings his tongue out to lick circles on your sensitive spot, and begins to lightly suck. You grab hold of his curls and are now pressing yourself as close as you can to his face, just wanting him to make you cum. He pulls away and plunges his fingers back into your dripping hole. “Ill never get tired of this pretty pussy” he says into your cunt. “Always so perfect, so warm, and tight for me and only me”. Your lower half is practically lifting itself onto his face once those words leave his mouth.

Anakin now has two fingers curled deep inside of you while his tongue assaults your clit. Switching from swirling circles then up and down, it won’t be long until you release yourself all over his face.

“Cmon baby, I know your close.”

“dreamt of tasting you every night I’ve been away from you.”

“Doing so good for me.”

He’s got you so worked up, you begin to feel that familiar dizziness, suddenly your orgasm courses through you while you moan his name over and over. He eases you through it, slipping his fingers out of you and placing light kisses over your worked up area. Once you finally catch your breath, you pull him up next to you and place and loving kiss on his lips.

He pulls away with a huge grin on his face. “Have I told you how much I missed that?” You mirror him with a similar grin on your face.

Moving so now your straddled on top of him “time to let me show you how much I missed you.” He looks up to you with nothing but love and adoration in his angelic eyes.

It was gonna be a long night.

#anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x you smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin x reader smut #anakin smut #anakin skywalker one shot

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flutteringphalanges · 11 months

Text

Protostar

Adam Warlock x Star Lord!Sister Reader

Prompt: You’re pregnant. The very thought of it is so surreal. And more importantly, it’s Adam’s. Now not only do you have to break the news to the man you love, uncertain of how he will react, but then there are the rest of the Guardians too. And more importantly, your brother, Peter.

Word Count: 3,878

A/N: Hello! I am back again with another Adam Warlock x Reader baby themed one shot! I will add a link to this one to the post that has all of my one shots to this series so far. Requests are open! I’m currently working on one at the moment! Any thoughts of any kind, my comments and mailbox are open! I hope you enjoy! -Jen

Protostar

Pregnant. A word that had seemed so foreign to you up until now. An aspect you hadn’t even begun to fathom would happen to you. And yet here you were, sitting far off from the hustle and bustle of Knowhere’s square trying to clear your mind. Trying to think through haze and churning from your own stomach as you processed it all. Wondering how you would announce it to Adam. So lost in your head you didn’t even notice when Kraglin took a seat beside you.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

Kraglin had been like an older brother to both you and Peter. Though, your relationship was a little better at the time because, growing up, he felt as if he needed to compete with the boy from Terra for Yondu’s approval. That had changed though. Now the three of you were equally close. You looked over to him, not too sure what to say. In all honesty, he was the last person you’d imagined to break the news to first.

“I don’t know.” You responded softly with a shrug. “I haven’t decided, I guess.”

“What’s wrong?” Kraglin asked, his tone slightly concerned. “Did something happen? Is it Adam?” He paused, his expression more serious than you’re used to. “Did he do something?”

He did, but technically so did you. You exhaled, wondering why you didn’t stay cooped up in the confinement of your room. That way you could’ve at least hid from it all a little longer. Pretend that everything was as it should be. You wished Adam was here, he had a way of making you feel better. Then again, maybe it was better that he wasn’t.

“Y/N?” Kraglin’s voice snapped you back into reality. You turned and looked at him as he placed a hand on your knee. “Uh, you want me to get Pete?”

“NO!” The word came out much sharper than you meant it to causing Kraglin to visibly flinch. “Sorry, I mean, no…that’s okay.”

The last thing you needed was your brother. Peter was overprotective, he had always been. Even though you two were adults, he was still annoying when it came to you and relationships. When you and Adam first got together, he made it clear to you that he wasn’t exactly supportive of it all. Sure, the guy had saved him from literally turning into a human icicle in space, but he was still wary from the Rocket fiasco. That was something that you knew would take a long time to repair. At this point you were lucky he was tolerating it all and not getting on your case. If he knew you were expecting…well, you didn’t know how he’d take the news.

“Can I trust you, Kraglin?” You asked, knowing full well there was no turning back after saying something like that. “Swear on Yondu you won’t say anything? Especially to Peter?”

Kraglin looked at you with such uncertainty it was almost comical. Almost. “Yeah…” He replied with hesitation. “Cross a Ravanger’s heart.”

You nodded, looking at the ground. “I’m pregnant.”

“...Oh.” He said after a moment, shifting awkwardly where he sat. “...Is it Adam’s?” You threw him a dark look that caused him to hold up his hands defensively. “I’m sorry! It’s just well…congratulations? I mean, this is good, right?”

You let out a loud groan and covered your face. “I don’t know!” The words came out muffled from behind your hands. “You’re the only one who knows.”

“I’m honored! Thanks!”

“Only because you showed up here.” You didn’t mean to sound so harsh. Kraglin didn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry, Kraglin, I’m…I’m not trying to take this out on you. Maybe it’s the stupid hormones, I don’t know. I found out today and I’m not processing it well, I guess.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He offered, and you felt his hand rest on your shoulder. “I don’t know nothing about having babies, but if there is something you like, maybe a glass of water, or a blanket? Wait, that may be for shock…”

For the first time that day, you actually smiled. Sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder what Kraglin might’ve become if he hadn’t ever joined the Ravangers. You leaned forward and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Just your support is nice.” You told him, inhaling deeply. “Thanks.”

“Well sure, we may be Guardians now, but we'll always be Ravangers at heart.” Kraglin grinned at you when you pulled back. “And Ravangers take care of our own. Well, except when we don’t, but you know what I mean. We’re family. All of us here. I guess what I’m tryin’ to get at is we’ve got your back. Adam’s a great guy, I mean, he did almost wreck all of Knowhere--”

“Kraglin.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s in the past, is in the past. He turned out to be a great guy, right? Saved Pete, helped fix up a mess, managed to even join the Guardians. That’s somethin’, right?” He took a deep breath. “I don’t need to be able to read minds or do that emotion thingy that Mantis does to know Adam loves you. Like a whole lot.”

“I know he does.” Your smile was soft. “It’s more than mutual.”

“So it’s gonna be alright, okay? When have I ever lied to you?” Kraglin asked with a grin.

You gave him a look. There were not enough fingers on each hand for you to count the number of times both he and your brother had pulled some stunt on you. All relatively harmless, but you had learned not to be so gullible since.

“I need to go find Adam.” You told him, dusting off what little dirt had gotten on your pants. “He’s probably worried. Last thing I need for him is to go hunt Peter down. I’m still trying to figure out how I’m going to approach that one.”

“No matter what, Pete’ll come around. He always does.” Kraglin tried to assure you. “He got used to you and Adam. This is just another thing added on.” A big thing.

It was becoming apparent that, for the time being, you needed to focus on one thing--telling Adam. The rest you could try to get yourself to stop worrying about until later. You pulled Kraglin one last time for a quick squeeze.

“Thank you, Kraglin. For everything.”

“That’s what family’s for.” He said with a smile. “Even if we ain’t exactly a normal bunch.”

XXX

The nausea you felt the moment you stepped over the threshold and into your room was not from the baby. Part of you wanted nothing more than to just turn back and find a new spot to hide in, somewhere where no one could find you. But Blurp, Adam’s beloved furry F’saki, immediately bounded over and pounced excitedly at your legs.

“Hey, buddy.” You said, giving the animal a half smile as you reached down to scratch it behind one of its ears. “It’s good to see you too.”

“Y/N!”

Adam came bounding in with a mixed look of concern and relief at your arrival. You straightened up as he walked over to you, his hands immediately reaching and cupping your face as he studied you carefully. You felt as if you were a piece of fruit being checked for bruises by a potential customer.

“Are you alright? I was worried. You weren’t here when I returned and I kept waiting, but you didn’t leave a note--and I know that you can take care of yourself, as you’ve said before--”

“Adam.” You said, cutting him off. “I’m fine.”

He beamed at your response and looked down at Blurp. “See, I told you everything was fine. No need to get anyone else involved or form a search party.” The creature gurgled and nudged your leg.

“But, Adam, we do need to talk…” His expression changed to one of confusion as you took a step back. “It’s important.”

“Oh?” He responded, following you as you took a seat on the edge of your bed. “What do you want to talk about? Should I be worried?” And his laugh was nervous--making your own anxiety that much worse.

“I don’t know.” Probably not the best answer to give him. “I mean…I don’t know how you will feel about this.”

Gods, if you could have any power in all the universes, invisibility would’ve been great. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at Adam as you feel his hand take yours. Tears started to well up in your eyes and suddenly you found yourself flooded with emotions. Damn hormones.

“Y/N, my love, what’s the matter? Don’t cry! Tell me what I must do!” Adam was cupping your face once more, searching your eyes for answers. “Have I done something wrong? If I have, please tell me and I will make amends. Please, say something, you’re scaring me.”

You shook your head and hiccuped. “You didn’t…you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m…” The deep breath you took was shaky, and you could only hope you didn’t look as gross as you sounded. “Adam, I’m pregnant.”

The silence that blanketed the room made you want to crawl over into a corner and die. This was it. Adam was going to get up and leave you and everything would fall apart. The Guardians would banish you from the team. From your family. Knowhere was exile you. You would have no one and nothing and Thanos might as well have snapped you for good.

“I’m going to be a father?”

The words snapped you back into reality. Through tears, you looked and saw Adam gazing at you with such glee and adoration it sort of caught you by surprise. You sniffed, wiping your face with your sleeve--nevermind how unattractive it must’ve looked, and nodded.

“Yeah.” You answered him softly. “You’re going to be a dad.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I never had a father.”

The corners of your mouth twitched into a small smile at his statement. “...I don’t remember my mom.”

“...Do you think I could be a good father?” Adam asked slowly, his gaze burning into yours. He sounded hopeful.

“Yeah.” You said with a smile. “I know you’d be a wonderful dad. There is not a doubt in my mind that says otherwise.” There was hesitation in your voice as you asked the next question. “Do you think I’d be a good mom?”

Adam chuckled warmly. “You already are to good, old Blurp right here.” Blurp trotted over and jumped into your lap, licking excitedly at your face. “See? Even he approves, and he is very particular too.”

“I can see that.” You laughed, carefully moving the dog onto the mattress. Sighing, you gazed into Adam’s eyes, getting lost in their golden pools. “Are you happy then? Are you…okay with this?”

Adam said nothing as he leaned forward and kissed you. You allowed your arms to wind around his neck as one of his arms hooked around your waist and pulled you close. Nothing sounded better than staying in that moment for all eternity. The warmth and gentleness of it all. You almost had to fight the urge to pull him back in when he stopped.

“I have never been more certain of something in my entire life.” Adam said with so much pride your heart swelled. “And I will love this child as I do you, Y/N. You are--well, now it is two of you I suppose, the most important things in my eternal life. I will do better than my best to be the very best! I swear it.”

You chuckled, sniffing as you beamed back at him. “That was quite the speech.”

“Was it what you wanted?” Adam inquired, wiping away at a stray tear that’d begun to slide down your cheek. “Are you okay? Perhaps I should’ve asked that first.”

Even though it would be months until you felt anything, you rested your hand on your stomach. You began to imagine the sensation, what little movements, kicks, flutters your baby would give you. Your baby. Adam’s baby. Gods, it sounded so surreal and yet, so right.

“Yeah.” You inhaled, your gaze deep as it met Adam’s. “I’ve never felt happier.”

XXX

“We need to tell them.”

Adam’s voice was soft as his hand gently rubbed your back from where he knelt beside you on the floor. Your head hung over the toilet as you tried to fight back the wave of nausea that stirred in your stomach. Morning sickness, more like ‘all day sickness’. It had been a week since you had broken the news to Adam--and technically Kraglin--about the baby. From the get go, he had wanted to tell the others but you had sworn him to secrecy. You still were avoiding sharing the unexpected pregnancy announcement with your brother. But now, with how violently ill your body had decided to start becoming, you weren’t really left with any options.

“Maybe we can just wait until they’re born.” You mumbled weakly, the bitter taste of bile coating the inside of your mouth. “Spring it on them then.”

“I don’t think that would be the best idea--or even possible.” Adam responded, frowning softly when you waved away at the glass of water he tried to coax in your hand. “They’re starting to worry about how sick you’ve been. And you already told Kraglin.”

“That wasn’t in my original plans.” You answered somewhat defensively. “Besides, there’s a big difference between him and Peter knowing. The others I’m not as worried about. I’m his little sister, but he forgets I’m not so little anymore. Like a lot.” Your stomach gurgled and you heaved a big sigh. “I can take care of my damn self.”

“I know.” And the palm of his hand began to knead between your shoulder blades. “But the sooner we get it over with, the better you will feel about it. And you aren’t alone in this. I’m right with you. We’ll tell them together and it will go over well, I promise.”

XXX

The last time you saw a look like the one Peter was giving you now was when you accidentally dropped his Walkman as a kid and it fell between the grates of Yondu’s ship. How he managed to get it back out before it slipped to its eternal demise, you were unsure--or cared. But this look was not about any sort of music box. Oh no, this was something much greater.

“...You’re pregnant?” Peter asked slowly, eyes flashing from you to Adam. “As in having a baby? Together?”

“Yes, I am.” Before anyone could speak up, you quickly added. “And we’re happy too. Really happy.” Adam’s arm found its way around your waist offering a sense of comfort that you needed. “And since we’re family, we were hoping that maybe you all would feel the same way.”

The silence was killing you. The way they were all watching, Peter especially, you almost wanted to curl up into a ball and beg Adam to fly you back to your room. Try again on another day. Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around, followed by a squeal.

“I am VERY happy for you!” Mantis gushed, beaming at you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Adam nervously watching, probably concerned with how tight she was hugging you. “Oh this is such good news!”

Drax broke into one of his deep fits of laughter. “Quill! That means your sister had sex!” Of all the anti-social things he could’ve said, he had to go with that one. How wonderfully mortifying. “But I am also happy for you!”

One of Groot’s branches reached out and touched your stomach. “I am Groot.” Or, as you had grown to understand. “I like babies.”

Nebula gave you a rare smile from where she stood beside Rocket. She had come so far since you first met her those many years back. Gone from enemy to a true member of the Guardians. The late Gamora, your Gamora, would’ve been proud to see what she had become.

“Congratulations,” Nebula said with a nod.

“I agree with the others!” The canine yipped, her tail wildly wagging when she trotted over to you. “I will protect the baby like a good dog!” She licked your hand leaving you secretly grateful she didn’t try to jump up. “This is good news!”

Rocket, who had been at Peter’s side, made his way over. “Yeah, yeah, what they all said.” He said with a half smile, arms folded. “Guess we better get one of those sign things to hang on the ship that says Baby On Board or something.”

“So no one else sees a problem with this?!”

Peter’s voice popped you out of that blissful bubble you had found yourself in. Everyone was looking at him now, the good mood immediately snuffed out. Your stomach began to churn, only this time, it wasn’t from the pregnancy symptoms.

“We just got our team back together and everything was fine! Now you had to go along and get pregnant!” He jabbed a finger in your direction. “I dunno, did you not consider how this might impact the rest of us?!”

Where the hell was this coming from? “You know, just a ‘Wow, congratulations, Y/N’ would have easily sufficed!” You were fuming. Of course you knew he would be a dick when you needed him most. “This was a surprise to us! I’m sorry I didn’t take you into consideration!”

“You know you can’t come on any missions, right, Y/N?” His eyes then landed on Adam, his new target. “You know she is basically out of commission. She’s a risk! Now we’re down a teammate!”

“Peter, leave him alone!” You snapped, moving protectively in front of Adam. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Oh, really, he didn’t now?” Shit, you led him right into that. “Did you forget that whole thing when Goldilocks over there busted through our home and almost killed Rocket, not to mention trying to take the rest of us out with him?!”

“Everyone deserves a second chance, Pete.” Rocket cut in with a frown. “You’ve said it yourself before, and it’s clear that Adam has. I’ve forgiven him, why haven’t you?”

You weren’t sure if Rocket’s words struck a chord with Peter or not. In reality, you really could’ve cared less at that point. Tears of frustration and sadness had already begun to well up in your eyes, you didn’t want to give him the courtesy of seeing.

“Thanks, everyone.” You said, stare fixed on the ground. “Your support means a lot.”

Adam’s hand caught your wrist as you started walking away from the group. “Y/N?”

“I’m fine.” You told him, pulling your hand out of his grasp. “I just need some space. I’ll meet you back in the room. I love you.” And you made sure that you said the last part loud enough for Peter to hear.

XXX

You had practically built yourself a nest out of pillows and blankets on the top of your bed. Adam’s pillow was stained with your tears because you had chosen it to be the one you cried into. He smelled nice. Honestly, your fight with Peter could’ve gone a hell of a lot worse. You could think of several things you might’ve spat out at him that would’ve hit him hard and good. There was enough that you didn’t need to add onto.

Suddenly, you heard a knock on your bedroom door--which was odd considering Adam always chose to waltz in without first announcing himself. Whatever, it had been a weird day as it was. Who were you to dictate how your partner came and went?

“Adam, the door isn’t locked. Just come in.”

But the person who opened the door wasn’t Adam. Peter. You watched quietly as your brother made his way over to your bed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. After the fallout, why exactly had he decided to show up? Was he going to give you another earful?

“Before mom died, she made me promise that I would always protect you. Even before that, I felt like I always needed to because it was just the three of us. Well, four if you wanted to include grandpa, but three.”

You chose not to respond, deciding to see where he was going with this.

“You may be grown, Y/N, but you will always be my little sister.” Peter said, his voice no longer harsh as it had been. “But that isn’t an excuse to lash out when you get into a relationship or, well, get pregnant. You’re tough. Quills have to be. And if you love Adam and this is what you want, you have my full support.” From his spot, he smiled at you. “Besides, I think I’d make a pretty damn good uncle.”

Finally, you looked up to meet his gaze. “That was a dick move you pulled back there.”

Peter sighed. “I know, I’m really sorry about that.”

“And you owe Adam an apology for trying to make him feel like shit.” He watched you, probably trying to figure out your next words. Inhaling, you continued on. “But I forgive you. I know you mean well, but I can take care of myself. Adam is a really great guy and he has changed. I really want you two to get along, especially with this baby coming. I need my big brother. I need you.”

“Y/N, you couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried.” He replied, lightly throwing one of your pillows in your direction. You dodged it with a smile. “Call it a talent.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you beamed the pillow straight back. “You’re such a dork.” The imense amount of relief you felt now was so welcoming. “This baby will be lucky to have you as an uncle. I wish Yondu was here.” Though, you weren’t quite sure how your adoptive father of sorts would feel about a baby. “...I wish mom was too.”

Peter moved and pulled you into a hug--one that you didn’t realize you needed so badly. “Me too.” He admitted with a sigh. “She’d be so excited. She was the best mom, and I know she’d make an even better grandma. And I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be just as great at it as she was.”

You gave Peter a watery smile, only this time your tears were happy. “You think so?”

He chuckled. “When have I ever lied to you?” And you couldn’t help but think back to Kraglin at that.

You rested your hand on your stomach, something you had a gut feeling would become more natural as time went on. Your mind wandered to the little life inside of you. What would they look like? Adam? You? Growing something inside of you that was the product of your shared love. Even though you had only known about this baby for such a short amount of time, they were already so adored. A smile crossed your face at it all. The new chapter in your life, his life, everyone’s that had only just begun.

#Adam Warlock #Adam Warlock x Reader #Reader x Adam Warlock #gotg vol 3 #Adam Warlock Imagine #Guardians of the Galaxy #Aydith Warlock

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riconas · 10 months

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rico, i must request my boys from you. mountain/rain, can u make them messy for me pls 🙏🙏

fuck yeah water ghoul slip n slide

tags: edging, orgasm denial, hyperspermia, so much cum you guys i do not even know how to tell you how much cum we are dealing with here

nsfw under the cut!

“Oh,” Rain moans, as another spurt of pre splatters onto his stomach. “Mountain, c’mon. Not fair.”

“Life is unfair,” Mountain agrees. Propped on one elbow, stretched out beside Rain’s quivering body, he’s got the best view in the world. He drags a finger up the underside of Rain’s cock, watching it twitch. So sensitive.

Rain sniffles. “How many more?”

“Haven’t decided.” He’s so messy. So wet. Absolutely covered in his own pre, covered in Mountain’s cum. It pools in the dip of his navel, in the creases of his hips. Mountain had made Rain jerk him off first, just to taunt him. Just to show him what he was missing.

Now he closes his fingers around the tip of Rain’s cock, teasing. Drags his loose fist up and down, nothing more than a brush of skin on skin. Barely any contact, but Mountain is sure Rain’s worked up enough that he could probably cum from that alone.

That’s a plan for another day.

Another glob of pre squeezes out of his slit. Mountain gathers it up onto his fingertips and smears it across Rain’s twitching stomach. He's been at it long enough that the smaller splatters have begun to dry, thick and tacky. It’ll be a pain to clean up later.

“Mount,” Rain whines, and Mountain takes his hand away as that blushing cock twitches valiantly. Rain’s hips twitch right there with it, a sad little motion that has Mountain laying a palm on his thigh to soothe him.

(He’d normally lay that palm on Rain’s stomach, but he doesn’t feel like getting sticky handprints all over everything.)

“That looked close.”

Rain whimpers, miserable, fingers digging creases into the sheets. “It was.”

“How close?” Mountain takes the tip of Rain’s cock between his thumb and index finger, rubbing up and down. He’s really hard. It’s got to hurt.

“Really close,” Rain gasps.

Mountain doesn’t know why Rain does this to himself, really. Kinky little masochist. He grabs Rain’s cock and squeezes the base nice and tight, and Rain throws his head back, hitting the pillow with a muffled thump.

“You're horrible,” Rain groans. “I wanna cum.”

“I know.”

“Let me cum.”

“Nope.” Mountain uses a finger to press Rain’s cock against his stomach, into the puddle of sticky white fluid. It springs back up when he lets go, and a string of pre follows, stretching upwards in a milky white line. “So wet,” he says lovingly.

“Could be wetter,” Rain grits out. “If you weren’t being an ass.”

“Mm-hm.” He does it again, admiring the way it glistens in the soft light of his bedroom, and he swears Rain arches his back a little this time, bony shoulders pressing dents into the mattress.

“What will you do?”

Rain blinks stupidly up at him. “Huh?”

“Can’t think now, can you?” Mountain slaps one of his nipples, gentle and playful. Again, no force, but Rain shudders all the same. “What will you do for me? If I let you cum?”

“Anything,” Rain says immediately.

Mountain smiles. It’s always a fun question to ask, because Rain tends to forget what he says when he’s horny. Anything includes doing this again.

“Promise?”

“I swear! Please, come on, let me—”

Mountain holds out his pinky, just for good measure, and he has to hold in a laugh at how desperately Rain links his pinky with Mountain’s, thumb-to-thumb.

“Okay,” he laughs, lacing his sticky fingers with Rain’s trembling ones. “Okay, you can cum. I’m sorry, tadpole. I’m sorry I made you wait.” He wraps his fingers around Rain’s dick, feels it drool even more slick. Gives it a little twist this time, just the way Rain likes it.

“Promise you won’t stop,” Rain gasps, and Mountain does feel a little bit guilty. Like he’s broken Rain’s trust, or something—which he has, he supposes, but still. Guilty.

He leans in to press their lips together, more to shut himself up than Rain. Rain whines into it, lips parting automatically, and Mountain gives him one cursory lick before pulling away.

“Do you really need my hand?” he asks, and the way Rain’s face twists in despair has him regretting it immediately.

Not sounding very threatening, Rain hisses, “I will drown your plants.”

That’s yes, then.

“Please don’t do that,” Mountain says gently.

“Gonna cum,” Rain chokes out, and Mountain doesn’t stop this time, just keeps jacking him until he’s squirting thick, hot ropes all over himself, all over Mountain’s hand, hips jerking into his fist. His stomach gets drenched with it, the sheets thoroughly soaked with the excess dripping over the sides of his waist. There’s so much, an honest-to-Satan impossible amount. A fucking sea of cum, Mountain swears.

Rain’s got a hand thrown over his face, hiding himself, but Mountain can see the way he’s biting on his lower lip, and decides he wants to see the rest, too. He knocks that hand away, so Rain has no choice but to look at him with those wide, wet eyes, tears of overwhelm threatening to spill over.

“Good?” he asks, and Rain manages a tiny nod. “Play with it,” and Rain brings a quivering hand to his stomach, dips his fingers into the mess. Something like wonder in his eyes as he holds his hand to the light, watches it glisten.

Mountain can’t resist. He leans in and takes Rain’s fingers into his mouth, tasting him, tasting them. He groans, stroking Rain even faster, like he’s trying to milk even more out of him. Rain pushes him away.

“No more, please,” he whispers, so Mountain wipes his hand on the sheets, brushes Rain’s hair out of his eyes. That’s all he manages before Rain’s eyes are slipping shut. Straight to the post-orgasm snooze.

“You made a mess,” Mountain says softly. He dips a finger into the splatters of cum on Rain’s chest, tracing it around his nipples, along the lines of his ribs. Playing with it. Making it worse. “Better clean it up.”

Rain just nods, beyond words. His head lolls to the side, and all Mountain can see of his eyes are two dark slivers of blue, shining with unshed tears.

“M’tired,” he says absently, still not quite there. “Feed it to me.”

#a SEA of it you heard me right #the band ghost #ficlet #rico writes #mountain ghoul #rain ghoul #mountain x rain #mountain/rain #fanfiction

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itsnotjustgibberish · 2 months

Text

Wake up chat, Gibberish writing dropped!

Soul and Whole centric fic :] written with platonic intent for clarity

Warnings: General angst, unreality/depersonalization, mostly unhappy ending. Let me know if there’s anything else I should add; I’m not too experienced posting and tagging writing

^Can be read here, or below,

[…]

They always met at the beginning of the loops.

Soul knew the ‘Whole’ he met within the rainstorms wasn’t really Harmonia, or even fully real. Still, he would always take the time to sing their duets. It would always repeat the promise to revive Him. His hope would be renewed from the spring showers; hydrated so that it could hold on long enough to eventually blossom when the song regained its harmonies.

Whole was just a human being.

Soul had to remind himself of that. Over and over he reminded itself that Harmonia was not a god, not his god. He hated Soul’s reverence.

Except when he saw Him this time, it was difficult not to humble himself.

The voice of the silhouette always sounded familiar, even if He was rather blurry, but this meeting wasn’t during the beginning. Heart and Mind had already harmonized, and begun to work together. If anything, they might have already formed a Soulless-Harmonia.

So how could he come face-to-face with his Whole, now?

He had to be real. This wasn’t the beginning, he couldn’t be just a promise. He was a person, He was here. He was here with Soul. He was finally, truly meeting The Whole.

What the fuck.

The mechanisms behind his eyes began to spin out hundreds of different worries. Had it respected Him correctly? Would He be proud of The Soul’s work to reform? Would He be proud of Atlas himself..?

Soul felt his hands reach out to The Whole unthinkingly, but he did not fight it.

“{Whole?}” Despite the tone, it was no longer a question. His hands were solid against Soul’s. The touch was real. His body was real. Whole was real.

“Hello, Mr. Eclipse.”

“{How…}” He tore one hand away to cover his mouth as tears escaped his eyes. Whole squeezed the hand He still held for a moment, briefly attempting to offer comfort, before pulling His Soul into a hug instead.

“I don’t know.”

Soul leaned into the embrace, face pressing against His shoulder. The curls of His hair were an uncomfortable tickle as they brushed against him, but he could not care; it wasn’t an artificial feeling. Atlas clung on to His back, and the soft cloth of His shirt folded between his fingers. The pressure of His arms around it was like a weighted blanket keeping him free from harm. Whole did not have the same metallic coldness of Mind, nor the feverish scorching of Heart; He was a human being with a natural warmth, He was a real person. Whole was real.

Whole was real as He held the sobbing man, who’s hands shook as he clung on to Him tighter. Atlas’ nails would have drawn blood if the other’s clothes had been any thinner. Still, Whole refused to move away. Even as tears drenched His shirt, surely leaving some kind of stain, He stayed still as a comforting constant.

Suddenly yet hesitantly, Soul pulled his head away; his eyes were wide and terrified, as if he was worried the other might disappear when he let go. “{It took so fucking long for you to finally show up here. You haven’t always been able to, right?}” Soul sniffled. “{You haven’t– please tell me you haven’t left us forsaken intentionally–}” The words wobbled before splitting apart into another wave of sobs.

Atlas brought its eyes back up from the floor, tears blinked away. The terrifying thought of what His answer could be was replaced with a guilt worse than a thousand sliced nerves when its gaze met Whole’s; clouded with sadness.

“Do you think I would?” His voice lowered.

Soul felt all words leave him. He had upset Whole. They had only just met and he had already fucked up and hurt Him. What was wrong with him? What kind of vessel was he?

Whole silently hugged him again. Atlas let his arms fall to his sides; it didn’t deserve His comfort now. Of course He wouldn’t have meant to leave. He couldn’t have wanted to leave. Because what would that say about Soul? About all of them; that they were part of something so quick to push their own self away?

But He was here with him now as he cried until his head hurt. Whole eventually gave him an awkward pat on the head; which was met with Soul giggling through his sobs, wiping at his cheeks. He glanced up at the other to see him mirror the movement. Soul hadn’t noticed when Whole began crying, but there was something oddly comforting about seeing the tears on His face as well.

Whole backed away, eyes finally breaking from Soul’s to take in the room. Awe grew in The Whole’s face as He wandered around, with Atlas following right behind like a lost duckling. The impossible space of Soul’s bedroom was really the only structure in the psyche that hadn’t formed based around his house.

Harmonia looked back at Soul, and it seemed to set in that this was the place he had already spent hundreds of thousands of days in. Soul found the wonder charming, but the one wondering was not aware of that, and so he shifted his attention to avoid boring him.

“It’s rather dark in here, don’t you think?” He turned to the window, making his way over slow enough for The Eclipse to easily catch up if needed. Atlas watched a mix of sun and moon highlight His quintet-colored nails as Whole pressed the glass panes open, observing the clouds outside. “Perhaps we should cloudgaze? It’s certainly been a while.”

All the times he had spent laying beside ‘Whole’ to watch the rain clouds pass felt emptier now. It hurt, but maybe that was okay; he had the real Whole now, didn’t he? But the thought of watching the clouds together was terrifying. They would be tempting fate; disrespecting this current Parousia to return to a fake one. Soul reasoned with himself that the tears making another attempt at escape were just a remaining irritation of his eyes. It certainly could not be fear overtaking him again.

“Hey, Dawnlight,” Atlas nearly jumped as Harmonia’s hand suddenly appeared on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s okay.”

“{What… What if somehow–}”

“It will be okay.”

“{But you appeared so quickly, what if you leave just as suddenly? How can I know you won’t get lost in the rain? How can I trust you not to abandon me again?}” He took a deep breath, and avoided His eyes for fear of having to see that pain-filled expression once more. “{I’m sorry, I don’t mean to blame you– you can’t be the one to blame for this– but I have never been this fucking terrified before.}”

“It may be partly cloudy, but the rains cannot reach us today.” He motioned outside, “Look at the clouds. They’re paler than a certain Akaryocyte, aren’t they?”

Soul couldn’t help but smile at the– probably unintentional– jab at Heart, and carefully crept up beside him. “{The clouds have no rain.}”

“The clouds have no rain.” He echoed.

“{You can’t get lost.}”

Whole patted his shoulder, again, rather awkwardly. “I’m here, aren’t I?"

“{You’re real, and you are here.}”

Soul guided the other through the patch where the roof turned to smog. After a short hike, the duo settled in a low altitude meadow of cloud; lying against the soft ground.

Whole hummed a tune that Soul quickly recognized; a zeroth track the trio had already sung. He grinned, looking up at all the variations in the puffs enclosing them from above.

“Isn’t it so very fascinating to see how the clouds will form differently from such simple changes in the environment?”

“{Yes.}”

“Do you have a favorite cloud?”

“{I’ve always found interstellar ones really lovely.}”

He raised an eyebrow. “Those aren’t the ones I meant, silly.”

“{You should’ve specified water molecules. I bet you’d hate to find out my favorite color is technically a value.}” He laughed, and paused. “{…Your favorite color is still pink, right?}”

“Yup.”

“{Do you dislike how we connect you to gold, then?}”

“Nah. I think it’s fun to see the symbolism you three have made. Besides, Atlas, don’t you think I would get sick of it if everything around me was constantly pink?”

Soul laughed again, and sat up. “{Fair enough.}”

He grabbed a clump of the cloud beneath him, and carefully began to shape it. Whole rolled onto His stomach, watching His third before looking back at the sky. Giggling to himself, Soul set the flower he had created atop His head, catching His eye before focusing on creating another. A few more flowers joined the first, as well as a sun and moon, before either of them broke the comfortable silence again.

“{What are you gonna say to Heart and Mind when you meet them?}” He asked.

Harmonia looked at him thoughtfully before eventually giving up on an answer with a shrug. He carefully sat up as to not let the clouds fall from his hair, and moved to sit beside Soul. It leaned against The Whole, and closed his eyes. His shoulder was solid and comfortable beneath his head, and so were the clouds holding them up.

“Soul?”

“{Hm?}”

“I’m not real.”

“{I…}” The vessel opened his eyes, trying to steady its breathing before looking at the void beside him.

“You know that, don’t you?”

“{…The lie was comforting.}”

“I know.”

Soul could barely see into His eyes anymore.

“You have to join them, Atlas.” The name once held so much tranquility, but now it felt like a toxin ripping apart each and every molecule of his being. The sweetness of it left a bitter aftertaste now; it was a horrid reminder that Soul could never be its own person to truly meet Whole. If the trio intertwined and formed Whole physically, Soul would no longer exist to see Him. If the trio became Whole by harmonizing and working together as individuals, the Harmonia he wanted so desperately to meet would never exist.

Soul would never meet Whole.

“{I can’t lose you.}”

”You won’t—“ Whole was cut off as the other yelled.

”{I know that! I know the three of us will form you again. I know you and I are intertwined; the real Whole was what we repaired along the way, or whatever cliché shit, but I can’t lose the presence here now. I can’t lose you!}”

Whether the wetness on his face was caused by tears or rain, Soul wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. It was already too late. It clutched its arms around himself, and sobbed harder when the only response was a cold zephyr carrying the smell of storms. He tried to dig his hands into the ground beneath him, desperately searching for something solid or something real, but the clouds only dissipated with the extra pressure. Soul brought its knees to his chest, and let his head fall forward as he cradled them.

Eventually he ran a sleeve across his face in a half-hearted attempt to clean it. Taking a heavy breath, Atlas looked back down at the empty space beside him, and forced his legs to stand and walk. The Eclipse spoke to the void one final time.

“{Stratocumulus.}” Was the only word to break the silence before he started the path back home to his other halves.

Soul would never meet Whole, but Harmonia was still waiting for him.

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sarahscribbles · 2 years

Text

Kinktober Day Eighteen || Face Sitting

Word count: 2.5k

Pairing: Loki x f!reader

Kinktober Masterlist

Main Loki Masterlist

His skin was soft and cool beneath your lips, the faint musky scent of patchouli still clinging to him as the day neared its end. It was a scent as familiar to you as your own heartbeat, yet you still breathed it in like fresh oxygen while you continued marking him.

The pale column of his neck was sharply contrasted by the inky black curls that fanned out around it, and tonight a patchwork of red and purple covered him at random courtesy of your mouth. The heady feeling of marking him as yours was one you could almost get drunk on, and you wanted to cover every inch of his elegant neck and collarbone with little purple bruises.

You wanted to ensure there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was yours.

When your lips shifted position so you were sucking a new bruise directly over his pulse point, Loki groaned softly and you swore his back lifted from the cotton sheets. “I believe,” he swallowed, “I believe you’ve made your point, dove,” he said, his voice already having turned raspy with desire.

With one final sharp nip to his neck, one that had him pull against the restraints of his own making, you pulled back to meet his gaze. “My prince, I haven’t even begun making my point,” you told him sweetly, feeling a tingle shoot through your core when his green eyes darkened.

He relaxed back against the pillows, offering you a lazy smirk as though you had told him something he found only slightly amusing. “Is that so?” His eyes twinkled at you. “What are you going to do to me, dove?”

Even in his current situation - naked and restrained by his own magic until you said the word that would release him - he was still cocky as ever.

“You better be careful, my love.” Your voice was low and full of warning, and you leaned in just close enough to brush the tip of your nose against his. “Or it might become a question of what I’m not going to do to you.”

Loki’s face remained impassive - a blank mask of feigned indifference to the obvious threat - but you caught the brief hitch of his breath and the faint dusting of pink that coloured his pale cheeks. The power you had over him in moments like this was a kind you wouldn’t surrender for all the money on earth.

“Do you understand?” you asked him, tracing a single finger down his muscled chest and delighting in how he shivered beneath your touch.

“Yes.” His answer was immediate.

Satisfied, you kissed him, slow and long enough that you tasted the faint trace of mint that still clung to his lips. “Good boy,” you said quietly when you pulled away, not missing how his hips lifted off the bed at your praise. “You are going to be good for me, aren’t you?”

He groaned again, low and deep in his throat and pulled loosely against the wisps of green seidr curled around his wrists. “Yes,” he repeated.

You gave another quick peck to his lips. “Good, because good boys get rewarded,” you said, beginning a trail of slow, wet kisses down his chest, each press of your lips to his skin making him roll his hips against the mattress. “Bad boys, though…well, you don’t want to find out what happens to bad boys.” You let your teeth graze the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, and he audibly whimpered above you, a quiet sound that had a pleasant tingle shoot through your core.

“Please, dove,” he began to beg softly. “Please touch me.”

His cock was red and angry and already weeping from your brief attention as you moved to straddle his thighs. It was begging for your touch, for the warmth of your hand, mouth or cunt, but you waited, refusing to give him what he wanted so desperately.

“Where would you like me to touch you, my love?” you cooed. “Here?” You ran one finger lightly along the skin of his thigh where your teeth had been only moments before, feeling him tense beneath your touch. “Or maybe here?” You let one hand wrap loosely around his throbbing cock, so loose that all he would feel was the ghost of your touch.

“Fuck,” he groaned again beneath you, attempting to buck his hips in search of more friction.

A smirk tugged at your lips, unseen by him, and you decided to add to his torment. Slowly, so slowly that it didn’t appear as though your hand was even moving, you stroked his length from base to tip, allowing your thumb to just ghost over the sensitive head.

Not that it granted him even a modicum of relief.

“Dove…please…please,” he continued to beg, his voice already sounding strained with how badly he craved more of your touch.

You removed your hand from around him and he sagged back against the pillows, cheeks burning pink and his hands balled into fists above his head. “Begging me already?” you teased him, and he glared back at you. “That took less than five minutes. I’ve lasted longer than that,” you added, knowing how easily you were poking the dragon.

“When I’m free of these restraints you’ll be begging me for a month for release,” he shot back, green eyes glinting dangerously.

“Mmm,” you purred, leaning forward until your face was just out of his grip. “You can’t get out of those restraints until I allow it, my love. Or did you forget about that?”

“You truly think I can’t escape from my own magic?”

“Go ahead,” you encouraged him, though you weren’t entirely sure if he was lying or not. When his nostrils flared and he fell silent again beneath you, you knew he had been bluffing. You smirked wickedly at him and rested your weight back against his thighs. “I did warn you what would happen to bad boys, didn’t I?”

One by one you wrapped your fingers back around his aching cock, this time with just enough pressure that he would feel something, and began to stroke him slowly. The groan he released was low, almost primal, and his inky black curls fanned out around him a halo when he tilted his head back on the pillow with the small degree of pleasure you were granting him. The sight of him - half gone to the tiny bit of pleasure you were allowing him - sent fresh arousal of your own pooling between your thighs. He was a god - a literal god - yet here he was keening beneath your hand.

“Does that feel good?” you cooed at him, watching the muscles in his stomach tense and ripple with each stroke of your hand.

His answer was another deep groan that vibrated in his chest, and you saw his hands ball into fists on either side of his head. “Faster,” he said, his eyes fluttering closed in anticipation.

Unseen by him, you smirked, seeing the perfect chance, the perfect opportunity, to repay him for many similar nights.

“Beg for it,” you said simply. His eyes instantly shot open, glaring at you while his nostrils flared. You didn’t stop stroking him, didn’t stop giving him the smallest taste of what was just within his grasp, but still, he hesitated.

Green eyes continued to glint at you and you could see the effort it was taking to hide just how good your hand was making him feel. “And what if I don’t?” he replied, the barest hint of defiance creeping into his voice.

Fine. If he wanted to keep being a brat.

Without any warning, you stopped stroking him and lifted your hand from around his cock. Loki whined and lifted his hips off the mattress in a fruitless attempt at chasing the friction it had been giving him.

“You’ve already earned yourself one strike. Do you really want to add another?” you purred at him.

He said nothing, but his broad chest rose and fall with a series of slow, deep breaths, the last of which took his remaining defiance with it. “No,” he answered finally, green eyes still glimmering at you.

“Then be a good boy and beg,” you repeated slowly.

His face was impassive as he continued to weigh his options, so to offer him some encouragement, you trailed a single finger along his red and weeping cock, slowly and lightly running over the tip until he groaned, loudly, and his hips rose again almost of their own accord.

You drew your hand away.

“Please, dove! I need more! Please!” he finally cracked, gasping the words out and pulling against his restraints until they pulsed a vibrant shade of emerald green.

“See? Was that so hard?” you continued to taunt him, returning a hand to stroke him but only with two light fingers.

“Fuck,” he breathed out quietly, lips curling back over his teeth. With every lazy stroke of your fingers, his breathing came harder and his cheeks grew pinker. Even at the height of his frustration he still looked beautiful. “Please, dove….faster,” he began to beg again, strong arms tensed against the wooden headboard of the bed.

You pretended to consider it and when you saw the brief light of relief dance in his eyes, you removed your fingers from his cock again. “No,” you told him sweetly, and he all but growled with frustration beneath you, sinking back into the mattress with deep, laboured breaths. “You’re going to make me come on that pretty face first, and you’re going to beg me to let you.”

His cock twitched in front of you, betraying how your words had only added to his arousal, but he remained quiet, swallowing thickly while his eyes bored into yours. When the silence only grew, you quirked an eyebrow at him and began to climb off his thighs, watching his blank expression quickly change to one of panicked desperation.

“Fine,” you said, moving as if to climb off the bed. “You’d clearly rather stay like this, so -”

“Please!” Loki interrupted before you could even finish your threat. “Please, dove…I want…I want to make you come…on my face. Sit on my face. Please.”

You gave him a winning smile and leaned in to kiss him, his lips eagerly parting against yours. “You only had to ask, my love,” you teased him when your lips left his.

You straddled his waist once again, moving along his body until your thighs rested on each side of his head. Teasingly, you brought your dripping cunt closer to his face, until his mouth was parting eagerly to taste you, but pulled back out of his reach at the very last second. You repeated the action again until he whined and turned pleading eyes up to you.

“Please, dove. Let me taste you,” he begged quietly.

“Only because you asked so sweetly,” you replied, and finally rested close enough for him to reach.

Loki’s warm tongue was instantly diving into you, licking and sucking so incessantly that you cried out and slammed your hands against the wooden beam of the headboard. The position allowed him to hit spots you hadn’t known existed. It was bliss. He ran the tip of his tongue firmly along the length of your cunt, the sensation so exquisite that you began to grind shamelessly against his face.

“Fuck, Loki!” you exclaimed, throwing your weight forward onto your hands. “Keep doing that!”

He hummed beneath you and you whimpered, fingers tightening around the headboard until your knuckles were white. Loki obeyed easily, lapping wondrously at your cunt and allowing his tongue to teasingly slip inside. The moan that escaped you was pulled deep from your lungs at how good he was making you feel. He had gone down on you so many times - too many to count - but this was a new feeling entirely, one you knew was going to have you explode around him in a matter of minutes.

You released your grip on the bed, changing instead to rest your weight behind you and wiggle your hips against every lap of his tongue. Loki alternated between long, firm strokes that had your hands balling into fists in the sheets, and teasing little circles and swirls that made you wriggle your hips against his tongue in search of more.

More than he was only too happy to give you.

He was relentless, not giving you a second to collect or prepare yourself until he was driving you towards release. His tongue settled wondrously against your clit and you clamped a hand into his hair to anchor his head there, not missing the mischievous glint in his eyes when you did.

“Yes! Stay there! Fuck, stay there!” you said breathlessly, tilting your head back while you rode his face.

The coil in your stomach was twisting tighter and tighter, and it was your turn to groan when Loki’s lips latched around your clit, sucking and licking until you toppled over the glorious edge. His name was pulled from your lips in a scream that bounced off the walls of the room, and he didn’t slow down his pace while you frantically rolled your hips over him chasing every ounce of pleasure he was giving you. You saw stars, saw entire galaxies, burst behind your eyes - your orgasm so strong you feared that you might pass out on his face. It left a blinding warmth in your core and Loki gently nipped at your thighs while you came down from your high - a high that had kept going and going and going.

A little lethargically, you pulled yourself off him, delighting in how your arousal still glinted on his lips and feeling a fresh stirring when his tongue darted out to lick it off. “Silvertongue definitely suits you,” you said, throwing an arm over your forehead to catch your breath as you flopped down beside him.

He shifted slightly next to you and you waited, wanting to see how long it would take him.

It didn’t even take a minute.

“Dove?” he spoke, his voice heavy with need and desperation.

“Hmm?” you answered, turning your head to look at him.

He was peering at you with big, pleading eyes - a look that would have worked on you once upon a time. “Please?” he said quietly, his gaze drifting to his still throbbing cock.

You rolled back easily onto your knees but made no move as if to touch him. “Do you remember how I said you wouldn’t want to find out what happened to bad boys?” you said softly. His face fell, which only made you smile wickedly at him. “You don’t get to come tonight,” you told him simply.

He opened his mouth to argue, the dangerous glint returning to his eyes, but you didn’t give him the chance to say a word. “If!” you raised your voice over his objections, “if you can be good and not come for two days, only two, then you can fuck me however you want on the third.”

You could see the fight in his eyes, but he knew better than to argue. He had kept you denied for much longer than two days.

“Can you be good for me?” you asked, tracing a finger down his chest.

He exhaled heavily through his nose. “Yes, but trust me, dove, you aren’t going to be capable of walking for a week when I’m done with you.”

The smile you gave him was impish. “I’m counting on it, my prince.”

Tags: @cake-writes @sineads-art @thedistractedagglomeration @joyful-enchantress @amethyst-dow @sailorholly @hyperfixating-on-loki @vickie5446 @el-zef @all-envy-suyu @123forgottherest

#loki #loki smut #loki x reader #kinktober

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zgvlt · 2 years

Text

stop and stare riddle rosehearts x reader

summary: Everyone thinks Riddle likes you, and that you like him back, but the truth isn't always so pretty. Slowly but surely, he works through his complicated feelings for you.

tags: gender neutral reader, sfw, light angst, jealousy (and not the cute kind), pre-relationship, rivals to friends to maybe more than friends, academic rivalry, happy/hopeful ending, 8.0k+ words, not beta read

author's note (see end notes for more): This was supposed to be funny, light-hearted, & fluffy, but I wrote and wrote and then the tone changed unexpectedly, but things end on a good note! Happy Birthday Riddle!

you can also read this on AO3

Sometimes, Riddle couldn’t help himself from staring. He knew it was rude to stare so often, but during those few moments—when you would pass him by in the hallways, when you took the same classes as him, when you sat near him during lunch—without fail, his eyes seemed to find themselves drawn to your figure.

Arguably, it was always worse during meal times, when there were no professors or papers to distract himself with.

His lips twitched, inching downwards as he felt his grip on his fork tighten. He was being too reactive again. Maybe he wasn’t actually getting better at controlling his temper.

“Riddle-kun~? You’re meant to eat the cake, not butcher it!” Cater said, and though he tried to keep the atmosphere pleasant with a short bout of laughter and a smile, the redhead knew he was concerned over something , a something Riddle knew he would try to figure out.

Much to Riddle’s pleasure, Cater has always been good at reading the mood, and he’s grateful the third-year was willing to steer the conversation himself instead of waiting for the other to explain.

“You’ve been staring mindlessly for a few minutes now. You’re always helping us as our dorm leader, so Cay-kun will definitely listen if something’s wrong, you know!”

He nodded in response, genuine about his answer. Sure, he preferred to keep his more private problems to himself for as long as he could, confiding in Trey, his childhood friend, if need be, but Cater was someone he could definitely trust with a secret or two, although he had yet to really do so.

At the very least, he was sure that he could let slip some of his more… current concerns and personal feelings without fear of being mocked. Someone not too harsh or disrespectful when it comes to giving advice, but someone not too afraid of him, who would just listen to whatever he says with a nod of approval to mask disapproval.

“And you’ll definitely tell me if you, you know, start liking someone, right?”

Riddle sputtered, quickly using his free hand to cover up the incoming coughs. To everyone else, it might have looked like he had choked on his food, and his dining companion was quick to aid to that conclusion with a glass of water being pushed towards him, but he had not even taken a bite since having begun the topic with Cater. It would have been bad manners to talk with food in his mouth—a disrespect to his conversation partner, and to the chefs who made the food he was eating.

Still, it might have been less embarrassing to have been perceived as having momentarily lost his usual composure as opposed to having someone eavesdrop the topic at hand.

“Haah, where is this coming from?” Riddle slid the glass back to Cater, opting to take a sip of his tea instead. It was a little regretful, his having chosen to take it hot, for a colder drink would certainly soothe him and lower his rising ire. “I see that you’re implying something, so I’ll be setting it straight right now that I haven’t even thought of romance for myself, not since that incident with the bride.”

“Man, it’s really just like you to shut the idea down so quickly… So, are you saying you wouldn’t tell me?”

“How am I supposed to answer something so hypothetical?”

That was to say, he wouldn’t provide an answer regarding a situation yet to occur, but he could envision how he would act. He’d probably keep it to himself for a week or so, just in case he needed to verify if it was actually a crush and not just him feeling affectionate in a heightened platonic sense, and then he’d tell… Trey would act too obvious if he knew, so he would hesitate to tell his friend, so Cater…

Actually, perhaps he would tell no one, for he had a feeling they would unwittingly be the cause of unnecessary dramatics, to put it lightly.

“But if I had to tell anyone, I suppose I would tell you,” Riddle conceded, trusting that the third-year at least had the decency to not post about it all over MagiCam.

The orange-haired boy sighed, almost in relief, as he nodded his head, a few strands of his hair swinging with the motion. “Right! Like, I told everyone if you really did, you’d trust me enough to tell me, but they keep asking anyway! Everyone’s been saying that you…”

“That I…?”

Cater paused, likely realizing a few things, among which were to lower his speaking volume, as well as to word his words very carefully.

“I guess I probably should tell you what they’ve been saying, huh?”

Though Riddle’s not concerned about being the most popular student in school or anything, he couldn’t deny at least being proud of his standing. For Cater to mention it, it must be something different from the usual fear he caused due to the rules he upheld. Even then, at least that fear came with respect.

In an unknown instance like this, was it not natural to care about his reputation being tarnished?

“It’s not bad or anything, is it?”

“Definitely not!” Cater waved his hands around, trying to reassure him that it really wasn’t, “I guess it’s more… neutral territory?”

“Then I want to hear it.” Regardless if it was good or bad, he would have said yes to hearing it, but he was relieved it was not a case of terrible rumors being spread about him. It would be quite troublesome having to find and deal with the perpetrators, after all.

His upperclassman sucked in a breath, looking at the direction he was staring at a while ago, another sigh of relief escaping him as he found the seat empty, the one previously sitting there having long left the table.

“People, as in, a lot of people seem to think that you like…” Riddle could have guessed who was being referred to even with an omission, but he could not help himself from stabbing his fork just a little more through the cake slice at the mention of your name. “As in, like-like.”

“Of course like-like, that’s what a crush is, is it not?” Riddle could roll his eyes in discontent, but he was too preoccupied with the feeling of embarrassment that overcame him. Still, he could not pretend to be surprised at the outcome—he should have been more subtle, or perhaps just not looked at you in the first place.

Though… Did he actually look at you that much? No one else had ever pointed it out to his face before, so he thought he was being subtle enough.

“Hmm… You look bothered, but not surprised,” Cater pointed out, not bothering to mask the hint of surprise lacing his voice. “Eh? Could it be that there’s some truth to the rumors? I mean, in terms of aesthetics, I can see how you would like—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cater. I am not a person who focuses on appearances, but like I’ve already mentioned, I don’t like anyone that way,” and if you ask him, he’s never actually thought about you in such ways—both measuring your attractiveness, as well as seeing you as a romantic prospect. He currently has no time for either or.

“So why do you stare so hard? I don’t know if you know this, but it’s kind of bad . As in, pretty sure even the P.O.I. knows type of obvious.”

With pursed lips, he debated over how to phrase his answer, about how honest he would be over the situation, before simply letting go of whatever hesitations he had left.

“It’s because I’m jealous.”

There was a new rumor brewing amongst the halls of Night Raven College.

New, which meant a whole week had gone by since the rumor first started, or at least so Cater said, and one of two subjects of the rumor had only just found out about it.

It seemed that people were particularly careful about not letting him hear, or perhaps he was simply too preoccupied with other things to really listen in on whispers, because once he learned about it, he could not help but tune in to mentions of either his name or yours.

It turns out that Cater was actually being considerate of him too, because like wasn’t the word commonly uttered—no, people seemed to think that he was in love with you.

Riddle really wasn’t surprised by the outcome of his constant staring, schools were, ironically, a breeding ground for misinformation, though it’s just a little unfortunate that the most likely conclusion for his actions ended up being incorrect, that the truth wasn’t very cute and sweet but was rather… for a lack of a better term, unkind.

Riddle Rosehearts was nothing but the best, not a boast but a fact. Even in subjects he did not particularly excel in, he put in all his effort so that nobody could discount the hard work he had put in. He was intelligent, yes, but years upon years of studying day and night had shaped him that way. It wasn’t just natural and it perplexed him at times, the way people thought he could just break free from his routine, to put his books away and somehow retain his position as number one.

Of course he could not stop.

He hasn’t stopped thinking about it, even though he doesn’t remember much of the details in the first place. The truth had been too muddled by his own perceptions, or perhaps it was a case of him wanting to forget it all. But he could not, and should not forget—he had to remember how it felt to be second, to fuel himself for the next time, because he actually had more stakes in showing the extent of his brilliance.

That day… either he or you approached the other first, and you shook hands and congratulated each other on your respective placements. It was congenial, it was polite, it was the picture-perfect representation of two of NRC’s outstanding students. You smiled, and although it was easy to see it was not even the slightest bit condescending, it still put a bitter taste in his mouth. He wondered if he smiled back.

Among all other things, he remembered most what he had been thinking of. It was not a sudden hatred for you, for he was not so unreasonable, nor had he fallen in love due to your intelligence or capabilities. No, at that moment he remembered his mother, his childhood, and he had been filled with the realization that perhaps, even after everything, he was still not good enough.

Was it fair to you that whenever he looked at you, that moment was all he could really think about? No, and he wanted to stop, and maybe even apologize despite you not knowing anything about what he was feeling, but it was more difficult than he initially thought.

In any other case, he would have made an attempt to disprove the rumors, or at the very least dissuade people from making assumptions, creating rumors about him. After all, it was incredibly disrespectful to the both of you— especially you, considering you were just minding your own business. However, shame over his emotions held him back from doing so.

In the long run, he knew that he just had to study some more, perhaps more efficiently, to catch up to you and earn back his spot as the best student of his year, as he once was before you took that spot. As for the short term, if he couldn’t settle his jealousy right away, then there was always one simple solution—all he had to do was stop looking at you.

Eventually, people would think that he lost interest in you, maybe even realize that they were simply mistaken, and the rumors would die. Everything would return back to normal.

He just hoped that, somehow, you didn’t hear of the rumors, or at the very least refused to believe them. Somehow, the idea of you knowing embarrassed him most of all.

Another week passed before a new rumor erupted in Night Raven College, and much to Riddle’s bewilderment, the both of you were the subject once more. The act of gossiping was something he couldn’t exactly approve of, but if the students really had to, did they not have anything more interesting to talk about? Why were they not old news already? There were bound to be topics far more interesting than a crush he didn’t even have in the first place!

“What is it this time? Don’t tell me people are warping it to something far worse now,” because quite frankly, he did his due diligence to stop looking at you so much, keep his jealousy at bay and manifest that energy in other ways, like just working harder. Less distraction, more concentration mentality.

“No, not at all! Or, at least by my standards, but you might not agree.” There was something about Cater’s words, paired with Trey’s own humming, that had him a little more nervous than he thought he would be. Should be. Why were they all making such a big deal out of this?

“Actually… you know how people think you like… you know who?”

“Haha, you know who? We sound like children. Can’t we say a name?” Despite finding it ridiculous, or perhaps just funny, Trey chose to go along with it. “But you do know, right? Cater said he told you, but I wasn’t sure if you believed him.”

“Hard not to when the evidence speaks for itself,” and continues to speak—endlessly, actually. Everyone was as subtle talking about him as he, allegedly, was when it came to staring at you. Additionally, some braver souls tried to get him to slip up by mentioning your name, giggling and snickering amongst themselves as they anticipated his answer, only to be left disappointed as he neither confirmed nor denied anything, only talking about boring things like your grades and work ethic.

Honestly, in a world where Riddle did like you and he wasn’t too busy covering up something else, he would have had them collared already.

“I thought everything would just die down naturally. What happened?”

“Apparently~” Cater began to say, with a tone laced with amusement, “people think the feeling’s mutual and that you’re both just too shy to do anything about it. Croomfs, as they would say on MagiCam. Oh, that’s short for–ah, Riddle-kun?”

Riddle felt his face heat up, and he had just enough self-awareness to know he must’ve been turning red—maybe out of exasperation, maybe of discountenance, or perhaps just pure fluster. Regardless, he was in utter disbelief at how something could have escalated in such a manner.

“Riddle, calm down,” Trey warned him, likely concerned that he was going to blow up. If you asked Riddle, he thought he was actually doing quite well at being calm. For instance, he wasn’t immediately asking who started the rumor in the first place, or screaming, or stabbing his dessert like last time.

He really did want to scream, though, but he’ll… use up that energy for P.E. with Coach Vargas. Maybe he’ll shock everyone with how much better he’s performing and net himself a higher grade than you.

“You’re both staring at me as if I’ll burst out crying or something. Don’t underestimate me,” he sighed. It was his fault anyway, the reason this all started, so whatever you might have said or done to worsen the rumors would all be attributed to him in the first place. “But I don’t get it. At least on my end there was a reason, but as far as I know, isn’t that much just baseless?”

“Baseless?” Trey exclaimed, clearly surprised at his interpretation. “So you haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“Ah, we can’t have our dorm leader stay clueless, can we? Try looking to your left, behind you, but do it slowly so you look casual about it.”

That meant where you usually sat, right? He deliberately sat facing away from your table so he wouldn’t subconsciously stare, but here he was, about to casually look at you—whatever a casual look even meant.

Well, Cater was the expert at things like this, right? Look slowly? He could do that.

He turned his head around, and it wasn’t long before he spotted you sitting at your usual table and in the Queen’s name, did you just make eye contact with him?

Before you could say or do anything, he whipped his head back quickly, staring down his plate of food. From the reflection of his spoon, he could tell he had turned red again, though even if he had not looked, it was obvious by the way Trey tried to cover up his snickering with unconvincing coughs.

“So cute, isn’t it?” Riddle didn’t know what or who Cater was referring to as cute , but maybe he preferred not to know something, just this once. “You get it now, right? You’re being stared at, too~ isn’t the conclusion natural?”

Were you really? He was trying not to stare at you, so obviously he wasn’t going to notice you looking if he wasn’t looking.

“It’s most likely a case of trying to figure out why I was staring in the first place,” Riddle excused, though he found it to be a very logical reason. Despite not knowing you very well, he figured you wouldn’t be the type to have feelings for someone you’ve had less than 20 conversations with, a majority of which involved the word congratulations or good job .

“Wait, why were you staring in the first place?” Trey asked, “I mean, I do have my suspicions, but Cater wouldn’t say. He was bragging about how he knew something about you that I didn’t.”

“I’ll explain later,” because talking about it in the cafeteria, he realized, was probably a bad idea. Quite honestly, he was surprised no one had learned the truth—all they had to do was eavesdrop on him. “I just don’t get it. We’re not even friends, so how are people jumping to these kinds of conclusions?”

“Because people like to romanticize everything, duh! Will they, won’t they, strangers to lovers, or maybe even a secret relationship type of beat! So shippable! ♪”

“Haah , I don’t… no, never mind. The issue is, how do I get the rumors to stop?”

“You could talk about it? With, you know, since you’re both in the same boat now,” Trey supplied, though Riddle had to disagree. He’d thought about that too, but…

“Might just worsen things. People will see it as relationship development instead,” Cater said, seemingly having thought the same as Riddle. Honestly, he just hoped he could think of something to do to finally put everything to rest.

It’s for both of your sakes. He wanted to be able to focus on studying without thinking of you, or having people think he likes you.

Plus, although he can’t exactly say he likes you, he still respects you as a fellow top student. There was no way you could be dense enough not to notice, and even if you were he was sure your friends would have told you about him. Surely you were bothered by it, and that you were just being nice by not chewing him out.

Actually, did you even know you fanned the flames towards the rumor?

Riddle wasn’t one to rely on fate, but perhaps he should have gotten his fortune read by Cater, and maybe then he would have been warned of what was to come exactly a week after.

He had always been good at practical magic, with the upside that it was one of the few subjects he was confident he was better at than you, so he always looked forward to attending this class in particular. However, the teacher seemed to want to change his mind.

It wasn’t unheard of to have a partner for a project, but professors usually went by alphabetical order, or just let students choose their own pairs. If not that, then some professors would put who they deemed more responsible with the troublemaker, just for one to keep the other in line. He’s had his fair share of the latter.

What he had not been expecting was having to choose a playing card from what seemed to be an incomplete standard deck, the professor clearly having taken some out to match the number of students in the class.

“Remember, your partner will be someone from the same suit as you. For instance, two of spades pairs with three of spades, four with five, six and seven, eight and nine, ten and Jack, Queen and King.”

He looked at the card in his hand, the Queen of Hearts. Why did she look so daunting so suddenly, when he idolized her all this time?

“Riddle?”

Right. He might have not relied on fate, or even luck or karma, but he just had a feeling something like this would happen.

It was interesting how a few simple actions could blow up to something more in the eyes of others, almost fascinating to observe had he not been one of the two subjects being analyzed. At his position, it was just irritating.

“The King of Hearts,” even without eyeing your card, he would have known. Things that had him in disbelief seemed to just keep happening these days. “You should sit down, then. So that everyone else can go back to what they were doing.”

He really couldn’t help himself then, but it was truly becoming more vexing as time went on. Plus, it was difficult to hold any regrets when you seemed to agree.

“Yes, it would be bad if people couldn’t focus because of us.”

Aside from the lone cry of how unfair it was that the top two students got paired up together, it was obvious people were amused at the coincidental pairing. He turned to properly look at you—it’s been a while since he’s done that—wondering if you were irritated or flustered, but you seemed more bemused than anything.

“If the cards weren’t shuffled in front of us, I would have said the pairing was rigged,” you commented as you strolled over to him, a chair dragged with you as you sat down by his side. “Sorry. This is likely my fault.”

“No. I won’t deny that it’s worsened, but you just… everyone who escalated it to such an unreasonable degree definitely has fault as well, but I do take blame for having started it,” by staring at you in the first place, but why were you staring at me as well by the way? Even after I’ve stopped? I know it’s definitely not romantic, and you don’t seem to glare in contempt, so what do you feel towards me?

“It’s fine, I don’t really mind. Rumors just come and go.”

Well, you didn’t seem to hate him, that or you were a really good actor, but you seemed to be honest enough. Admittedly, he had his doubts about how long it would truly take for this specific rumor to go away, but he would not deny feeling less guilty. If you could ignore it, then he should have that same ability too.

“Yes, you have a point,” Riddle said with a hum, procuring himself a notebook and pen, “so, let’s get planning, shall we?”

Riddle had to admit, it was so easy to get jealous of you, but you were probably the best groupmate he would ever have. Yes, he still had his bouts of inadequacy, discontent, how you could possibly manage to contest him in academics, but with that came admiration, respect, and currently, appreciation .

There was just something about being able to split parts equally, the way he can trust you to actually do your assigned tasks, that your research would come from reliable sources and be properly cited, and that your work would require only little corrections on his part, perhaps some suggestions.

In the same light, receiving not merely praise, but actual well-thought out critiques from you was something he liked more than he cared to admit. Just praise, particularly about his intelligence, was normal, if not expected. Just insults (and not critiques, there was a difference) did nothing but anger him. You were not just efficient, but well-mannered.

It was nice to have someone reliable like you.

“I was listening to your debate, during history of magic,” you suddenly said, just as the two of you began discussing the next step of your project, “it was incredibly enthralling. Of course, that is to be expected considering the topic was about the Queen of Hearts’ governance, of course you know a lot about her, but it was clear you don’t just read from the textbooks, but you create your own analysis as well by comparing multiple accounts and taking into consideration perspectives of past and present. Your opponent hardly stood a chance.”

But it still annoyed him, just a bit, how likable you could be. It made him feel guilty for how he inwardly antagonized you in his head, the way he saw you as an obstacle to beat so he can claim his spot as the top student of the year. Even worse was how he couldn’t quite get rid of those feelings completely. He could forget about it for a while, but then it would just… come back.

He needed to get a grip.

“You remembered that? That was a month ago, wasn’t it?” He was sure you were referring to the time Professor Trein had them debate about the Great Seven—it was rather heated, considering every student happened to have a favorite they were particularly passionate about, and it was no surprise he chose to talk about the Queen of Hearts herself. He was from Heartslabyul and the Queendom of Roses, so was it not a given?

Still, he was proud of himself for his performance back then, even if his opponent, as you said, didn’t stand a chance.

He wondered how things would have turned out if you were the one he had to go against. How would it feel to lose, and yet have a fulfilling discussion? How would it feel to win? How much different would it feel to win and to lose if it was against you?

“But there’s no need to flatter me. Public speaking is something I’m used to, so writing speeches and reciting them comes naturally to me now.”

“Mhm? If that’s the case, then I’m glad to be paired with you. Ah, not that I wasn’t already,” you said with a laugh. It was such an odd statement to make, in a way. First of all, it wasn’t like you needed his help, you would have done well with anyone as your partner—of course you would, you had to be number one for a reason. Second, he hadn’t expected you to actually verbalize it. Third,

“Really? I thought you would want to avoid having me as your partner,” because he certainly did, “because of the rumors, specifically.”

“Oh, you’re still concerned about those?”

Riddle liked to address the rumors as though he didn’t care about them (when he truly did), telling people off for whispering and gossiping in general, but there was a stark difference between him and you.

With one question he could tell you never truly cared about it, like it was white noise you could simply tune out. He envied how nonchalant you seemed, the realization that he might’ve been the only one who was bothered and bothered to think about how to get the gossip to die down.

“You’re not?”

“I’m looking on the bright side is all,” you said, though he wasn’t sure what advantages there were in having people assume he liked you, or you liked him, or that the two of you were secretly dating. “But the reason I’m glad to be paired with you is that I finally have the chance to talk to you… and work together with you. I mean, we share a few classes, and we’re both top students, but we don’t really talk. I thought we’d get more chances to talk.”

While you seemed to be telling the truth, there was something artificial about your tone, causing Riddle to wonder what you honestly thought about being his partner in the first place. He didn’t want to doubt you, but he just did.

“You do have a point. We’ve never been paired up together before,” and, really, had Riddle paid that much attention to you before you landed yourself the top rank? Thinking about it now, he doesn’t remember much of you from his first year.

“Exactly. Plus, I’ve always thought you were a good person, trying to help both your under and upperclassmen. But I’ve always just seen you do things, does that make sense? I just feel it might be nice to actually get to know you this time, don’t you agree?”

Did he agree? On one hand, he won’t deny that he’s enjoyed himself, finding it pleasant talking to you, and to add to that the project has been nothing but smooth sailing. On the other hand, becoming your partner for this project didn’t do anything to remove his jealousy, it just made him hate himself for being jealous in the first place, towards someone who’s talked nothing but kindly about him, to him.

Worse, apart from academics, he’s found other things to be jealous of.

“Yes, I’m glad the feeling is mutual,” Riddle finally replied, and then he had to remember the rumor at the worst possible time. He knew neither of you were talking about romance, but why did he have to choose that word? The word Cater used?

“Riddle? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” not quite, but he would be, as soon as he stopped thinking about it. You didn’t care about the rumor, so he should work harder to get it out of his head as well. It would be better if he stopped caring about matters to do with you overall. “I believe I just need some fresh air. I’m not sure if you’ve heard of this before, but it’s said that pacing as you study helps you memorize things faster. For our script, it might be a good idea to—”

“Oh, that’s a great idea, Riddle!” He found himself naturally smiling at the comment, only to momentarily freeze in his seat when you continued, “Since we already have our first draft, we could exchange lines while going on a walk. We can consider this our first dry run!”

Riddle let out a noisy exhale, despite knowing it was bad manners to do so. It was a good idea, and it would certainly allow the both of you to have good chemistry while presenting, but he could just see how walking around the school together would bring more attention to the both of you.

“Just leave your things here. No one would dare steal from you considering you’re my,” Riddle let out a small hum, “partner.”

It was a difficult affair, attempting to carry an air of nonchalance about him, but he attempted to do so anyway as he unlocked the door, allowing anyone and everyone to peer into Heartslabyul’s private studying room and just who he had been there with.

For once, it was actually silent in the dorm, although he wished the students had carried on with their usual noise and ruckus if it meant he could walk by your side without the feeling of being watched and observed, scrutinized. It was that feeling that had him subconsciously walking ahead of you, the pitter-patter of your shoes remaining behind him even as the both of you left the Hall of Mirrors, you having taken hold of his arm, or rather what of the fabric you could reach.

“You’re not the King of Hearts, are you? Try not to tug on my sleeve so much.”

“The card—never mind. The point is—” you gripped him a little harder this time, stopping your walk in the middle of a deserted hallway, “the point is that this is less pacing as much as it is you speed walking and leaving me to play catch up. Can we even memorize this properly with you trying to be two steps ahead of me all the time?”

At the start you had tried to play your comment off like a joke, but at your failure to sound convincing you had turned to a serious tone. Though you sounded composed, it was different from your previous politeness, all except for that hint of artificiality he had detected before. An illusion had been shattered—that friendliness and kindness, while not entirely dishonest, had been enhanced to put up a distance, one that would allow you to observe him.

Riddle realized that although the reasons were not the same, you were bothered by him as well.

“I’m not trying to be,” he insisted, despite having to turn his head back to address you properly.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you are, and that being seen with me is something so detestable,” you were hissing now, not unlike an irritated hedgehog, needy for attention and yet warning him to keep a distance. The irony of the thought was not lost on him, considering what you seemed to want was to close it. “It truly makes me wonder how people even thought you liked me in the first place.”

“You never believed it?”

“Obviously! What kind of—” as if realizing just where the both of you were standing, you tugged on his sleeve again, taking the chance to lead him into the nearest empty classroom. Maybe the both of you should never have left the privacy of the study room in the first place.

You sat yourself atop one of the desks, a good blind spot to hide away from any passersby outside. The choice had Riddle heated, not for the blatant disrespect of school property and lack of manners, but how he knew the closer he got, he would find that you would tower over him, look down on him. It was what compelled Riddle to not seat himself on a table of higher elevation, but to walk towards the teacher’s desk—if only to assert control; if not over the conversation, then himself.

“Of course I never believed you liked me! Just because you stared at me?” you scoffed, as if it was not reason enough. For Riddle, who simply accepted the unfortunate circumstances he had been placed in, thought it was a fair explanation for his staring. “You always looked so heated and angry, like you were glaring at the sun. I thought I was imagining things, but now I know you must actually hate me.”

“Except I don’t hate you. Could you not put words into my mouth?”

“Fine, if you don’t hate me then maybe you just dislike me, or being associated with me. Stop the rumors then! They’ll listen, or at least shut up about it in front of you!”

“It’s not hate or dislike, for goodness sake!” Riddle cried out, his temper and his desperation for you to understand his feelings finally getting the better of him. He strolled up to you and sat himself at the desk right next to you, suddenly uncaring of the rules and decorum. “I want to explain, I just can’t!”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Can’t, ” he asserted, “not properly. I don’t know how to tell you. You won’t understand.”

“Just try me.” Although the remnants of your flames persisted in the air, the furrow of your eyebrows had lessened. “I just want to resolve this. Was it something that I did?”

Something you did? Riddle laughed inwardly, and on his tongue he tasted the bitterness he had felt all this time. It had to be the accumulation of you doing everything right.

“It’s your rank ,” Riddle began to say, already discomfited by your incredulous stare. He knew that look, he had seen it on so many people, but he was disquieted by how you of all people had mirrored it as well.

“ Grades? All this because of that? Riddle, that’s—”

“You don’t have to tell me, I already know! I don’t want to be jealous of you, and I already know it’s wrong that I feel like this when you’ve only ever treated me well, but my pride and my ego demands that I blame you for my own shortcomings, even if the truth is, I only have myself to blame.”

The words escaped his larynx like blazes, his haste to get everything out leaving him near breathless upon finishing what he had to say. Except, the more time passed he found himself not being satisfied with his explanation. Just as his jealousy had been needless, he just as much wanted to not be hated by you, to be misunderstood by you.

To say he hated, or even disliked you was so blatantly wrong because he did like you—not in the manner that people presumed, but in the sense that he wanted to be considered more than just a classmate or competitor, but your friend.

“I respect you, and I might even admire you even more now that I’ve learned more about you, but it’s not stopping me from feeling jealous. What am I supposed to do about this?”

The setting sun might as well have risen with how much time had passed since getting a response from you, but when you finally do, you look at him not with disdain, or disgust, or resentment, or even pity. Contemplative was the word Riddle chose to describe it, like you were simply trying to understand him.

“That’s just the thing. Even if you like someone, it might not go away,” you shrugged like it was nothing, but when he tried to look at your eyes he could tell you were answering him as seriously as you could, “so there’s no one solution to something like that. Maybe if you get to know me more, you’ll stop feeling jealous, maybe not completely, or maybe I’ll be the one to find something to be jealous of when it comes to you.

“Or, who knows, maybe you’ll find a healthy way to cope with it, or maybe avoiding me once our presentation is over really is the way… but looking at you now, you don’t seem to want that either.”

He wondered just what expression he had been making for you to read his thoughts so easily. He had only begun ignoring you because he found himself becoming too aware of you, and an action of force had soon become instinctive.

“I’m sorry,” Riddle said, not really knowing what else he could say, “I’ll make sure to make it up to you.”

“Let’s both cool off first before we even think about that,” you replied with a laugh, slipping yourself off the desk to walk towards the door. Riddle had yet to follow suit. “No more scripts or academics for the rest of the day. You should do the same as well.”

It has been a while since he had felt the need to abandon his studies so early in the day, but the redhead agreed with your sentiments, already feeling the need to distract himself with dinner before eventually holing himself up in his room to do nothing but think.

“Just one more thing, before you go,” he said, inhaling a whole gust of wind in his nervousness, “you don’t hate me for this, do you?”

“No.” The word had come out a bit shaky, as if you were unprepared to answer him. As Riddle did not know better, he had an inkling that perhaps you were lying, to a degree, even though you’ve been far more honest with him than him with you. You wouldn’t look back at him either, even after you cleared your throat, inhaled through your nose.

“No,” you repeated, and gone was the emotion Riddle could not describe, so quick to return to a composure he wished he possessed, “I’m frustrated is all. Let’s… reconvene tomorrow.”

He escorted you back to the study room to retrieve your things, walking not quite side-by-side, and yet horizontally aligned.

True to your word, the bouts of jealousy didn’t stop, not entirely, but the more he accepted it, the more he opened up and told you about it, the faster it subsided and gave way to something else—appreciation, and if he were to be honest, there was part adoration as well.

Last he heard, some time after your presentation and right before the both of you chose to scold people outright, the both of you were going strong, described with a word not to be used lightly. Riddle, even now, would dare not to use that word with you, far too strong and too soon (because it seemed everything to do with you was an inevitability), but even in the mess of himself, of his emotions and things still left unresolved, he thinks he might like you.

He will at least use the lesser word.

In the same way that the jealousy didn’t, he did not stop finding you likeable. If anything, the more he got to know you, and actually know you instead of making assumptions about you based on what you presented in front of him, the more he liked you, the more curious he got of you. If before he simply respected your work ethic, now he admired you even outside of it.

“But why did you decide to suddenly take studying seriously?”

“It probably had to do with me being terribly jealous of you in my first year,” you said it like you had rehearsed for that specific question everyday for the past few months, but now that Riddle had a better idea of what you were like he could tell you weren’t as calm as you pretended to be. It was with that observation that he allowed himself to freely express his shock.

It was not that he was surprised someone was capable of being jealous of him, he’s very well aware that there are things to be jealous of, but the fact that you were had shocked him to his core.

“I’m sorry?”

“I thought you were one of those naturally smart, know-it-all snobs who looked down on everyone not as smart as them, so…” you faltered, as if suddenly forgetting your lines. “...but, you know, first impressions don’t always last. I saw how you even took the time to help your upperclassmen with studying, so I guess I just resolved myself.”

“Study to forget?”

“More like… inspired,” you supplied, hesitant with your wording as opposed to unsure of your thoughts, “instead of being, for lack of a better word, a hater, I told myself that I should just work as hard as you… I might have overdid it honestly. Do you think I’m overdoing it now?”

“As long as you’re not pushing yourself too much,” Riddle said, despite knowing he was quite the hypocrite himself. Maybe that was why you didn’t call him out for it, because you had your moments of being one as well.

Or perhaps it wasn’t quite hypocrisy but a mutual understanding, having seen a reflection of themselves, someone they’ve been and something they’ve done in the past. Rather than hypocrisy, was it not a kindredness shared between the both of you?

“But I really never expected to surpass you or anything, and by one point too!” you sighed, and once more Riddle found himself surprised at how he felt nothing at the reminder. “Really, of all ways to get your attention. Maybe I should have broken some rules instead.”

“Why is it that you only want to draw negative emotions out of me?” Riddle joked, or at least hoped it had come across that way. “But why would you want my attention anyway? Because you wanted to be my friend?”

“Huh?”

You had not meant to let that part slip, Riddle realized. It bothered Riddle—having to hypothesize what it possibly implied.

“Oh, yes,” you agreed, but no matter how convincing you could get yourself to sound, Riddle found it difficult to believe. “There’s that, and then wanting acknowledgement I suppose, since I was trying so hard to be as good as you. Kind of like a prize. Gratification. I thought it’d be nice if you admired me the same way I did.”

Oh . No wonder you had been so upset with him.

“And then I just glared at you every day for a month or so.”

“Well, we’re past that now, aren’t we? It worked out for us in the end,” you laughed. This time, he was sure you were being completely honest with him. “You do admire me, don’t you?”

“Must you clarify things you already know?”

Again, he found himself envious of how you could say such things without getting as frazzled and warm and crimson as him. He tries to do the same anyway.

“I do admire you.”

He ignored the beating of his heart in order to watch you smile, as if there was nothing in the world you wanted to hear more. So this was the look of gratification, the feeling you so wanted from him. It matched you well.

“I guess there is one more reason,” you replied suddenly, “but I don’t feel like telling you right now.”

“Then when?” he pried, curious like the people of the Queendom of Roses were known to be. He only asks when, for the whys are obvious to him. Whether you tell him something good or bad, the end result will be–

“We won’t be able to focus on our revisions if we keep talking about this,” you said, conveniently bringing up your upcoming exams to switch the topic, “if we slack off any more, I wouldn’t be surprised if Azul snatched up the top spot this time around. Jamil, too. You’ve noticed his grades, right? They’re—”

“Then after exams,” Riddle interrupted, as though he had not been listening at all. He had been, it was more of him not even foreseeing anyone coming close to either one of you. You were the only one he would accept losing to, although he was sure he would come out on top this time. “We can discuss it after exams.”

“You make everything sound like it’s going to be a properly planned event, but fine. If you–if I beat you, I’ll tell you all about it. And don’t expect me to go easy on you to chicken out of it.”

“Is that so? What will you do when I rank first, then?”

“Make up your own incentive!”

Riddle sighed. Although no one was forcing him to, he wanted to even out the playing field, just to make things fair for you. “Then let me be the one to tell you something.”

“Do you have something to tell me?”

“Not yet,” Riddle turned back to his papers, realizing he must have been staring at you for who knows how long. “Maybe by the time the results come out, I’ll know how to tell you.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see you look away from him as well, trying to hold back a grin. You were excited, and if he did not know it was his alchemy notes you were looking at, he would have wondered what you were smiling at.

“Then stop staring and start studying,” you replied without so much as looking up—maybe you just felt his eyes on you, or perhaps it was a case of you staring when he was not, just like the rumors used to say. Cheekily, you added, “you can look at me later.”

“You’re so troublesome,” Riddle said, inconceivably fond.

Perhaps a time will come where when he goes to stare at you, you’ll be staring, too, gazing with nothing but—

end notes | masterlist

[1] The King of Hearts often tugged on the Queen's skirt to get her attention. Line taken from Riddle's SR Labwear.

[2] Jealousy is difficult to get rid of. The idea that it can just disappear because you befriend someone, or end up loving someone is just untrue. If anything, I think jealousy feels worse when it's towards someone you actually like, because the guilt just consumes you. You want to stop, but how? I wanted to show how it's not that liking Reader got rid of his jealousy, but more that for himself and reader, he works on getting through it in healthier ways, and the importance of communication.

[3] In characterizing Riddle, I wanted to highlight how even though he really does try to rule with his head, a lot of the time he acts instinctively.

[4] Also, I was wondering if Riddle's thoughts and emotions were too much of a mess, but looking back at it, I decided to keep it messy. Jealousy is messy. When it comes to the reader, he really just is all over the place, from flustered, to wanting to avoid them out of guilt, to anger, to any other emotion under the sun. He's no good at sorting out his emotions, a contrast to reader who hides it (until they don't).

[5] In characterizing the reader, at first I wanted them to be pure and nice and give good advice, but the more I thought about it, I thought Riddle would be good with someone who could argue with him as well, someone who knew when to "put out the fire with water" and when to "fight fire with fire". By going for the latter, I thought it better showed Riddle and reader as equals, turning a one-sided rivalry feeling into something mutual. Similarly, reader's one-sided admiration becomes mutual.

[6] I hope people are alright with the ending. I think that the both of them still have a lot of room to grow into that, and grow as people too, but I wanted to establish that they do like each other, they (Riddle in particular) just have other things to deal with first, and hint at the inevitability of them getting together, maybe not soon but sometime later. Maybe I'll write a follow up, maybe I'll just leave it up to you.

[7] Why does the ending line cut off? Because Riddle thinks it's too strong a word for now.

#twst x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #riddle rosehearts #twst #riddle rosehearts x you #nathya twst writing #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland

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maskedtruths666 · 1 year

Text

Part 4 of the paid story. Denise goes overseas with her company on a work conference.

“Hey honey, I’m going overseas with my company for a week. We are headed to Las Vegas for a conference and we are leaving at the end of the month. Do you want to join me? My boss said we could bring our partners as long as they pay for their own flight ticket. I was thinking that you could come along because we haven’t had a holiday trip in forever and I’ll pay for your ticket.” Denise said to Jared over breakfast the next day.

“But it’s going to be expensive there and I want to grind hard and make money for us.” Jared said, disappointing Denise because Denise really wanted Jared to go with her.

“But I really want you to come with me. Please?” Denise said, puppy eyeing him.

“My love, an air ticket there is at least $1,000. If we include food and other expenditures, this trip is going to set me back about $5,000. I don’t have the luxury to spend such money.” Jared said.

“It’s okay my dear. I can cover all expenses. Company’s paying for food. It’s really only air tickets that is out of company expenses.” Denise said.

“Alright, I’ll go with you. Thank you my dear.” Jared replied. He thought that if he went with her, she would not be able to cheat on him with her bosses or colleagues for money. Oh how wrong he was.

They each begun their respective day and during mid day, Henry asked Denise into his office.

“By the way, our trip is from 22nd to 29th. I’d like you and I, with a couple of colleagues to head there on the 20th so we can prepare for our conference ahead of schedule and make sure things work smoothly.” Henry said.

“But I just told my boyfriend that we are going on 22nd and he’s coming with me.” Denise said, slightly panicky that the schedule has changed and she already booked the tickets which set her back $1800, way more than her estimate.

“Well, what’s bothering you? Are the tickets expensive?” Henry asked as he noticed Denise’s demeanor changing.

“Yes and if I have to change it, it’ll be more expensive.” Denise said, slightly pouting.

“I’ll pay for your boyfriend’s ticket in full. I’ll even book him a business class ticket to sit with us.” Henry suddenly offered.

“What? That is very kind of you. But boss, I ain’t fooling around with you during the trip. If you want, I can thank you right here right now.” Denise said, smiling cheekily at him.

“I’ll take that as a yes and I’ll take you as and when I want to on the trip and your boyfriend will never find out.” Henry said in a super confident tone that made Denise anticipate it.

“Well that sounds fantastic, if I’m being honest. Thank you.” Denise said to Henry.

“Now get on your knees and suck me dry. I’ve got a meeting to attend to in 10 mins so make it quick.” Henry said as he begun unzipping and Denise, like a good slut, walked towards him and got down on her knees.

As Denise got on her knees and started sucking Henry off, her mind wandered and fantasized about the different possibilities that Henry would fuck her whilst Jared was with her on the trip. The obvious possibility being in office and before or after meetings during the conference.

As she kept sucking him off, Henry tried to keep himself from losing control and fucking Denise on his desk. She was in a tight figure hugging dress which he loved and her cleavage was showing. Denise kept bobbing up and down, sucking him with a passion that was unrivaled. The way her tongue licked his dick and the way she looked up at him when the tip of her lips are at the tip of his cock, nearly drove him mad. Denise swapped from sucking to stroking to furiously jerking him off and Henry was at his limit.

“I can feel your cock throbbing. It’s so massive.” Denise said, as she slowly jerked his cock up and down.

“Ah yes, fuck, your mouth skills are fucking amazing.” Henry groaned as he tried holding it in for more pleasure.

“I’ve only every sucked Jared’s cock and yours. Not much to practice on so I’m glad you like it.” Denise said as she starting stroking faster.

“Ah fuck I’m going to cum.” Henry announced as he grabbed her hair, tilted it back and unleashed his hot load all over her face, messing her make up with thick lines of cum. As the streaks of cum lined her face and started dripping down, Henry got more turned on. He instinctively took out his phone and took a few pictures of her despite her trying to stop it. As he put on his pants, he sat there on his chair as Denise was cleaning up, much to her annoyance.

“For your troubles, I will buy you a new dress you can wear to the airport. I will try to not mess up your make up in the future.” Henry said as he started envisioning Denise in the dress he wants to fuck her in.

“Okay, and it better be nice.” Denise said as she walked out of his office.

Next part coming soon!

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starlightrows · 8 months

Text

15 — Shadow

Hiding In Plain Sight

← Previous - Next →

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Serious illness, discussion of death

Summary: You are happy to be reunited with your team, but begin to struggle with some worrying health concerns

Your relaxing three days of “guard duty” doesn’t last nearly as long as you would have hoped. The moment you return to The Radiant you are caught up in the backlog of work you’ve missed and the current workload that comes your way. Long hours in the med bay, endless paperwork, returning to physical training and going out on assignment with the team whenever called upon.

Each day that passes leaves you feeling like you have less and less energy to start with each morning. Caf feels like it’s becoming less effective, but you still need it just to stay awake during your designated time for your notes and reports. You’re lifting lighter weights during training, physically incapable of making your usual mile time even when you push yourself, and just the other day you noticed after showering that your body is looking slimmer than what is normal for you. But you are not the only one who has begun picking up on these subtle changes.

Wolffe repeats your name for a second time, “Did you hear what I said?”

“Huh?” You snap out of your brain fog and look up from your data pad though you have no idea what you were just looking at on it, or what you and Wolffe had been talking about before you looked down at it.

“I said Ashoka will be joining us for the Uttresh mission” he repeats “Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh yeah, it’ll be nice to see her again” you nod “I’m fine, just tired”

“Just tired huh?” He gives you a stern look “You and I both know that this is more than just a little tired. You haven’t been yourself lately”

“Wolffe, I’m fine, really” you try to assure him, standing from your desk and coming around to stand close to him.

He brushes down the length of your arm and takes your hand, his face is still serious and unconvinced. “I know you don’t want to, but I really think you should take the rest of the day off, and maybe call one of your medic friends for a second opinion. It’s been three months and you’re still struggling. Don’t think I haven’t noticed”

Your face seems to fall when he says that. “I guess I can send my lab work out for a second opinion”

He lifts your chin “You can’t take care of us if you can’t take care of yourself, remember?”

“Yeah” you nod, you preach that to them all of the time. You need to listen to your own advice.

“Go take a nap, I’ll let training out early tonight and come spend time with you” he says, trying to sound positive

“And if I sneak back into the med bay to work?” you grin mischievously

“Then I’m going to sneak lock you in an exam room to rest” he counters “Don’t make me order you to go”

“Order me anyway, just for fun” you grin

He rolls his eyes and leans down to kiss you “Go take a nap. That’s an order, Captain”

“Yes sir” you kiss him back and leave the office.

He’s glad to hear you teasing and joking, but it stings because he knows you’re covering for how miserable you are right now. True to his word, he lets the team out early from physical training and heads off to find you. He finds you laying on your bed, not sleeping just laying on your side and staring off into space. The door closes behind him and begins to take off his kit and boots, leaving it all by the door so he can lay down behind you. He curls himself around your body, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you in close. He presses his nose into your hair and kisses your head.

“Did you nap?” He asks, lacing his fingers with yours

“Yeah” your voice is soft and relaxed “I sent off the lab work to several of my colleagues. You were right, this is getting out of hand and I can’t afford to ignore it any longer”

His lip twitches, a pulse of frustration comes before the relief that you made the right call. You shouldn’t have to be dealing with this. And the prospect of this mysterious condition being something serious causes a sense of panic in his body that he shuts down and pushes away immediately.

“Whatever this is, we will figure it out together” he says “I promise”

“Thank you” you smile, breathing deeply “I prefer this you know. Being sick and with you, than working in that nightmare med station without you”

He chuckles a little, “I would rather you be safe and healthy, but I agree this is much better than the alternative”

You hum in agreement. A lull falls over you both. Happy to have the time and space to just be near each other, but below the grateful surface is anxiety and dread. The war doesn’t stop and this strange exhaustion and weakness is putting you at risk. There’s no sense in talking about it now when there is nothing to be done. Now you wait. Until the symptoms go away. Until a test comes back conclusive. Until one of your colleagues has a theory. Until the bloody war ends.

Weeks pass and you hear nothing from your friends and colleagues. You continue on as best you can, trying to make time to rest and research the cause of your sudden weakness and fatigue.

One afternoon Wolffe sits with you in your office, drinking caf and completing some joint paperwork.

“No responses from any of your friends yet?” He asks, he’s been trying not to ask every single day.

You shake your head sadly, “No”

“Not even to acknowledge the request or that they received the lab work?” He’s been more frustrated with this whole situation lately.

“A few did, most didn’t” you frown at the document you’re working on “It’s unlike them not to respond at all like that…. It gives me a bad feeling about all of this”

A gentle tap on the door stops him before he can respond, you look past him towards the door “Come in”

General Plo stands on the other side of the door when it slides open. “Good afternoon Captain” he address you “Commander” he nods to Wolffe.

“To what do I owe the pleasure General?” You ask, sitting up straighter and giving him a smile.

“Captain, might I have a word with you?” General Plo asks

“Of course, General” you look to Wolffe

“I’ll see you later” he nods to you “General” he nods, slipping out of your office and disappearing down the hall.

“What can I do for you General?” You ask, gesturing for him to take the seat across from you. He nods graciously and sits down.

“Over the last several weeks since your return I have noticed a difference in you. Forgive me, I do not mean to overstep into your jurisdiction as the team's medical lead, but are you feeling alright?”

“You would have to be blind to not see it” You admit “To be completely honest with you, I have not been feeling myself lately… and it scares me because I can’t determine what’s causing it”

“I assume you have run through an extensive list of conditions and illnesses”

You nod “And sent off my blood work, test results, and symptoms to several colleagues for other opinions. Haven’t gotten any responses yet”

“If you would be open to it, I spent many years in the halls of healing during my time as a Padawan. I am no doctor or medical professional by any means, but I can lead you through a meditation and try to delve deeper into the force to search for a possible cause or solution to your ailment”

“It couldn’t hurt… I would be honored General”

“Come” he rises and extends a hand to you, helping you stand from your chair. He leads you into the training room and uses the force to place mats down on the floor. You take a seat while he dims the lights in the training room. He joins you on the floor and begins to lead you through a breathing exercise to help you relax into a meditative state.

You’ve done meditations with General Plo many times, the breathing exercises and feeling of surrendering your mind to just be in the moment is familiar to you. Your body feels heavy. Like the ends of your extremities are weighed down with lead. It is so much effort to sit with proper posture that it exhausts you even just to sit. You hope that whatever General Plo can see or feel will be insightful or helpful in some way.

Plo senses the profound discomfort in your body, without even needing to delve into the force, he can see it in the way your shoulders sag and your normally bright features have grown dull in the last several months. He closes his eyes and reaches out into the void with his mind, open to whatever insight The Force may offer him.

He tunes himself into the sound of your breathing, the beating of your heart. And suddenly he can hear not just your heartbeat, but many. Hundreds, thousands of heartbeats, but they’re off time and slowing. He can see endless rows of crisp white linen sheets on sick beds. He can feel an acrid layer of sadness, anger, and loss clouding this vision. Death. He senses death, in insurmountable numbers. The future, or a possible future.

He pushes deeper into the vision, embracing its message and seeking answers to questions he has not yet formed. He knows you are sick, and now he knows that you are not the only one. He sees you collapse and Wolffe at your side to catch you. His heart clenches at the pulsing anger, frustration and pain he senses from Wolffe in this vision. He feels your fear, your sadness and regret. He watches the light fade from your eyes and suffering snap its jaws around Wolffe and the rest of the team.

Plo turns his focus away from that future and sees another path. He looks into this alternate vision, and feels the same anger, frustrations and pain, but instead of staying to the bitter end he senses something else. A choice. One that leads to a departure, separation, but not loss. Not yet. The choice to hold on or let go. But it is not you who has to make this terrible choice. It is not in your hands anymore. Your fate is in the hands of those who love you most.

As Plo relinquishes his concentration and comes back to the present moment, he takes an extra moment to look at you and acknowledge his own feelings on the situation. You have always been a good soldier, a good doctor, a good team member. General Plo cares about every one of his soldiers under his command, appreciates them for who they are, and cares about their well being. And there is nothing he can do to save you from what you are already enduring or what is coming. There is just as much chance that you will live and there is that you will die. What a painful truth to reckon with.

He opens his eyes and severs the connection, “You are not alone Captain” General Plo says

“I know” you sigh “I appreciate the support”

“No, I mean to say that you are not the only one suffering from this mysterious illness. Thousands are beginning to realize it, more will follow” he explains

“What?” Your heart drops into your stomach

“I believe that this is not a singular case. I believe something has caused this illness and has already affected more people across the galaxy. I must return to Coruscant and speak to the council. Together we may be able to learn more through group meditation” he says, getting to his feet and extending his hand in offerance to help you stand as well. You take it and slowly get yourself up right.

“General, thank you for doing this with me… but I have to ask, did you see something you aren’t telling me?”

Plo had no intention of telling you the specifics of what he saw, he has learned better than to rely on the certainty of visions.

You take his beat of silence as a ‘yes’ “Listen, if I’m going to die I would so much rather know”

“I do not know the answer to that” he squeezes your hand “But may I ask, if I knew for certain that you would die, what would you do differently than if you knew for certain that you would live?”

“I would go into my final moments with my friends knowing just that. That it was the end. I would savor it and make sure the memories were happy and fun, so they would remember me that way” you say “I would make sure the people I care about know that I love them”

“Have no fear on that Captain” he pats your hand “Your love for those who are dear to you is unmistakable”

He departs within the hour, taking a shuttle cruiser to Coruscant having already notified the council of his visions and concerns. To his surprise, he is not the only Jedi that has suspected something was amiss.

—

Meanwhile, Wolffe retreated to his office. He didn’t really have any work to do there, he just needed to be alone for a little while. He’s glad General Plo has stepped in, maybe now you would get some answers or at least have a place to start looking for answers as to why you’ve been feeling so weak and sick lately. He absent mindedly starts sketching shapes and shading while he mulls over his heavy feelings. He’d picked up the habit while you were gone.

He realized he had no holo images of you. As the days bled into weeks, and further into months he had longed to see your face. He spent many hours laying up at night thinking about the shape of your lips, the bridge of your nose, the line of your jaw. He agonized over the shape of your eyebrows. Eventually he started putting lines on paper, continuing in spare moments of time until he realized that he had essentially been unconsciously making portraits of you. Now he does it all the time, especially when he’s stressed. Like right now.

It’s been torture for him to watch. He thought being separated was the hardest thing he’s ever gone through, but this is so much worse. You’re here with him, but each day you seem to be less and less of yourself. He’s watching you waste away and there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s not a doctor or a Jedi, he’s not a General with authority to relieve you of military service so you can fully rest and recover. He would do anything to fix this, to save you.

A knock at the door breaks him out of this spiral, he quickly slips the notepad into the drawer of his desk and beckons the apparent intruder to come in. Instantly he regrets making his presence in his office known, because Roy strolls in with a smug look at a pile of paperwork.

“Ah, Commander Wolffe. I have a few matters I need to discuss with you” Roy closes the door behind him and sits down without invitation.

“Can it wait?” Wolffe glares at him as he sits

“No Commander, I believe that these matters are of the utmost importance and should be resolved immediately” Roy rifles through the papers, and places them on the desk in front of him.

Wolffe checks his chronometer, as if he actually had an appointment or somewhere to be, “You have three minutes” he relents.

Roy looks miffed at the minuscule time window he’s been given to make his case, but proceeds nonetheless “I have noticed that the Captain has been neglecting certain duties. Namely the reports pertaining to the annual health checks for all personnel in the legion, her obligations to be available for questions and contact as the senior medical officer. In addition to this she has made no effort to take on new mentorship opportunities or put in any recognition to the rest of medical staff's achievements. All of this leads me to believe that she has either grown lazy in her duties or become unfit to serve as lead medic. I insist that she be placed on probation until she can prove herself worthy of her station or removed from service altogether if she is truly incapable of doing her job.”

Wolffe sets his jaw and forces himself to hold his tongue, “Are you finished?”

“Yes, I think so” Roy says with a self satisfied look, and presses the stack of paperwork towards Wolffe

“Good. Listen very carefully” Wolffe says, standing up and leaning forward over the desk “She is your superior officer. Because she has put in the work and earned her place in the military and on this team. You are a spineless, selfish, arrogant worm and I have had enough of your self righteous demands for respect and valor you have not earned. Unfortunately, it is not within my power to have your transferred or discharged from the service, but I will be speaking to the Captain and General Plo about your insubordination”

Roy’s jaw hangs open and he blinks in surprise. Wolffe looks him up and down with a disdainful glare “If there’s nothing else, get back to work” Wolffe hisses, lowering himself back into his seat.

Roy’s shock evaporates and he returns the glare. The two of them sit in silence for a few moments, staring each other down. Finally Roy stands and exits the room. Wolffe shakes his head and scrubs a hand down his face in exasperation.

This can not continue. He knows there is almost no chance of getting him discharged or even reassigned, especially with you being unwell. He won’t say it. He can’t even think about it. If you have to be placed on leave because of this sickness… no. He will not let it come to that. He won’t lose you again. He holds you a little tighter while you sleep that night, no sense in telling you about the interaction with Roy, but still he held you close for his own sake. As if his mere presence could ward off all that seems to be plaguing you.

You didn’t hear from General Plo after he left for Coruscant. Irrationally you had hoped he could com within a day or two with news that he and the other Jedi used The Force and determined a cause that could be corrected. But no word came.

With each passing day the fog clouding you mind grew more dense, your energy sapped by the effort it took to move, to walk, to breathe, and then it all came to ahead. You were working in the med bay, no one was there who needed treatment, and you were on shift on your own with just a medical assistant droid.

One moment you were walking to put away some equipment and the next you were waking up on the floor. The medical droid trying to speak to you and some kind of alarm hazily blaring. It’s too much. The lights are too bright, the sound is too sharp, and you can’t find the strength to stand.

Wolffe drops everything when he receives the com that you’ve collapsed in the med bay. He drops everything and takes off sprinting down the halls with no regard for who sees or what they may think. Slush and Boost are right on his heels.

One look at you and Wolffe knows, this ship does not have the equipment or the staff to help you right now. Wolffe swallows hard and forces himself to breathe and stay calm.

“Boost, make contact with the nearest medical frigate and tell them we’re transferring a patient that needs intensive care” Wolffe orders

“Yes sir” Boost turns quickly and runs out of the med bay to make contact with the frigate

“Slush, prep the ship” Wolffe yanks Slush up by the arm and shoved him towards the door

“Yes sir” Slush backs out of the room, turns and runs too.

Wolffe is starting to feel bile creeping up into the back of his throat, like he wants to wretch. Panic. He can not panic. He turns to the droid

“Get her on the gurney, you will accompany us to the frigate” he says

“But sir, I am a —“ the droid begins to protest

“You are a medical droid. Your primary function is to treat wounded and sick soldiers. She is sick. Help me get her onto a gurney, now!” He snaps. The droid complies and helps move your comatose form onto a gurney. The droid puts you on oxygen and monitors your vitals.

Wolffe feels like he’s in a dream or a simulation. He walks with heavy and haunted steps as he guides the gurney down the halls and helps to load the ship. He barely recognizes his own voice when he tells Sinker

“You have command of the 104th until our return”

He doesn’t register anything Slush says to him, he just sits beside you as the ship takes off, and holds your limp hand.

It’s not until he realizes his com is buzzing from an incoming transmission that he is able to tear his focus away from you and the ringing in his ears. He takes a few steps away from you and answers the com. A holo image appears, of someone he did not expect.

“Rex?”

“Commander, where is she? Is she alright?” Rex asks, sounding frantic.

“She’s being transported to a medical frigate and we— hang on? How did you know something was wrong?” His mind is reeling

“They all are” Rex says gravely

“They? They who?”

“The doctors. The medics. The surgeons and nurses. Everyone that was reassigned to aid the wounded on Atraken” Rex explains

“What? What are you talking about?” Wolffe has to sit down. None of this is making any sense.

“All that left the base to go back to their normal assignments. They’re dropping like flies”

“Fuck….” At a loss for words “Fuck…. What-what’s wrong with them?”

“From what I’ve been hearing…. Organ failure… almost a hundred confirmed dead already” Rex can see Wolffe’s image on the holo, and sees his own fear and confusion reflected back at him.

“So…is it contagious? Is anyone else at risk?” Wolffe asks

“Not as far as we can tell. Just those directly exposed”

“What do we do? What can we do? We have to do something!” Wolffe’s heart is thundering in his chest, adrenaline with nowhere to go or do

“For now… get her to the frigate. And do not let the doctors give her any bacta. It’s accelerating the processes and killing them faster…” Rex says “General Skywalker is working on a plan, I’ll let you know when I have more information”

Wolffe nods vacantly. There is nothing he can do.

Tag List:

@maulslittlemeowmeow @lucyysthings @justanothersadperson93 @lackofhonor @paige6768 @thefact0rygirl @ttzamara @nekotaetae @jennrosefx @kashasenpai @littledragonlady @love-space-nerd

#Commander Wolffe #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x you #Hiding In Plain Sight

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darksigns-exe · 7 months

Text

Sweet Like Honey - I Am Your Dagger

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol, Panic Attacks Word Count: 3.8k

Read on AO3

Tasha is there when she makes it through customs, with a sign and everything. Since Bee has known her they haven’t gone much longer than a couple of days without seeing each other so being apart for half a year was quite the task. They hug for a little too long, but Bee is too tired to care or worry and there’s so much she has to say and so much she wants to know. The long flight home and the mental exhaustion of the last weeks had finally begun to catch up with her. As happy as she is to be back home, it's hard to feel excited when she’s so exhausted by all of it.

“I got you some groceries and some stuff I thought you might need. We are, however, going out for dinner today. Just you and me. We have to catch up.” Tasha says as they walk back to where she has parked.

She only listens in parts, most of her energy is focused on making it back to the car in one piece. It’s been a good half year – a hard one, but good nevertheless. And right now she feels the weight of it all crashing down on her. Come tomorrow morning it’ll all be different, but right now she wants to hide under her covers and shut out the world until her head stops feeling as if it is full of cotton.

“They’re already gone?” Bee asks when the topic shifts to the band, as it so often does.

Tasha nods “Two or so weeks now. I honestly thought that touring was gonna stop Noah from being in such a shit mood but man I think it only got worse.”

“Did something happen?”

Tasha lets out a huff “I was gonna ask you the same questions actually. One moment he doesn’t stop talking about you and the next he’s got the most sour look when someone mentions your name.”

Bee has to admit that it stings. And she really doesn’t know how to react to it. She can’t remember something happening, but that doesn’t mean a whole lot. Not when she had been gone for half a year immediately after he’d bared his heart to her.

“I don’t know what it is with that guy.” Tasha shakes her head “Jolly says he’s been drinking more.”

For a moment Bee feels as if she should call him again – let him know that she’s back, but truth be told she doesn’t even know if he’d pick up. He hadn’t the last five times she tried to call.

They’re silent for the rest of the drive back to her apartment.

The things Tasha had told her wouldn’t leave her mind. She feels oddly responsible for it all. She doesn’t know if it is her fault. Maybe something she said got lost in translation somewhere or maybe it was just the distance that had made him drift away.

They drop off her bags at the apartment before driving back to the house to pick up Barnabas. She takes the shirt that she nicked on that last day back with her. Tasha must have washed it at some point. The only thing left in the fibres was the clean scent detergent. None of him had stayed behind and it feels awfully final.

The house is mostly empty. One of their friends is there when Tasha and Bee get there but he makes no indication that something is up. Bee leaves the shirt on his bed. It’s only fair that he gets it back. She feels too tired to be upset about any of this. The heavy feeling in her chest is drowned out by the buzzing pain in her head.

She texts him again when she gets home, just to say thank you for babysitting Barnabas. To her surprise, he replies this time but it’s strangely cold and curt and not at all how she remembers him. He doesn’t ask about her flight or how she’s settling in. It’s barely even a sentence.

The dinner with Tasha is tainted by the mess of emotions in her head. She doesn’t really listen to what she tells her, but one thing catches her attention.

“Noah said something about you getting yourself a fancy European boyfriend?” She leans across the table “Why do I have to hear that from that goober and not you personally?”

Her mind blanks at that. It’s like that movie cliche where the puzzle pieces finally click into place.

“I didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Because Noah sure thought that you’d stay back there and dump all of us for that guy.”

Bee hadn’t thought that things like this actually happened. That people could actually manage to be so insufficient at communication that they mess up their shit so excellently.

Thankfully, Tasha drops the matter and moves on to something else. Bee isn’t sure if she should be angry or relieved. Technically this is an easy fix but the fact that he was so willing to just accept this assumption as fact made her irrationally angry. By the time she gets home, it’s simmered down a little. She still doesn’t know where he picked up that Ben is anything more than a friend. He’s never been more and he would never be more. The mess in her head brings her unrestful sleep, but it’s sleep nevertheless.

Bee doesn’t feel much better when she wakes up the following morning. It’s all routine and rules to keep herself from falling out of line. She has a week off before she returns to work. A week to collect herself and pick up her life here. She doesn’t know how to approach this, because no matter the angle she can’t stop herself from being disappointed and angry. He could have just talked to her. They’ve talked about so much that just asking if she was actually seeing someone shouldn’t have been such a big deal. It just won’t work in her head. A simple question about who Ben actually was to her could have solved all of this. How was she supposed to know that Noah would be so quick to jump to conclusions? She knows that there’s a good month left before the band comes back home. Truth be told Bee isn’t sure if she’s happy or upset about it. Because the sooner they deal with this the better, but right now she doesn’t think that she can have that conversation with him. There’s still too much frustration boiling inside her chest and as much as she wants this dealt with, she doesn’t want it to be harsher than necessary.

Her week off passes quicker than she wants it to. But work keeps her busy and her mind off of Noah. The anger quickly fades away though and Bee returns to this strange limbo where she doesn’t really know how to feel about it all. The days are fine for the most part, but when she’s alone in her bed at night her mind goes back to how comforting it felt to be close to him. She doesn’t dare to check his social media, partially out of fear of seeing something she really does not want to be real. She can’t blame him though. If Tasha was to be believed, and she’s inclined to believe Tasha over most people, Noah’s convinced that she’s entirely over him. It would make sense if he’d move on. And Bee catches herself thinking that maybe it is for the better.

Another two weeks pass until Tasha lets her know that the band is in town and that it’d be fun if they’d go. Just to see some familiar faces. She’s reluctant but after a little work from Tasha, Bee eventually agrees to go.

The venue isn’t far from where she lives so if it does get too much she has an easy way out. It’s a good night so Bee puts in the effort, perhaps only partially for herself. Tasha meets her at the back of the venue and they’re let into the place by a guy she faintly remembers to be Matt. Bee has never been backstage at a concert, hell she doesn’t even go to a lot of shows anymore. Tasha confidently leads her through the maze of hallways until they reach a little secluded area to the left of the stage. Bee feels more than a little out of place. Everyone here looks as if they fit in and in her mind, she sticks out like a sore thumb. There might as well be a sign above her head with a big old red arrow alerting everyone to the fact that really does not feel at home here. It’s worse when Tasha disappears for a moment. She tries to keep herself busy, scrolling through her phone as if that would make her mind slow down. Tasha returns before she has time to drift off too far. The drink in her hand soothes the worries just a little. With the pleasant buzz of whatever mixed alcohol she had procured for them, Bee feels herself ease up enough to stuff her phone back into the back pocket of her jeans.

“We’ve missed the opener but that’s fine. I don’t like that guy anyway.” Tash says as if it’s supposed to mean something to Bee.

She nods and lets Tasha continue to lead the conversation until there’s a sudden commotion behind them. From where she’s placed herself on a crate she can see the familiar shapes of both Nicks moving towards them. A few steps behind them she sees Jolly turning back to who can only be Noah. Even from this distance, she can see that he looks exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes are even more prominent than she remembers. It worries her more than she likes to admit. She doesn’t know if it’s because she’s looked at him for too long but eventually finds her looking at him. Bee can’t read his expression, he’s too far away and the light is too low for her to actually make out much. She gives him a faint smile and that seems to snap him out of whatever trance he is in. He turns to someone else behind them before he shoves himself through the crowd towards her. She tries to brace herself for the impact. The breath she takes does not prepare her for the fact that he moves right past her as if she wasn’t even there and inserts himself into a different conversation.

Within a few moments, the lights out front dim down and all Bee can do is watch as they take to the stage one by one.

The show goes by in a blur. Bee is barely present enough to remember most of it. She had never seen them live like this, sure she’d heard Noah sing and heard the odd guitar here or there while they were hanging out. But actually seeing him in his element made the whole thing sting even more. The passion that pours out of everything he does is infectious. This is where he burns the brightest. As much as she wants to draw a line under all of this and put it behind her, watching him here brings that little bit of doubt back. There’s a moment in between songs, she doesn’t remember which ones, where he looks in her direction and Bee swears that he’s looking right at her. If he does, he doesn’t give any kind of reaction.

It’s over before she knows it and Tasha informs her that they’re going for drinks afterwards. Bee allows herself to be dragged along. The bar the group ends up in is just shady enough to be comfortable. There's music and people seem happy to mingle and chat. Bee finds herself wrapped up in one or the other conversation herself, some of the people she has met before, others are entirely new to her. And most of them are much more welcoming than she thought them to be. She doesn’t find a chance to pick Noah out until she’s a drink in and really that’s just acting in her favour. He’s drifting between tables when he comes past the little booth Tasha and she had occupied for most of the time they’ve been here. “Noah.” he stops dead in his tracks “Got a moment?”

He turns with a little sway “What? Gonna tell me more about your new guy?”

Bee's heart sinks a little further.

When she doesn’t reply immediately he shakes his head and moves on. without another word. His shoulders are tense as he steps into the circle of a different group, his back towards her. The daggers she stares into his skin don’t seem to bother him. He’s frustrating, stubborn and as much as Bee despises that part of him it makes her just as stubborn.

She watches him mingle and drink for the rest of the night. The conversation she keeps with people is light, always distracted by his constantly increasing swaying and slurring. It gets too much to bear at some point and she goes to find Jolly, he strikes her as the more responsible one of Noah's friends. She finds him wrapped up in a conversation with people she barely recognises.

“Is this normal for him?” she asks quietly, subtly looking towards Noah on the opposite side of the room.

He shakes his head “I don’t want to blame you for this, but this is a new high – low – I thought he got a grip on it.”

“I tried to talk to him.”

Jolly draws in a breath through his teeth “I saw…it didn’t look as if it went well.”

“Tried.”

“Yea he’s stubborn like that.” he grimaces at the way Noah sways in place “I think he’s about done actually.”

“I don’t live far from here.” Bee offers.

He nods, already on his way across the bar. Bee follows him but remains a couple of paces behind. She can just make out Jolly telling Noah that he’s done for the night before he pulls the younger away from the bar with little to no protest.

“I’m fine.” the words slur together into a barely distinguishable mess.

“You’re not.” he says harshly “This shit has to stop.”

Once they have him out of the bar, Bee helps to steer Noah down the streets. For the most part, he allows them to drag him along and his resistance remains verbal, as he keeps trying to reassure Jolly that he’s more than fine. His words fall on deaf ears though. Bee gets the feeling that Jolly has had to deal with the group's shenanigans for long enough to be able to drown it out.

They manage to guide him up the stairs relatively safely and he only tumbles once but seems to find the whole thing more amusing than Bee or Jolly do. They park him on the sofa, where is immediately joined by Barnabas. The protest ceases immediately with his attention now on the cat rather than the fact that he'd been dragged away from the party.

“Can you take him from here?” Jolly asks quietly.

She nods “I’ll be fine.”

“Text me if he gives you trouble.” without questioning it she lets Jolly wrap her into a quick hug “Thank you.”

He looks genuinely grateful. Bee thinks that she understands. This is his friend and surely watching him deteriorate had to be taxing. She was sure that Jolly didn’t see the fault for this with her, he seemed to settled in himself for that. They part shortly after that and when she comes back to the living room, she finds Noah still distracted by the black blob of fur that had thrown itself across his lap.

“Noah?” she asks softly.

He looks up to her, all glassy-eyed and red-faced “You look just like the girl I like.”

As endearing as it sounds it makes her chest feel just a little heavier “Do I?”

“Prettiest fucking girl I’ve ever seen.” he speaks with an almost dopey smile “Doesn’t matter though.”

Bee sits down on the opposite end of the sofa, giving him enough space to not feel caged by her “Why’s that?”

The expression on his face changed then “She’s seeing someone.” he swallows “Guess that’s what I get for waiting too long.”

She isn’t quite sure how she is supposed to reply to that. It’s like moving on thin ice — a delicate balance between keeping him in the belief that she’s not herself while trying to hammer home the idea that there is no other guy.

“But if you’d let me kiss you it’ll be better.” He’s back to an almost bashful expression and Bee can’t help but smile at that.

“How about this: it’s pretty late now but if you still want to kiss me tomorrow morning I’ll give you whatever you want.” It’s a bold promise but Bee has a feeling that he’ll hardly even remember this conversation come morning.

“I’m not tired.”

She nods “Of course. I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket.”

Bee finds him halfway asleep when she returns. Convincing him to at least take off his shoes is difficult enough so she leaves it at that and lets him bunk down dressed. He’s out like a light before she has left the room and remains as such when she returns to check on him once she’s ready for bed herself.

Bee wakes up before him. She lets him sleep while she goes through her usual morning. By the time she's ready for the day, she hears him rousing with a pained groan.

Bee meets him with a glass of water and an Advil, which she leaves on the coffee table without another word. He has to figure out where his head is first before they have that talk. She waits patiently until he stumbles out of the living room into the main space of the apartment. He’s tamed his hair somewhat although he still looks more dishevelled than not.

��Bee.” It’s more a question than a statement really “I- uh”

“Jolly help me bring you here after last night.”

He barely looks at her when he sits next to her at the table “If I said something…Bee if I said something about you and-“

“Ben.”

The light-lipped smile he gives her, tells her that he’s still firm in his belief that she’s dating the other man.

“Ben. Yes. If I said something about that, I’m sorry that wasn’t fair.”

He does look guilty; she has to give him that.

“You didn’t. You did however tell me how much I look like that girl you like.” He flushes visibly at that “Are medievalists your type or-“

He sits with his forehead pressed into his palm for a moment before he gives her another apologetic look.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you that Ben is most definitely not someone you have to worry about?”

Instead of relief she only finds confusion on his face.

“What do you mean?”

“Ben has been with the same guy for the entire time that I’ve known him.”

The confusion doesn't leave him and Bee can practically see the cogs turning in his head as he works through this new bit of information. She lets him mill through his thoughts, watching as he shifts in his chair and flips from a frown to an even deeper frown.

“I fucked that one up didn’t I?” he asks after some time, still not looking at her properly.

Bee let out a sigh “I just don’t know why you didn’t talk to me?”

He finally looks at her then “I don’t- it looked like a done deal…you were over there and you looked happy.”

There’s a sense of defeat about him. Bee reaches for the hand that’s closest to her. Noah flinches but lets her take his hand anyway.

“I was happy because I got to see my friend again. And then this guy I like stopped replying to my texts and doesn’t answer my calls anymore.”

He lets out a huff of laughter “I get it.”

“Do you know how shit it felt knowing that you had just assumed that I’d drop you like that? That I wouldn’t even tell you that I had something else?” her hand tightens around his.

“Do you know how often people have pulled that shit on me? I tell you how I feel about you, you leave and the next thing I see is you and this guy I don’t know looking too fucking friendly.”

The bite in his words is mostly harmless Bee thinks.

They had briefly touched on their ill luck in the past – friends, love, family. Neither of them had been fortunate enough to have a home life that could be considered stable in any way. It hadn’t come to her mind that somewhere, in all of that mess, he’d picked up enough doubts to question whoever he’d come across.

“I don’t know how to fix this.” Bee whispers “I don’t know what to do about this.”

He turns their linked hands around “Tell me we can fix this?”

Bee feels his hand become clammier and colder by the second. The tremor in his voice reminds her of herself when the panic clutches at her heart. She pulls him out of his chair as best as she can and steers him back into the living room. He’d sat with these thoughts for too long for them to just leave with one conversation. As soon as they sit he practically falls against her and Bee lets him.

She doesn’t know for how long they sit like this, with his much larger body wrapped into hers. His body shakes once in a while with what she assumes to be the same silent sobs that wreak across her.

She draws her fingers through the hair at his temples. Maybe the anger in her chest was never anger after all. She doesn’t know what it was, but she can’t be angry at him, not when it tears him apart like this. She knows that neither of them has done the right thing here. There’s work to be done still. Nothing’s mended yet, but at least it's not entirely broken anymore.

And when Noah pulls himself away from her the weight of it truly comes down on her. If it had been anyone else she would have thought of this reaction as a way to garner sympathy. But under the ink and too-cool face was someone looking for connection. She knows that now.

“I can’t lose this Bee.” his voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper “I know I fucked up, but I can’t lose you already.”

Her hand shifts from his temple to the side of his face, so that she can force him to actually look at her “I’m not going anywhere. We’re fixing this."

#bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction #help i've upset myself #fic: sweet like honey

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