#upset because I wanted to show the hands pressing into the flesh. but then the hands decided to do their own thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

freedomfireflies · 9 months

Text

Yellow*

Summary: An extra for One for the Money*

The one where you have to use your safeword with Mr. Styles and you worry it'll ruin everything.

Word Count: 3.4k

(TW: Panic attack and mentions of panic attacks)

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

“Just like that…shit, just like that, Peach. So fucking good. Can feel you, honey. Fucking feel you—”

Mr. Styles’ hand intertwines with yours before he brings them both to your stomach. Pressing your palm taut to the flesh until you can feel the subtle bulge from his cock. Thrusting into you so deep, your eyes roll all the way back into your head.

He’s been at it for hours. Showing off for the camera, allowing them to see him at his most powerful. And you at your most vulnerable.

You’re used to it by now. More than used to it, and on any given day, you thrive off it. You indulge in his prowess, his intentions. More than willing to be flaunted in front of the large audience of onlookers as he takes you anyway he wants you.

So you’re not sure why today feels different. Why the weight on your chest is heavier than it usually is. Why his hands – while always kind, always comforting – feel like tools in a game of your misery.

You don’t want to stop him. Don’t want to scare him or upset him. You know the moment you utter the words, the dynamic will shift instantaneously. And perhaps that’s what you want, but the repercussions might be more than you’re prepared to handle.

Yet the thought doesn’t leave you as he lowers his fingers toward your clit to pinch and tweak your next orgasm out of you. But you’re already far too sensitive, far too gone in the stimulation and the pain to enjoy it.

Instead, you try to focus on the little red light that blinks from the camera, try to imagine how pleased the audience will be to see this. How all of this will be worth it. It has to be worth it.

“Feels good, honey, doesn’t it?” he groans, now pushing your knee into your chest until you’re whimpering. “My pretty pussy takes me so well, doesn’t she? Let’s me fuck her exactly the way I want. Till she’s fucking crying.”

You nod weakly and the sight of your wet eyes makes his cock twitch as he drives himself in at a quicker pace.

And suddenly, you can’t breathe. Can’t slow the racing of your pulse or ignore the ringing in your ears. It’s everywhere, this pain. Your vision of him has gone blurry and your poor pussy feels swollen and abused.

But you tell yourself it’ll be fine. That you just need to catch your breath. You just need a second, and it’ll be okay.

Because you don’t want to say it. You’ve never had to say it before, and you don’t exactly want to start now. And you aren’t sure why, you know he’d be more than understanding. But this is silly, you feel silly. Because you’re fine. You just need a second. And it'll pass.

It will pass.

But it doesn’t pass, and you don’t feel in control of your own body anymore. Which is normally the point, but not today. Today you need to feel grounded, to feel some semblance of power over the anguish. And he’s so good, and so kind, and you can’t say it. You can’t do this to him, can’t do this to yourself, and if you can just catch your breath, it’ll be okay.

Because he feels good, he really does. And you’re making him feel good, and you don’t want to take that from him. Because then he won’t get to cum, and he’ll be upset, and he’ll never treat you the same. He’ll always remember that you were too weak to take it.

So you’ll take it, you will. You’ll be his good girl, his good little slut, and you’ll make him proud.

You will.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you repeat this mantra. As you command yourself to like the pain. Because you do. You have to. You can’t say it. You can’t, so you won’t, and you won’t do this, and you won’t ruin it, and it’s fine, and everything is fine—

“Wait,” you whisper, hands tugging on the sweaty curls at your disposal. Hard enough to capture his attention. “Wait, hold on, hold…yellow.”

Just like that…it all stops. He stills, instantly. No more thrusts into your cunt, no more pinching or pulling on your clit, no more kisses to your neck. It all stops in the blink of an eye, and you hear him inhale a quick breath as his body freezes above yours.

Seconds pass. Quiet and filled with a charged, tense energy that’s so eerie, you can almost hear your heart thumping in your chest.

Then, he murmurs, “Okay. Okay, m’waiting.”

Your lashes flutter shut as a wince stretches across your expression. He doesn’t sound upset, but maybe he is. And you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, can sense how hard he’s trying to hold himself back, how difficult this must be for him to stop like this.

And you realize now that you’ve ruined it, and he’s gonna be pissed, and he’s going to end things, and he’s never gonna fuck you again—

“Peach,” he says softly, face still nuzzled against your shoulder. “Talk to me, what do you need? What would you like me to do?”

You don’t trust your voice. Can feel the influx of tears racing up the back of your throat as you squeeze his hair harder and shake your head.

But this isn’t an answer he accepts, his fingers gently tugging on your waist. “Peach, I need to hear you. I need to know what to do—”

“Nothing,” you exhale, the words getting lost in his cheek as you hold on for dear life. “Nothing, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just need one second. One second and you can go, okay? I promise, I’m sorry—”

“Peach.” It’s not angry but it’s fervent. Determined. “Don’t…shit. Don’t you dare fucking apologize right now, just tell me…tell me what you want me to do. Do you want me to pull out? Or do you want me to stay still?”

And you want to answer, but you can’t. Because there’s too much happening in your head right now. In your heart. It’s going faster than you think it ever has, and your lungs feel like they’re going to collapse, and you want to cry—God, you want to cry. Can already feel the tears slipping down your face, fast and without mercy.

Because he’s so good, and so wonderful, and so kind, and you don’t deserve him. Especially after making him stop, and why did you make him stop, why did you do this, why can’t you just get over it—

“Hey, hey.” His head lifts, eyes finding yours as his hand comes up to cup your jaw. As delicately as he can without startling you. “Okay, it’s all right. You’re okay, Peach.”

His lips press to the tears on your skin. Gently and with great compassion. Which, in turn, only makes you cry that much harder.

“You’re okay,” he whispers between slow kisses to your cheek. “Deep breath, my love. You’re all right, I’ve got you, yeah? M’right here. Won’t let you go until you want me to.”

You melt into the mattress as he continues holding you to the best of his ability. As he attempts to comfort you without causing you any more pain.

“Honey, I need you to tell me what you need. What your body needs,” he repeats after a moment, nose faintly brushing against yours. “Do you want me to pull out or do you want me to stay still?”

Truthfully, you aren’t sure what you want. It doesn’t sting the way it did before, but you’re worried if he moves, the pain will return tenfold.

And the thought of him taking himself from you makes your chest ache.

“I don’t know,” you whimper, attempting to hide yourself in his neck. “I don’t know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m trying—”

“Hey.” The stern voice returns as his palm tightens against your chin and pulls your focus to him. “What did I just say, hm? I don’t want to hear one more apology out of this pretty mouth. Is that understood?”

Your bottom lip quivers. “…I’m sorry.”

With a gentle but slightly amused sigh, he says, “Peach—”

“I am,” you insist, nails curling into the back of his neck. “I don’t know why I made you stop, I’m fine. I’m fine, really. I think I just got scared or something—”

“Scared?” His demeanor shifts on a dime, brows furrowing, and expression quickly growing distressed. “Scared how? What did I do? What can I do?”

“Nothing,” you repeat, gasping slightly at the implication. “Nothing, no. You didn’t…that’s not what I…fuck.”

“Okay, easy, Peach,” he mumbles, sweeping his thumb along your bottom lip soothingly. Waiting until you calm. And he studies you for quite some time, as though looking for the answer written somewhere on your face. “It was a lot, yeah? I pushed too hard.”

“No,” you try again, but his look of disapproval makes you wilt. “I mean…it was a lot, yes, but you didn’t…normally, it’s perfect. It’s never too hard or too much. You didn’t do this, I think I just…my mind wasn’t here. Maybe.”

He nods once. Contemplates this. “I should have checked in with you more frequently. Especially with the camera on—”

“No,” you huff, resisting the urge to slap his shoulder. “Stop putting this on yourself, it’s making me sad.”

“And your apologies make me sad,” he counters. “But that’s the point of the safeword, isn’t it? The system we have in place? It’s nobody’s fault. It’s about communication. About trust, about safety.”

You swallow thickly and settle into the calming safe of his eyes.

His finger continues to trace the outline of your mouth, almost as if in an attempt to collect himself. “Do you trust me, Peach?”

Your stomach sinks. “Of course.”

“Do you feel safe with me?”

“Yes.” You leave a kiss to his thumb. “Always, Sir. I promise.”

He begins to frown. “No, I don’t want you to call me that right now. I want you to call me Harry.”

And this shift – this instruction is what you were afraid of. Lashes fluttering as you whisper, “It’s…it’s okay. You can still be Sir, I promise—”

“No, I don’t want to be your dominant right now,” he corrects firmly. “I don’t want to be your Sir. Or your boss or your investor. I want to be your partner. Your equal. I want to be you and me. Us.”

And you know he means it. Can sense the truth of it behind his assertion and it feels like the first deep breath you’ve been able to take all day.

“Okay,” you agree, taking hold of his wrist to keep his hand close to your face. “Okay, we’ll be us.”

He seems relieved, dipping down to kiss the center of your forehead before asking, “Now…tell me what you want. Do you want me to pull out or keep still? What does your body need right now?”

You take a moment to find the right answer. “I don’t…honestly, I don’t know. I’m okay right now. Doesn’t…doesn’t hurt as much. You can…you can keep going if you want.”

“It’s not about what I want,” he reminds you. “It’s about what you want. What you need. If you want me to stay, I will. If you want me to go, I will.”

“I…I don’t want you to go. Really, I didn’t mean to make us stop, I swear—”

“We’re not stopping yet,” he interrupts. “Not until you say red. Right now, we’re just taking a break. Reassessing what you need. Okay?”

You nod weakly. “Okay.”

“Good.” He presses his palm to your cheek. “Do you want to say red? Do you want to stop?”

Again, you deliberate this. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

The frown returns. “I need you to do more than think, Peach. I need you to be sure.”

“I am,” you rush to clarify, shifting a bit beneath him as you squeeze his arm and fight against a pained wince. “I am, I promise. I just…I don’t know what happened. It just…there was a lot happening all of a sudden, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t enjoy it. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe or…or understand why I felt so off.”

A certain sadness finds him again as he nods and presses a couple more kisses to your temple. “I think you had a panic attack, my love.”

It’s an odd thought. One you aren’t quite familiar with, as panic attacks aren’t that common for you. In fact, you don’t believe you’ve ever had one before. At least not that you were aware of.

“Oh…” The words feel empty in your head. Weightless, with no meaning to grasp onto. “I…why?”

The corner of his mouth curls up, and the delicate smile makes your heart soar. “I don’t know. Sometimes we can’t find the cause, it just…happens.”

You blink up at him. “You’ve had a panic attack before?”

“I have,” he says calmly, and it surprises you more than it should. “I get them occasionally. Not as much anymore, though. With you.”

And this admission feels like something you can’t explain. Another piece to the Harry Styles puzzle you get to add to. Letting you see his big picture.

“I didn’t know that,” you whisper, and he shrugs.

“I never told you.” Another kiss to your forehead. “But I know how disorienting they can be, and I think it’s best we take a longer break before we continue.”

You feel your expression fall as he gently begins to move. “No, I…I don’t want to stop, I’m fine. You can…you can go—”

However, when he suddenly shifts his hips, it forces you to suck in a sharp, pained breath. Making it clear that continuing is no longer an option.

And for some reason, it feels like a punch to the gut. Knocking the wind from your lungs until that heaviness returns to your chest.

He really is going to stop. He’s going to take his body from you, and his weight, and his heat, and his cock. And the scene will be over, and maybe you won’t start again. Maybe he won’t be in the mood, or he’ll jerk one out in the shower without you, or he’ll look at you differently.

And you hate that thought more than anything in the world.

“No,” you practically whimper, grabbing onto his hips to keep him still. “No, we don’t have to stop, I’m fine. Really, it was just…it was nothing. Please, Harry.”

His thumb quickly returns to your face, brushing just below your eye to help dry the fresh set of tears on your warm, stained cheeks.

And he looks so very wounded. “Peach…this isn’t a punishment. There’s a reason we use the traffic light system, and it’s for moments like this. To keep things safe—”

“But I am safe,” you argue, the sound of your plea timid and riddled with distress. “And I’m fine now, really. You can go, we can finish. I want you to finish—”

“Peach,” he says again, but it’s a bit more resolute. “This isn’t about me finishing. It will never be about me finishing, all right? We can always resume the scene later if you’d like, but right now…I want to hold you. I want to help you feel steady again.”

And it’s the most perfect thought in the world. From the most perfectly imperfect man, and yet the idea of stopping sends sharp needles down your spine.

“Please,” you whine again, sniffling softly. “I don’t want to stop, I promise. Please don’t make us stop, please don’t…don’t…”

He dips down and nuzzles his nose to yours, forcing you to take a deep breath. “Honey, I’m not doing this to hurt you. Or upset you. I want to help, I want you to let me help. To honor our system and take a break.”

But you tug on him tighter, face disappearing into his chest as you shake your head. “Please don’t. Please just ignore me. I’ll feel worse if we stop, really. I’ll get worried and I’ll overthink, and I’ll panic again, and it’ll just be so much worse. So just…let’s finish, okay? I want to finish.”

You hear – and feel – him sigh. “Baby, I need you to listen to me right now, okay? This is my answer.”

It’s rare he uses this nickname, and even though it might be a little cliché, it makes your stomach wrench in the best possible way.

Yet still, the anguish is evident. “Harry,” you whisper, pleading desperately with everything you have left.

He slips his palm around the back of your neck to pull you from his body and allow him to see your face. It’s scrutinous, his expression. Slightly stern and somewhat doleful. “Do I need to be your dominant again? Is that the only way you’ll listen to me?”

Truth be told, you wonder if it is, and your sad little hiccup seems to be answer enough.

So, while fighting a smile, he says, “Then I want you to be a good girl and let Daddy hold you. I don’t want you to argue with me, or fight me, or act like a brat. I want you to say, ‘Yes, Sir,’ and be done with it. Is that understood?”

With a shaky inhale and a feeble nod, you murmur, “Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” he hums before landing his mouth on yours. Kissing you for the first time in what feels like years. “Much sweeter when you behave for me, my love. Aren’t you?”

But you don’t have the strength to answer.

“I know,” he says for you, chuckling against your lips. “Now…I’m gonna pull out. And I’m gonna go slow, all right? Try to be as gentle as I can. And I want you to tell me if it aches or if it’s too much, yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

With this vow, he begins to draw his hips back, cock retreating from your pussy until that full feeling begins to diminish.

And at first it’s a bit uncomfortable. Tight, in a sense but eventually, he’s all the way out, and your cunt is provided a moment of much needed reprieve.

The moment that relief finds you, it seems to melt across your expression. And he notices, smiling gratefully but with a twinge of regret. As though he’s punishing himself for causing you the displeasure in the first place.

But before either of you can argue about it again, he’s settling on the mattress beside you and slipping an arm around your stomach. Keeping you pressed against his body to hold you the way he promised.

“There,” he sighs, lips returning to their rightful place on your neck. “Is that better?”

Your eyes fall shut in blissful ecstasy as you lace your hand with his. “Yes, Sir.”

He grins and that familiar dimple reappears. “Attagirl. And you’re gonna let me hold you, yeah?”

“Mhm. Always, Sir.”

He kisses the spot below your ear. “Good.”

The large bedroom falls silent while the little red light from the camera blinks the seconds away. You imagine you’ll have to scrap this video, and you want to feel regret over wasting so much content over this.

But you know, deep down, it’s not about the videos, or your OnlyFans, or the money.

Because all you really need…is here beside you.

“Sir?” you whisper into the delicate air.

His head rolls back. “Yes, Peach?”

“Thank you.”

He squeezes your hip. “Don’t have to thank me, honey. This is my job. This is what we agreed on.”

“I know,” you admit, allowing your other hand to travel to his hair. Fingers absentmindedly sweeping through the curls. “But I don’t think any of my other partners would have been this understanding. And I really appreciate it.”

His eyebrow raises. “Well, that’s why they aren’t your fucking partners anymore. You needed someone that wasn’t a total fucking twat.”

You smirk. “Touché.”

Another quiet lull as you listen to the sound of his soft breaths. Reveling in the feel of them against your heated skin. The way they keep you present in this moment with him instead of losing you to the voices in your head.

Contented, you turn and press your cheek to his forehead, nails scratching down his scalp gently. “Harry?”

“Yes, Peach?”

With a racing heart, your eyes flutter shut.

“…I love you.”

Previous Part:

~ How Many?*

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @buckyssbestgirl @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobi @caynonmoondreams @daphnesutton @uniquesexything @amateurduck @ilovec0lbybr0ck @winterrays @milfrrynation @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever @saturnheartz @closureesny

2K notes · View notes

sansaorgana · 8 months

Text

— A BETTER PERSON

PAIRING — Erik Lehnsherr x fem!Mutant!Reader

SUMMARY — Erik struggles with accepting the fact that his son is not a mutant.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Hi, it's me again 😂 This fic can be read as a part two of THIS FIC but doesn't have to be at all. It contains some fighting between Erik and Reader but I promise it all ends well! 💗 Reader’s mutation is NOT specified (as much as it was possible).

WORD COUNT — 3,930

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

A BETTER PERSON

“No,” Erik stood up and clenched his fists to stop himself from using his mutation powers against Charles. “I do not agree,” he stated more calmly now.

“Anybody else?” Charles looked past him at the other teachers sitting inside his office.

No one else said anything, though.

“I’m sorry, Erik, you’ve lost,” Charles smirked at him.

“Fine then,” your husband clenched his jaw. “If you want to let the non-mutant children in this school, I’m leaving. I won’t teach humans.”

“Don’t be too dramatic, Erik,” you stood up as well and put your hand on his shoulder. “We’re building something special here and you know it…”

“Yes, we are,” he snapped at you and pushed your hand away, “but he wants to ruin it,” he pointed at Charles. “This place is a safe space for the mutants. Humans have always been a threat.”

“Well, obviously, the ones who hate mutants won’t be welcome here,” Charles rolled his eyes. “Your wife is right, Erik. You’re overreacting.”

“Oh, really?” Erik tilted his head. “Because I’m sure you’re going to invite everyone here soon. People who are against us so they can know us better and realize we are the same. People who admire us so they can look at us from a closer angle. I am not an animal in the zoo, Xavier, and I certainly am not a lab rat. Never again.”

“Erik, it’s just only about avoiding segregation,” you sighed. “Do you really have to make a scene? We don’t even know yet if we’re going to get permission from the government… It’s just an idea.”

“I am not going to teach non-mutants. End of discussion. They’re not welcome here,” he drawled out and that was when you heard a noise behind the door. An echo of the familiar legs running away as quickly as possible down the corridor.

“Alex…”, you whispered and laid your eyes on Erik to give him a dirty look. “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” you snarled at him before running out of Charles’ office.

Your son was fast but he wasn’t extraordinarily fast and he was a child after all, so you caught him pretty fast. In fact, there was nothing extraordinary about him and he was already ten years old, which could only mean one thing that your husband refused to ever address. For Erik, Alex was just a late bloomer but he was the only person in the whole school who was thinking that.

Because the truth was, Xavier’s School already had a non-mutant student. And it was Erik Lehnsherr’s flesh and blood.

“Alex,” you grabbed your son’s shoulder and turned him around. His eyes were full of tears and his hands were shaking. It was breaking your heart to see him like that. “Alex, what were you doing there? It was a meeting for the teachers.”

“I wanted to f-find you,” he sniffled and rubbed his eyes. “Edie did it again…” he sobbed.

Edie was your second child, named after Erik’s mother. She was six years old and her mutant powers had recently started to show. One of her favourite activities was to tease her older brother. She couldn’t understand why he was always so upset instead of teasing her back. She inherited much more from her father than just his mutation.

“What did she do?” You sighed and fixed his ruffled hair.

“Locked me in my room,” he looked down, ashamed of the fact that he had been bullied by a little girl. “I couldn’t open it, she melted the lock.”

You sighed and pressed his head to your chest. Edie’s pranks were starting to get too cruel these days.

“I will talk to her,” you promised him and kissed the top of his head. “Now, about what your father said…” you brought up the topic and Alex burst into tears once again, pressing his face even deeper into the material of your sweater. “He didn’t mean you, love,” you didn’t know what else to say.

“Of course I didn’t,” Erik’s voice made you both turn around. He looked a bit uneasy and he was keeping a distance from you two. “Because you’re a mutant, Alex. You just need more time to figure it out,” your husband added.

“No, I am not!” Alex exclaimed dramatically and ran away again but this time you didn’t chase him. Instead, you approached your husband angrily.

“That was not what he needed to hear,” you drawled out. “What he needs to hear is that you love him nevertheless,” you explained and then you took a step back and furrowed your brow while staring deep into Erik’s bright eyes. He was staring back at you without a word. “Unless you… don’t,” you whispered before turning around and leaving him alone in the middle of the corridor.

You didn’t look for Alex after that. You decided to give him some time to cry alone first and instead of that you focused on giving Edie a lecture. One of many and probably not the last one. You loved her, of course, just like you loved her father. But sometimes you wished she was… less like him. One Erik was enough to handle.

Speaking of him, he was avoiding you for the rest of the day and he seemed to be offended because he didn’t even want to talk to you. When you bumped into him, he didn’t say “sorry” or anything, he just walked on by.

During supper he sat next to you as usual but he kept talking to Raven sitting by his other side. You were playing with your food and watching Edie from the corner of your eye. She seemed to be very giddy and joyful. Too much for a girl who had been scolded by her mother for bullying her brother. She seemed to brag to one of the boys about what she had done earlier. You stopped looking at her and started to search for your son amongst the children by the long table.

“Where is Alex?” You asked out loud after realizing that he wasn’t there.

“Probably still crying in his room,” Edie shrugged her arms and you stood up loudly, making everyone wince at the sound of the squeaking chair.

“(Y/N), let him be,” Erik laid his eyes on you for the first time since morning. “Boys process such things differently.”

“No, they don’t,” you had to fight the urge to slap his face. How could he not even be worried? How could he allow Edie to be so insolent? “Now, if you excuse me, I need to find my son,” you informed everyone and walked out of the dining room to hurry upstairs.

Alex was a son of two teachers so he had the privilege of having his own room next to yours. Not so long ago he had been sharing it with Edie but since she had started to show off her powers they had to be separated. You knocked upon the door and waited for an answer but there was none.

“Alex, baby, open the door, please. It’s me, mummy,” you whispered but there was still no answer. “I’m walking inside, honey,” you pushed the door open.

The room was dark. You put the light on only to find the room empty and your heart skipped a beat at the realization that you had absolutely no idea where your son was.

Desperately, to be absolutely sure, you looked under the bed and inside the closet but he obviously wasn’t there. So you ran back downstairs, feeling like your heart would jump out of your chest any given moment. Your head felt heavy and your ears were ringing.

“He’s not in his room,” you announced after opening the door leading to the dining room with shaky hands. Everyone went silent and looked at you. Seeing your terrified face and trembling arms, they began to worry as well. Erik stood up from the table and approached you slowly.

“He… He’s not… He’s not there, Erik,” you struggled to catch your breath out of growing anxiety as you held onto his sleeve.

“Maybe he’s hiding in the garden,” he tried to calm you down but he began to look worried as well. “I’ll look for him.”

“I will help you,” Hank left the table, too.

“And me,” Raven joined them.

“Can we help as well?” One of the students asked.

“You can stay here and finish your meal,” Charles told him. “Unless any of you has any idea where Alex can be?” he asked but there was a dead silence from all the kids. “Alright then, you stay here. We are going to look for him. I’m sure he’s nearby,” he approached you and took your hand in his. “(Y/N), come with me,” he encouraged you and you nodded before following him outside. You felt like you were inside a bad dream.

“He has never done anything like that… He… He would always tell me everything…” you stuttered out. “He’s a clingy child… With me at least… That’s so unlike him to just… To just make me worry like that.”

“I’m sure Erik will find him,” Charles tried to calm you down and you both went outside where the rest of the adults had been looking for your son.

You could hear their voices calling out Alex’s name but you were too petrified to move and help them. You felt helpless. Ten minutes passed and there was apparently no sign of him still being around the mansion.

“He’s not here,” Hank walked up to you and Charles and shook his head. Erik followed him, paler than ever.

“When was the last time you saw Alex?” Your husband asked you.

“The same time you did,” you snapped at him. “I gave him some time after what you had said to him and it was my mistake. I should have gone after him and left that brat Edie to you.”

“Hey, hey,” Erik took a step back and put his arms in the air like he was giving up, “don’t take it out on me and certainly not on our daughter. Charles,” he looked down at his friend, “you can find Alex, right? You shouldn’t have a problem with that.”

“Well…” Charles sighed and hesitated for a moment, “I’m a telepath but it’s easier to connect with other mutants.”

“Excellent then,” Erik nodded.

“I’m going to try but considering the fact Alex is not a mutant…” Charles began again, less delicately this time.

“He is,” Erik protested, “come on, Xavier, you know that he is. We’ve talked about it, you were supposed to help him to find out what his mutation was. Just because you haven’t found it yet…”

“Wait, what?!” You interrupted him with a scream. It was the first time you had ever heard of it.

“I tried but… Erik, there is really nothing there…” Charles explained but you didn’t let him finish. You approached your husband and pushed him away.

“Hey!” He exclaimed.

“Stay away!” You yelled. “It’s all your fault, stay away!”

“(Y/N), calm down. Charles needs to focus if you want him to find Alex,” Hank tried to put his arm around you but you pushed him away as well. Your anger and worry made your powers grow stronger and stronger with every minute.

“You’re so full of shit, Erik,” you could feel your whole body melting under the power of your own mutation. Your every nerve and every muscle was filled with anger. You could kill him with a snap of your fingers if you wanted to. “So, your son is a human. In a place like this, though, he is the outsider. He is the one needing protection here. And instead of doing what a father should do, you were pushing him, behind my back, arranging secret sessions with Charles… You… Can’t you see that what you’re doing isn’t far from what has been done to you?” you asked while walking slowly towards him. Those were rare moments to see Erik Lehnsherr genuinely scared of anyone but it was one of them. “He’s not a lab rat or a weapon. He’s a person. And all that boy has ever wanted was for you to love him. You have no idea how many times he’s been asking me about it. Does dad love me? And I have never been brave enough to tell him to ask you instead. Because I was scared of your answer. But now I know it,” you finished with your face only a few inches away from his.

“No, you don’t. You think you do but you don’t,” Erik whispered and swallowed thickly. He wasn’t even trying to defend himself, it was like he had known, deep down, that he deserved it. “You must be insane if you think I don’t love him,” his words were almost inaudible at this point; only for your ears to hear.

“Then act like it,” you drawled out.

“Mrs. Lehnsherr!” One of the children’s voices made you turn around. It was the boy Edie had been talking to earlier. You had noticed a few times that he quite liked to pick on your son as well whenever there was such an opportunity.

“What do you want?” You asked him rudely.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you earlier…” he started as his voice broke. He looked scared and worried. “I know where Alex went… I saw him… I’m sorry, I should have said…” he started crying and you approached him quickly. “I’m so sorry…” he kept repeating.

“Stop apologizing and tell me where he is,” you grabbed him by his shoulders.

“(Y/N),” Charles raised his hand. He didn’t want you to be too rough with the students but you didn’t care. You wanted your son to be safe and back at home.

“I asked him where he was going… He told me he was running away to New York to get adopted by... normal people. I think he took the bus or something,” the boy sniffled.

“When was it?” You asked.

“Not long before supper.”

“He must be on the station or on that bus then,” you heard Erik’s voice. “I’m going,” he added and ran to the hangar to get one of the cars.

You wanted to stop him. To tell him that you should be there, too. But you were so heartbroken after what that student had told you that you couldn’t say a word. You couldn’t believe that your son wanted to be adopted by a different… normal family.

“Let’s go back inside,” you loosened the grip on the boy’s shoulders. “Thank you for telling me. You’ve done the right thing,” you added with a broken smile.

It was almost two in the morning and everyone was asleep except for you and Charles. You were in the living room, waiting for Erik’s return. Edie was also there, she refused to go to her bedroom before seeing Alex again but she fell asleep with her head on your lap around eleven. You were playing with her hair to keep your hands busy.

Apparently it had been her. She had noticed the other student’s odd behaviour and it had been her threatening him to tell you everything. She had been crying and shaking in your arms and blaming herself. But you weren’t angry with her anymore. She was only six years old and putting a blame on her would be unfair. It would only make her feel even worse. It had been Erik who should have known better. Not her.

“They’re back,” Charles whispered after hearing a car on the driveway.

“Both of them?” You asked, worriedly.

“Yes,” he closed his eyes for a moment, “I can sense them both.”

You sighed with relief and gently moved Edie’s head away from your lap to put it on the sofa’s cushion. Then you stood up and walked out to see Erik and Alex entering the mansion.

When you saw them, you froze for a moment because Alex was being carried by Erik in his arms.

“He’s asleep,” your husband informed you immediately. “He fell asleep on our way here,” Erik explained. “He’s fine,” he added and you nodded.

“You couldn’t just wait at the next bus stop, right?” Charles’ voice interrupted you from behind. He was looking at Erik with a smirk. He had just been looking through his memories to find out what had exactly happened. “You just had to dramatically stop the bus in the middle of the road?”

“Yes, in fact, I had to,” Erik drawled out at his friend, “because my son was in there.”

“Alex!” Edie ran up to you. Her hair was ruffled and her eyes were squinted – she was barely awake – but she had a big smile on her face. Her calling woke Alex up and he moved in Erik’s arms before yawning and looking down at his sister. “Alex!” She called once again and extended her hands towards him. Erik put the boy on the ground so his sister could give him a hug. “I’m sorry I locked you in your room!” She cried happy tears and squeezed her brother tighter.

“It’s okay…” Alex hugged her back.

“I will never do it again!” Edie squealed.

“Thanks…”

“And you?” You crossed your arms and looked at your son.

“I will never do it again either. I’m sorry, mum…” He avoided your eyes, ashamed and scared. You crouched down and hugged him as well to place a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m glad Alex is safe. I’ll leave you now,” Charles nodded his head and went away quietly.

“Where did you even get the money from? For the ticket?” You asked your son.

“From dad’s wallet…” Alex looked down but you laughed instead of scolding him.

“Guess how much he’s taken,” Erik smiled for the first time in hours and you shook your head. “A hundred.”

“A hundred?!” You let out a laugh and Edie giggled. “Alex, how much do you think a ticket to New York costs?”

“I didn’t know how much it would be! I was worried it wouldn’t be enough!” Alex explained and you burst into happy tears of joy and relief to have him back. You kissed his forehead again.

“What did you do with the change?”

“I bought some comic books at the station,” he pointed at his small backpack. “And a bag of chips in case I get hungry.”

“Priorities,” Erik hummed.

“It’s time to go to bed now,” you announced when the clock struck two. “We will talk about it tomorrow before breakfast,” you stood up and Alex nodded. You took him by his hand to take him to his bedroom. Erik picked little Edie up off the ground to carry her upstairs as well. She was so sleepy she looked like she’d fall asleep standing.

When both children were already in their beds, you went to your own bedroom in silence.

“What did you tell him?” You asked when the door closed behind Erik and you were the only awake people in the whole mansion at that hour.

“Well, at first everyone was scared of me, of course…” He started.

“Yeah, no kidding,” you rolled your eyes.

“I told the bus driver my son had run away from home and that he must be there. The guy pointed his finger at Alex immediately. Not many ten year olds travel on their own. I just took him to the car,” Erik explained and sat down on the bed to run his fingers through his hair. He was exhausted.

“So… you didn’t talk to him? You haven’t told him anything?” You were shocked.

“What was I supposed to…? Listen, I was fuming! He stole my money and ran away and he’s only ten! Imagine what he’s gonna be like in five years! Absolute nightmare! I was worried sick and I was angry, so I decided it would be for the best if I shut my mouth. I have a tendency of making everything worse when I speak,” he lowered his voice in the end and put his face in the palms of his hands.

“I was too harsh to you earlier,” you sat next to him and gently took his hands in yours to move them away from his face, “I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I was worried.”

“No, you were right,” Erik sighed and looked up to meet your gaze. “I was lying to myself and pushing him. It’s… I didn’t expect to have a human son. We are both powerful mutants, it shouldn’t have happened… Now all my beliefs and opinions and… And everything… It is being questioned. And it makes me feel uneasy,” he confessed but not without the visible struggle.

“Oh, Erik…” you sighed and cupped his face to caress his cheeks with your thumbs. “Perhaps boys really do process such things differently,” you chuckled.

“I’ve maimed and killed for the idea of mutants’ supremacy. If I abandon it now… What would that make me? A hypocrite. A traitor to the cause,” he clenched his jaw as a tear rolled down his cheek.

“It would make you a good father, Erik,” you wiped that tear with your thumb, “and that’s all that should matter. Also, people change. It’s a natural process. You’ve changed once already, after being hurt by Schmidt. Because before that you hadn’t been like this either,” you reminded him and a short silence occurred between you two.

“Why do you always have to be right?” he sighed and you laughed softly before leaning in to place a kiss on his forehead.

When you went to Alex’s room in the morning, he was still asleep, which was not surprising after a night like that. You sat on the edge of his bed to caress your son’s hair and Erik opened his backpack to look at the comic books your son had bought.

“They’re about superheroes,” he noticed.

“Aren’t they all?” You asked.

“Mum…?” Alex opened his eyes slowly and covered his mouth to yawn before rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, sleepy head,” you greeted him softly. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he sat up and extended his hands to give you a hug. You leaned in to put your arms around him and squeeze him tight.

“Your dad has something to tell you,” you said and moved back. Erik cleared his throat and sat next to you as Alex watched carefully while making big eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Erik started with an apology, which was quite unusual for him. “I’m sorry I made an impression that…” he hesitated. “No, it wasn’t making an impression. No more excuses. I’m sorry for pushing you into being a mutant. You are…” he sighed. “You are perfect the way you are because you are my son,” he finished. He had never expected to give such a talk to a non-mutant.

You felt tears forming in your eyes at his words and you squeezed Erik’s cold hand to give him more courage.

“But… I don’t have any cool superpowers,” Alex whined. “I wish I had.”

“Your superpower is being yourself and that’s enough,” Erik assured him. “And I’m sorry I haven’t seen it earlier. Even though you can’t defend yourself as well as me or your mum or your sister, I will never let anything bad happen to you,” he leaned in to give Alex a hug and pressed his son’s head to his chest. “You’re making me a better person and I was scared of that but I am not anymore. I love you.”

MASTERLIST

#erik lehnsherr x reader #lilysfiction #magneto x reader

518 notes · View notes

fuckmyskywalker · 8 months

Text

"Frustration!" — Anakin Skywalker.

— CW: 18+, smut. Hate sex, dirty talk, cunnilingus. | Word count: 1.2k!

— Taglist! | List of films!

“Anakin, fucking let go of me!” The leather of his glove digs into your skin, as he drags you harshly into the cockpit.

He locks the door behind him, not even bothering to give you the reason why he’s so upset about… well, something. Only Anakin knows what’s going on inside his mind— although, sometimes you wonder if he even knows what’s going on. You try to stay calm, but your heart is racing. Anakin's face is contorted into something unreadable and his eyes are wide. He turns away from you, seemingly out of anger or fear— or both.

“Do you like him?” He asks out of the blue, increasing your confused state. He crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for your answer.

With no clue what he is talking about, you stare at him rather annoyed. The lack of answer makes him scoff, he thinks you’re playing dumb. Anakin thinks everyone should know what he is thinking about and to some extent, it’s frustrating. The lack of communication on his part when it comes to literally any ambit is potentially a red flag— but who would dare to question the Chosen One?

Anakin knows he can be as cocky as he wants. He is demanding and irritating— his ego is as big as Yavin Prime, if not bigger. But, you always find a way to put a stop to him, and that frustrates him even more. He hates that you are the only person who can say “no” to him, not even Obi-Wan can stop him when he has his mind set on something. Plus, it doesn’t help at all that he’s been fucking with you for a while now.

“I asked you a question, fucking answer it,” Anakin’s tone is beyond demanding. With what right is he talking to you as if you were one of his soldiers?

You finally talk, “Anakin, I have no clue who are you talking about.”

“Don’t play stupid, I saw you. You were flirting with Senator Cadaman,” his body language is aggressive, something you are more than accustomed to.

«Oh Maker, he is jealous,» you think. That was unexpected.

“Anakin,” taking a step closer, you mirror his position, crossing your arms as well. In an ideal situation, you would calm him down, and let him know that nothing is going on between you and Cadaman… but this will never be the ideal situation— not when Anakin Skywalker is involved. “I wasn’t flirting with him. It’s called being polite, is it suddenly my fault you mistake simple manners with flirting, just because no one is nice to you?”

Perhaps you were being harsh on him, but you weren’t in the mood to deal with Anakin’s jealousy— not now, not never. Boundaries were never set to start with; it’s not formal, it’s not a relationship.

It’s just sex.

“People are nice to me.”

“Only because they are afraid of you.”

“No, it is because they respect me!” His voice raises. Deep down he knows that maybe, just maybe, you're right— but Anakin would rather die than admit when he’s wrong.

“Get out of your damn bubble, Anakin. It has nothing to do with respect; when people respect you they admire you,” closing the distance between your bodies, you raise your hand, digging your index finger into his chest. “People fear what may happen to them if they don’t agree with you, or follow your orders, or deny you something.”

His flesh hand grabs your own, yanking you towards him and pressing you against his chest. His gloved hand reaches for your jaw, forcing you to raise your head to look at him— it hurts. He is being rough. He is mad.

“Fear?” He looks down at you with lust and sentiment, barely covered by a thin veil of disgust. Only you can say no to him. Only you have the courage to treat him as an equal— and that makes his dick so, so hard. “I’ll fucking show you what fear is.”

You fight against him, but it’s pretty much pointless. Anakin spins you and presses your chest over the ship panel, the different buttons and levers painfully digging into your skin. He struggles to take your pants off but in the end, he manages to yank them below your knees— adding a hint of humiliation to the situation. His gloved hand slaps your ass harshly, causing you to moan.

“Do you want to be a bitch and talk back?” He says after another slap. “Do you want to act like a slut?”

“Anakin!” You wail. He smiles, this is how he wants you. This is where he thinks you belong.

“Do you want me to stop?” Another slap. The dynamic between you two has always been the same, fighting, arguing, and calling each other names… until you grew up enough to blow the steam off in more… carnal ways. “Tell me to fucking stop, and I will.”

But you don’t. You find yourself unable to speak.

You hate how he breaks your will, you hate how you only find pleasure in his rough treatment, and you especially hate feeding his ego.

“See? I know you. I know the real you,” his voice is pure spite, despite the lewd undertones. “I know you are nothing more than a slut, you enjoy the attention.”

The skin of your ass is burning, and it hurts, but the words that could make him stop his assault never leave your lips. You feel powerless, like you are nothing more than a toy that he can play with at his leisure. You hate the feeling of not being in control of your own body, and you curse yourself for not being able to break free from his grip. Is that same power play that keeps you tied to him— and what keeps Anakin always coming back to you?

“See how fucking wet you are?”

He is disgusting. You despise him— but you push your hips towards his face when he kneels right behind you to plunge his tongue inside your pussy. He laps at you without shame, as if he doesn’t even know the definition of it. Anakin eats you out relentlessly, groaning at the taste.

“I fucking hate you and your perfect fucking cunt,” he spits right on you, mixing your arousal with his saliva. The act makes you squirm, stretching your arm behind you and yanking his messy hair bringing back his face to where you need him the most.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up,” you breathe, closing your eyes. “W–Why can’t you just be quiet for five damn minutes!”

Anakin moans against your core, closing his eyes and fucking you with his tongue until your knees go weak. Sneaking his hand in between your legs he rubs tight, quick circles over your clit which triggers your orgasm— perhaps faster than on any other occasion. Biting your lower lip, refusing to let his name escape from the deepest corners of your mind, you close your eyes to focus on the lewd noises of the man behind you— practically slurping everything you have to offer.

In an instant, he is standing next to you, grabbing a fistful of your hair and crashing his lips against yours. Smearing the wetness all over his mouth over your face, the kiss is messy, borderline savage— and you love it.

“I wasn’t flirting with him,” you whisper.

“I know.”

— 🐚 if you wish you be added to my taglist there's a google forms in the beginning of the post! There you can select which days you would like to be tagged in (or choose the option: all the above!). If you send me a DM or an ask I will tag you on every day! | some tags might not work due to your settings, so let me know!

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya writes!#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 kinktober 2023!#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin x reader smut #anakin x reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x y/n

1K notes · View notes

oneforthemunny · 6 days

Note

A nsfw game, so fun!! My roll is 4,F,$ (for you to write) 😌 😈

ahh the first one!!! for you, your roll is: mafia!eddie, standing up, paddle.

minors dni. dom/sub themes, spanking, daddy kink.

"Keep your hands on your head," Eddie's voice was firm, commanding with little to no room for argument, a stark contrast to his usual cooing soft tone he used with you.

"You move those hands and I start over, do you hear me?" You squirmed at the authority in his voice, tensing your arms that were already beginning to tire. You could hear Eddie behind you, rummaging through his 'play' closet, where he kept all your favorite toys- and some of your least favorite ones too.

"Hey," Eddie barked, you stiffened, spine straightening. You turned, just barely, hands still planted firmly on your head, looking at him over your elbow.

Eddie lifted a brow. "I said, do you hear me?"

Your heart jumped at the growl, heat spilling to your core, shifting from foot to foot, thighs squeezing, desperate to dull the throbbing between your legs. "Yes," You squeaked.

Eddie lifted a brow, a ringed hand wrapped around the leather paddle. You nearly whined at the sight of it. "What's gotten into you?" Eddie's tone dropped, eyes scanning your features carefully. "Why're you actin' bad?"

You knew he was looking for a sign, anything telling in your expression that he had miscalculated. That you were actually mad at him or upset, that you didn't want to play. He didn't find that, of course, because you did want to play. He was doing exactly what you wanted him to. He had since the luncheon with Rick, when you'd boldly tried to slip your hand into his pants over and over until he grabbed your hand, growling a warning in your ear that left you throbbing.

"I'm not acting bad," You huffed, giving him an eye roll that sealed the deal- you were wanting to play, desperate for it. "I just wanted to show you some love, Eddie."

"Yeah? And you know better than to do it like that." Eddie grit his teeth, twisting the paddle in his hands. "And you know better than to address me like that. You don't call me that in here."

You pressed your lips together, swallowing back a moan. Your knees wobbled, thighs pressing tighter and tighter. Eddie lifted a brow, nostrils flaring at your defiance.

He took a step back, a ringed hand holding your left wrist to keep you in place. You attempted to squirm, before you even had the chance, the paddle was swinging back, falling on your bare ass with a snapping fury.

You squealed, hands lifting off your head in surprise, reactively going to cover your backside, but Eddie caught them before you could. His large hand held yours wrists in place, bringing the paddle down again.

"What. Do. You. Call. Me?" He sneered, alternating between cheeks, punctuating each word with a solid spank of the leather paddle.

Your skin was already beginning to throb, itchy with uncomfortable searing pain that seemed to only go straight to your aching core. "Daddy!" You cried out, teeth clenching to try and keep your tears from falling. "I'm sorry, Daddy!"

"Hmm," Eddie exhaled slowly, grip loosening on your wrists. "That's what I thought." His hand ghosted over your hot flesh, squeezing your right cheek just to hear you whine.

"Get those hands back in place and keep them up there." Eddie commanded, stepping back with the paddle. "Move 'em again, and I'm serious, Kitten, I'll start over."

Your body trembled, goosebumps blossoming down your spine, threading your fingers together and placing them at the top of your head. Eddie tapped the paddle on your ass, a warning, before he landed a solid swat in the center.

He kept his rhythm up, building and alternating from one cheek to the other, while you danced from foot to foot. The fat of your ass jiggling with every jump, making his own mouth fill with spit.

"Now," Eddie set the paddle down on the large mahogany desk, slowly stepping over to you. Your body shook with soft sobs, sniffling wetly with your hands still on your head.

"You learned your lesson?" Eddie's hand rubbed over your ignited skin, a soothing rub of his calloused palms.

"Y-Yes, Daddy." You hiccuped, eyes shining when they met his. He had to swallow down his urge to push you up against the wall right there and fuck you.

"I think you have too." Eddie muttered, nose rubbing over your wet cheek. His hand slid from your ass to your waist, pulling you close to him so your back was flush with his chest.

"Are you ready to be good?" Eddie rasped, his breath hot on your skin. You shivered, his lips leaving wet smooches on your raised arms. "Ready to make it up to Daddy?"

You nodded, a whimper strangled in your throat. "Yes, Daddy." You sniffled, wet lashes batting towards him. "I'll be good."

Eddie smiled, teeth grazing over your ear playfully before he spun you around. He guided your hands off your head, squeezing your upper arms affectionately. "Good," His nose was nearly brushing yours, curly bangs tickling your forehead.

His hands went to his pants between the two of you, undoing them and shoving them to the ground. You looked, tongue running over your bottom lip at the sight of his cock, already leaking for you.

Eddie's hand caught your chin, lifting your eyes back to his gently. He held your gaze for a moment, scanning over your features before his lips twitched in a wicked grin. "Why don't you show me how sorry you are, hm?"

Your knees tightened, nodding enthusiastically, kneeling on the carpet before him, pumping his length. Eddie watched, your eyes never leaving his as you waited for his nod. When he gave it to you, your tongue licked a stripe over his leaking tip. Eddie groaned, head tipping back as you swallowed him, letting you show him how sorry you were.

155 notes · View notes

whatwouldsylwrite · 1 year

Text

Nipple Piercing Tragedy

You get a nipple piercing and Abby gets excited. And then upset (in a totally cute way).

Minors don't interact!!!! This is an adult work meant for adults, I'm really uncomfortable with anyone younger than 18 reading this, so please move on.

Tags: modern au, fem!reader, smut. Abby is a tits girl here. Fingering (r! receiving), thigh riding (Abby! receiving), non-sexual tits obsession I guess?

I've had an idea a few days ago about reader getting a nipple piercing and how hot Abby'd find it but then I remembered how fucking long it takes to heal and I got a completely different silly idea. And then this idea derailed into me writing smut.

Also, I never would have thought in my english non-native life I'd be googling the difference between tits and boobs, but here I am. (still don't know if there is a difference though)

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

"I want to get a nipple piercing." You said to Abby and her head perked up from your chest.

"That's hot. And painful." Abby put her hand on one of your boobs, squeezing just slightly.

"I don't mind pain." You shrugged, not even fazed by Abby's hand: she really did treat your boobs like stress balls.

So you got your piercing - it hurt, but not as much as you expected, but as your piercer went through the care guide, you got a little nervous. You knew before it would take a long time to heal, but as you listened to your piercer your mind went "oh-oh", because Abby would definitely get upset.

So you went home, did all necessary cleaning procedures, put the bra on and waited for Abby. She was very excited when she got home, asking you to show her and tell her everything and you decided not to spoil her fun immediately.

"God you look hot." Abby couldn't move her eyes away from your nipples. "How long is the recovery?"

"The full recovery takes about a year." You said and Abby's face dropped. "But you're not allowed to touch them for a month. And I have to sleep in my bra."

God Abby looked like a kicked puppy, sad and pleading, and you felt sorry for her, so you kissed her forehead as she hugged you.

"So no titty time?" She asked, absolutely devastated.

"No titty time." You sighed sympathetically.

"Fuck if I knew I would have spent the whole night saying goodbye."

"You're silly." You laughed as you started to put your clothes on under the saddest puppy eyes ever. Abby was downright pouting and you felt helpless but in a "my child is upset that there's no sun during the night" way.

"You took away my titty time." Abby said as she crossed her arms on her chest, truly offended.

"Maybe it's my turn for titty time, hm?" You said, eyeing her chest.

"It's not the same." Abby pouted more as she watched you move closer to her.

You sat in her lap and kissed her face with small pecks until she smiled.

"Feel better?" You asked as her hands snaked around your waist, pressing you closer. "Ouch." You yelped in pain as your chests collided.

"Fuck, sorry." Abby said and loosened her grip on you before she kissed you.

The next week was hard. You didn't even notice how often Abby was touching your boobs until you had to remind that she couldn't.

You went to sleep? Abby's hands were on your boobs.

"What the fuck? Bra?"

"Yeah, I have to sleep in it. And move your hand back on my waist." Abby sighed and moved her hand as you told her.

You watching a movie? Abby'd find her way to your chest on instinct and stop only when you'd catch her hand.

"You can hurt me, remember?" You murmured and Abby nodded, obediently moving her hand back to your tummy.

Well, at least during movie times she substituted for your tummy, kneading your flesh just as she'd knead your boobs before the whole Nipple Piercing Tragedy ™.

During sex? That was the time Abby suffered most because you were in a fucking bra, she couldn't even look at them! She'd kiss your stomach and your ribs because she couldn't get the real thing and then take her frustrations between your legs until you were a shaking mess. Not that you complained, but it did feel like a revenge campaign, the vigour and effort she put into making you cum.

Sometimes people would ask Abby why she was so quiet and she'd reply that she was waiting for her wives to return from war, and you'd laugh, slightly embarrassed. And then fully embarrassed when Abby'd clarify "(y/n) got her nipples pierced" with the saddest look. Usually it'd make people laugh while you'd cover your face with a hand in embarrassment.

The thing was: you've missed Abby's hands on your boobs too. You've gotten so used to her hugging you with one hand on your chest, or her head constantly on your chest. Abby would even sit just so she could be the optimal height for putting her head on your boobs, burying her face in them.

So after two weeks you gave up. The swelling stopped and it wasn't as painful anymore, so you decided you could do some good for both of you. You checked your piercing, satisfied with how it was healing - no more dried blood for a few days now - and went to the living room where Abby was playing the video game.

"Abby."

"Yeah?" Abby asked without looking at you.

"Go wash your hands. Properly." You ordered.

Abby paused the game and looked at you, puzzled.

"With soap." You added. Abby was still confused, but she listened and went to the bathroom to wash her hands.

While she was washing her hands, you took off your shirt and a bra, sitting on the couch half naked. Abby came back from the bathroom and stopped in her tracks as she saw you without clothes.

"(y/n)?"

"You can touch them. But very carefully, okay?"

Abby's eyes lit up and she bolted to you, crossing the distance almost running. She sat opposite of you, her hands already on your thighs, slowly crawling up.

"Was I a good girl, Santa?" Abby asked with a smirk when she carefully cupped your tits, not touching your nipples.

"Fuck you, Anderson." You laughed and closed your eyes, enjoying Abby's gentle touch as she massaged your boobs. You didn't plan on it being any prelude to sex, but fuck Abby's hands felt good. "I've missed it so much."

"Me too." Abby chuckled. "Can I kiss?"

"Yeah." You sighed, watching in anticipation as Abby leaned down, but then- "Wait. Your hair."

"Ah shit." Abby sat up and made a bun before laying you down on the couch. "I feel fucking blessed." She said as she was staring down at your chest, her fingers just slightly digging into your boobs.

You inhaled sharply and Abby looked at you, waiting for you to tell her if she hurt you.

"Feels good." You whispered, heat pooling in your underwear.

Abby looked at you with wide eyes and then she kissed you, hard and dirty, immediately opening your mouth with her tongue. She was desperate, hungry, starving for reactions she could get out of you just by touching your boobs.

You put your hands against her, not letting Abby's shirt touch your nipples, keeping the distance - you already experienced things tugging on your jewelry and let it be known how fucking painful it was, so you weren't taking chances with it.

Abby pulled away and moved down, getting comfortable between your thighs as she mouthed on your tits, avoiding your piercing. She missed it so much, being able to make you feel good like that, being able to touch you like that, listening to your heavy breathing and watching your face relaxed in pleasure as she kissed and sucked and touched the softest part of your body, her favourite part. Yeah, Abby liked when you were loud and trembling under her, but like this? Cosy, quiet and relaxed? Shit, this was precious, this was a testament to your love for each other.

"Abby." You inhaled when one of her hands moved down, just at the waistband of your pants. Abby looked up at you.

"Yeah? What is it, (y/n)?" She pushed her hand into your pants, her fingers immediately finding your clit. She watched your lashes flutter as you closed your eyes and she couldn't help but smirk: it was so easy to make you feel good.

"Fuck." You sighed and swallowed loudly. Abby smiled and put her mouth back on your tits as she slowly circled your clit, gentle and not rushing anywhere.

You put your hand on her head, caressing her hair, a little sorry her hair was tied and you weren't able to weave your fingers in her locks. Abby was taking her sweet time with you, her kisses long and just shy out of hickeys as she sucked on your skin so gently, her fingers keeping a steady pace on your clit, slowly but surely building up your orgasm.

And then Abby moved her fingers down and slowly pushed two inside you, enjoying the stretch and the heat, but most importantly how you bit your lip and furrowed in pleasure - you looked so pretty like this, trusting and soft. And this long high sound you made when she pushed inside you - that sound was rewiring Abby's brain every time. Abby moved up again to kiss you while she thrusted her fingers into you, your trembling hands on her chest.

"You look beautiful." Abby whispered and kissed your neck, leaving a hickey on your collarbones. She kissed you again and you moaned quietly into her mouth as her fingers curled just right inside you.

You stroked her waist and put your hand under her shirt, touching all of this gorgeous skin and soft muscles until you got to her boobs so you could cup them carefully. Abby sighed and her fingers lost their pace for a second, and she looked at you, wide-eyed.

You put your other hand on her hip, trying to move her, but Abby Anderson was fucking immovable at all times, which was hot and infuriating at the same time.

"Put your thigh between mine." You panted as you took her shirt off, enjoying the view. "You're fucking gorgeous." You whispered shakily.

Abby chuckled and put her thigh between yours just as you said, but even the changing in position didn't break her pace, her fingers moving in and out of you. It felt so good and you almost forgot what you wanted to do, lost in your pleasure - but you remembered and lifted you thigh up. Abby suddenly stopped as she felt your thigh pressing between her legs, and her breathing became quick and heavy.

Abby rocked on your thigh and pushed her fingers deep inside you at the same time, making you moan. You liked when she did that: pacing her fingers with her grinding, like it was her thrusting into you, not her fingers. Abby fondled your tit with her free hand, as she watched you with dark, lustful eyes, her mouth slightly open in adoration.

You watched her in return, because she was fucking divine like that, so concentrated on making you feel good, serious despite the pink blush on her face, her hips moving as if her own pleasure was an afterthought.

And then Abby moved her thumb to circle your clit, her fingers speeding up as well as her hips, and you were gone. You whimpered in surprise and arched your back, your orgasm suddenly so close and so intense. Abby smirked and sped up more, her fingers no longer as gentle as before, and you stopped breathing, digging your fingers in her hips, looking at Abby with big glossy eyes as your orgasm hit you like a violent sea wave, destroying you completely. You moaned loudly and shuddered, your thighs trembling, and Abby smiled at you, watching you with hungry eyes. Watching you cum was like watching the sunset - breathtaking every time. She didn't stop moving, letting you ride the aftershocks as your walls pulsated around her fingers.

“Holy shit.” You whispered in a shaky voice, your whole body shuddering. “Holy fuck, Abby.” You swallowed and took a few breaths, while Abby slowly pulled her fingers back, chuckling when your hips twitched and you yelped, sensitive.

You looked up at Abby and felt the second wave of lust hit you: she looked fucked out already and it awoke some hungry monster in you.

“You need to move, baby, come on.” You used your hands to push on Abby's hips and move her, breaking the spell she was under. You needed her to cum.

Abby moaned and continued riding your thigh as you watched her, touching her stomach and her tits, rolling her nipples between your fingers gently. Abby was pretty like this, chasing her own pleasure, her eyes closed and her head thrown back, her bun ruined and her blonde hair pooling between her neck and the shoulder. Like a fucking painting, you thought. Abby moved her hands to your waist to get more leverage, pressing you down into the couch as she pushed on your thigh with more force. Her movements became erratic, so you helped her keep the pace, moving her hips back and forth until Abby froze and groaned helplessly, her hands squeezing your waist painfully as she twitched through her orgasm. You watched her, trying to sear her pretty face in your memory.

Abby panted as her orgasm ebbed away and you smiled at her. She lied down on top of you, her head on your stomach, as both of you tried to even out your breathing.

“So is my titty time back?”

“Yeah.”

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut

756 notes · View notes

midnightfictionlibrary · 1 year

Text

Gravity - Jamie Tartt x Fem!reader

Gravity - Jamie Tartt x Fem!Reader

Content : angst, slight verbal argument, implied sex, friends to lovers trope

Word Count : 2.3k

Plot Summary : Jamie had been your best friend for years, but would a drunken one night stand ruin that?

A/N : Having a lot of fun writing Jamie fanfic so I’m going to keep going. Pls like and reblog if you enjoy/want more! <3

🎵Gravity is working against me…and gravity, wants to bring me down 🎵

Listening to the music playing softly from the speaker on the counter, you stand with your hands gripping the edge of the kitchen sink, your head pounding slightly from your fun night out with the team, an outing that led to one of the biggest mistakes you could have possibly made. One that could ruin everything. You were trying your hardest not to freak out, but it was a bit hard once you feel warm, strong arms wrap around you from behind.

Soft lips press into the side of the tender flesh of your neck, and you close your eyes at the sensation. “Good morning, love.” Jamie mumbles sleepily into you, and his slight stubble tickles your neck. In another life, or under different circumstances, you would have treasured a moment like this. But Jamie was your best friend, and you couldn’t ruin what you had. Losing him would hurt more than anything, so you decided when you woke up this morning to get ready for the day that you would have to let Jamie down and make it clear that this was a one time thing. Doing press for the team and being Jamie’s friend was one thing, but you add feelings in and things could quickly get messy.

You turn around to face Jamie, trying not to notice how devastatingly handsome he is in the mornings after waking up. Your brows are furrowed, and Jamie places a finger between them, reminding you to smooth them out.

“Why do you look so upset?” He says, a touch of apprehension in his question. As if he knows what you’ll say. As if he knows you’re about to bring him down easy. His hands slip from your waist to rest behind you on the sink as he straightens up and peers at you.

“Jamie…” You start, searching his face. “You know I care about you. I do. I just…”

“You what?” He asks, moving his head to catch your eyes again when you look away from him. Your heart is racing and your mouth feels dry. You know that he feels things for you, and you feel them too. But preserving the friendship is something you think should be a priority. What if you ended up together and then broke up? Then what? Everything that you shared and experienced together would just be painful memories, and you didn’t think that you could handle that, because you needed Jamie to stay in your life.

“I think this was a mistake.” You say, and then it’s out in the open.

It’s silent except for the faint outros of the song playing earlier. You can see Jamie’s jaw working, and he’s still so close to you. He steps back abruptly, clearing his throat. “Got it.” He says simply, upset lacing his voice.

“Jamie -” you start, but he holds a hand up to stop you.

“No. I got it. I can’t make you care about me the way I care about you. Wouldn’t be very nice of me.”

“But I do care about you, Jamie.”

“This is a funny way of showing it, love.” He scoffs, locating his shirt by the living room couch where he had heatedly discarded it the night before. He tugs it over his head and you watch him, unable to think of anything to say.

“You’re not being very fair.” You manage to get out, and as he’s walking back to your bedroom to gather the rest of his things, he stops.

You swallow, biting your lip as he turns to you.

“Fair?” He asks, brows furrowing. He makes his way back towards you, stopping in the doorway of the kitchen. “How am I the one not being fair?”

“You won’t even let me explain!” You say, starting to get frustrated with him. “This is just like you, shutting down once you’re upset and not letting anyone get in a word edgewise.” You stop and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just…I care about you so much and that is exactly why I think this was a mistake.”

Jamie watches you stand there and is struck by how beautiful you look in the mornings. And it breaks his heart all the more. But he meant what he said earlier, it wouldn’t be nice of him to ask you to give him your heart if you didn’t feel you could. This hurt, but he would do what he always did, which was find comfort in the arms of some other one night stand. He realizes he hasn’t said anything in response to you and shakes his head slightly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t follow why.” He manages to say.

“You’re important to me. What if this ended badly? Then work would be miserable and what? We never speak to each other again?” You take a step towards him but he backs up again,unable to let himself be close to you while he’s hurting. “I can’t handle that.”

Jamie swallows, and wordlessly turns, gathering his things from your room. He silently moves around, then leaves your apartment as silently as a ghost. You hear the door click closed and cover your face with your hands. “Fuuuuck.”

You make your way to your small office, coffee in hand, still reeling from your conversation with Jamie earlier. You walk in, turning on your various ambient lights, because the big fluorescent one would just exacerbate your small hangover. You hear a knock on the door and secretly hope it’s Jamie.

“Oh. It’s just you.”

Roy raises both of his thick eyebrows, “Nice to see you too. You look like shit.”

You snort, rolling your eyes as you continue to set up your desk for the day of work ahead.

“No, ‘fuck off Kent’?” He grumbles, sighing as he leans against the door frame. “Oi, out with it. Why are you moping about in here like a fuckhead before the day’s even started?”

You sigh, opening your laptop. “I slept with Jamie last night.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Roy shakes his head, as if confused. When you look up at him, his usually glowering face does look confused. “I thought you had feelings for him?”

You nod, starting to sort through the emails you had received. “I do.” You say simply, as if that were clearly obvious.

“So shouldn’t this be exciting?” Roy asks, moving into your office to sit in the chair across from you at your desk.

You blow out through your mouth. “I told him it was a mistake.”

“Fuck. No wonder you look like shit.” Roy says, leaning forward to peer at you. “Why?”

Leave it to Roy to get you to spill what you were thinking with his blunt lines of questioning.

“Because I don’t want to lose his friendship. It didn’t go well so honestly, I probably fucked it anyway.”

He sighs, rubbing his beard with one hand before patting your hand with the other. “Listen. You do deserve to be happy. I know for some reason you don’t think so. But love is scary and sometimes you have to take a risk.”

You look up at him, lip quivering, which makes his eyes widen. “Shit.”

You burst into tears and put your head down on your desk, which causes Roy to startle. He thinks about coming around to hug you. He clears his throat awkwardly, but lays a gentle hand on your shoulder before leaving your office. At least he knew that you would rather be alone, but he did give you something to think about. The door closes with a soft swoosh.

You stay with your head down on your desk until you calm your heart rate, and looking in your compact mirror, you touch up your makeup before standing up. You had to get behind the scene’s thoughts before the match today, so you figured one of the best people to ask would be Sam. He was always enthusiastic to help, and genuinely seemed to like doing the team Instagram stuff, at least more than the other boys.

You make your way to the locker room, knocking until you hear “We’re decent!”

You plaster on a fake smile and pop in. “Hello, my favorite boys!” You can feel Jamie’s eyes on you, and you try not to look at him. “We need some before-the-game thoughts so I came to grab Sam quickly.”

Sam grins brightly at you. “Anything for our favorite press manager.”

“You’re just saying that because you like being my social media star.” Today was the game the boys were using Ted’s new strategy, so you knew they were all excited and abuzz. “So Sam, I think we’ll just do a quick insta story right here in the locker room. More authentic for the fans.”

Sam nods and sits in front of his locker, and as you begin filming him, your eyes wander to Jamie. He’s speaking to Colin, but he feels your eyes on him and looks over to you, giving you a polite, but terse smile. Your heart slips and you switch your attention back to Sam, who has just finished giving his thoughts.

“Thanks, Sam, that’s great.” You smile at him as you pause for a moment to add his social media tags on the story you post. “And done. Thanks boys, have a great match!” You blow them all a friendly kiss as you leave the locker room, letting out the breath you were definitely holding in. You go to your office to gather your things to join the coaches on the pitch. Usually you take pictures from the box with Keeley and Rebecca, but today you wanted real action shots. Engagement was down, so you needed something exciting to get the fans back to interacting with the team’s socials.

You’re a bundle of nerves as you take a space between Beard and Roy, and Roy looks down at you, seeming to assess if you were going to burst into tears again. You wave a hand at him dismissively and he makes his characteristic approval grunt. Ted and Beard greet you and you smile at them, holding up your phone to capture some pictures and hopefully videos of the match. You take a deep breath as the game starts, quickly realizing that this first half was not going to go well. You watch Jamie, wondering what he’s thinking and wishing you hadn’t hurt his feelings this morning, that you could call out to him or assure him, anything. After another missed goal, you lower your phone and groan, turning towards the dugout.

You stayed in the dugout while Ted coached the boys before the second half, and you were sure he was giving them some pick me up energy. The new strategy wasn’t working well so far, but this was the first game it was being implemented and figured it needed time. You take a picture of the stands, posting it quickly. You weren’t able to catch any videos yet with the way the game was going, but being down on field level definitely seemed to be catching fan’s attention. You look up when the team runs out, looking renewed and envigored. You notice they’re all patting Jamie’s back, and you smile, hoping he would catch your eye. He refused to, and hadn’t looked at you since you had been in the locker room earlier. You sigh, watching as the game begins again.

Immediately, there’s a difference in the way the boys are playing, and Jamie…is actually holding back a lot. You can’t keep your eyes off of him the entire second half, forgetting to even capture footage like you were meant to. Every move he made, every smile he gave his teammates, every word of encouragement he shouted solidified the fact that you were a fucking idiot. The gravity of the situation dawns on you and you feel stupid.

You stand anxiously with the coaches as it comes down to the final seconds of the game, hands clasped close to your mouth. Roy glances down at you with a smirk, knowing that you’re watching Jamie. He hopes your chat earlier got you in better spirits and helped you figure a few things out.

When the last goal is scored and the game goes to Richmond, you throw your hands up in celebration and scream with the coaches, the fans, and the team. The boys are huddling, hugging each other, jumping up and down, and before you know it, you’re running out onto the field.

“Jamie!” you yell, running right for him. “Jamie!”

He turns at the sound of your voice and opens his arms just as you crash into him, and lifts you up off your feet to give you a soul crushing hug. You look down at him as he’s holding you up, a huge smile plastered on his face. “I’m sorry!” You shout over the noise, stroking his face. “I love you, and it wasn’t a mistake.”

His gaze softens at your words and he sets you down, moving his hands up to cradle your face gently, before crashing his lips into yours passionately. You throw your arms around his neck and relish the moment, ignoring that some of the team had definitely noticed and were cheering the two of you on. When you finally break apart, Jamie rests his forehead on yours, smiling a cheeky grin. “I knew you couldn’t stay away from me.”

You laugh out loud, throwing yourself into another hug. He wraps his arms around you, peppering your face with kisses. He carries you into the locker room after the boys, feeling elated. After all, all he could ever want was in his arms.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #friends to lovers #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x y/n #ted lasso

581 notes · View notes

plush-rabbit · 11 months

Text

Simmering and Smothering

Part 2 to It’s Always Coffee

Word Count: 7K

A/N: I’m soft for this guy rn. He’s so !!! Anyways, I um don’t know what else to say

- You stand with a group of people, a lanyard hangs from your neck, and you pinch at the plastic cover that holds a card reading “Visitor” stuck on it. People part of the group peek through windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the wonders behind the glass. You're sure at some point you saw Dr. Ohnn standing close to a coworker. He must have felt your gaze, because he looked up and you had to fist your hand to restrain yourself from waving at him. But when the scientist beside him puts their hand on his back, returning his attention to the project in front, you find yourself digging your nails into the flesh of your palms.

You look around, but nothing catches your eye as it should at Alchemax. While you knew that they wouldn’t show a tour group all the dark and gritty experiments, a part of you wishes that you were able to slip away to explore, but any chances of that were snuffed out with a warning at being kicked out and banned should you stray. However, you do enjoy getting to step foot into the building. The group is led through glass doors, and you hear a few people sigh in relief. Walking in, windows line the room and let in a nice glow of sun.

“Okay,” Dr. Octavius says with a clap of her hands, “this is the cafeteria where we will be having lunch. Those tables over there-” she points over to a cluster of tables that have been protected with stanchions- “will be where you all will be eating. Lunch is one hour, and if anyone needs to go to the restroom, please contact a security guard.” Her gaze is friendly, smile wide and tone with the slightest hint of superiority, she speaks to all, before her gaze lands on you, her smile falling ever-so-slightly. “If you fail to inform a guard, and are caught wandering, you will be immediately removed from the premises.” Smiling, you give her an “okay” symbol, and in response, she looks away from you. “Okay!” She chirps, taking a step to the side, she sweeps her arms towards the selection of food. “Enjoy your lunch.”

You’re at a cart, holding a tray consisting of fruits, and a bottle of juice. You peer over the selection of bread, holding a saran wrapped bagel. You pull your mouth into a line, wanting to put it back, but unsure if that’s okay to do so. Sure, it’s saran wrapped, but what if it’s not okay to place things back. You’ve already picked it up, and with a sigh, you place it on your tray. You look over the rest of the selection of the grains, and perk up at the sight of a muffin. Happily, you reach to grab at it before your wrist is grabbed at.

“Hey-” You bark out, pulling your hand out of the grasp and turning to look at whoever it was that clutched your wrist. You stop short when you realize that it’s Dr. Ohnn. “I feel like we talked about appropriate ways to greet others,” you muse, grabbing at the saran wrapped muffin.

“What are you doing here?” he hisses, and you frown.

Your eyes scan his face, and you fold the tray closer to you. “You’re upset,” you conclude, tilting your head with furrowed brows.

“Of course I am,” he hisses. Your ears begin to burn, and you look around the cafeteria, many of the patrons sitting down and ignoring you- including the tour group you are a part of. When you look back at him, he continues. “Why are you here?”

“I’m part of the tour.” You jerk your head over where your tour members sit behind the stanchions. “Fisk was promoting it- something to show off Alchemax and how family-friendly it is. But if you ask me, I think it’s just a cover to stop people from asking-”

“I don’t care,” he rushes.

You pull your lips into a thin line. “Okay, you don't have to be rude.” His eyes widen, and his shoulders rise. He opens his mouth, but you press forward. “Listen, I paid my way in, okay? If you’re upset with it, then I don’t know what to tell you.” He stays silent and you look back to your group. Turning back to him, you start. “Is that all, Dr. Ohnn? May I go sit down, or do you want to continue reprimanding me?”

He opens and closes his mouth, and when you turn on your heel, he calls your name. You turn to him with a waiting look. “I apologize.” You encourage him with a nod of your head. “I just-” he looks around, and grabs your wrist, pulling you to another station of food, grabbing a tray, and standing in front of the selection of fruits.

“You just?”

“I hadn’t thought that you would be here. I-” with his middle finger, he pushes up his glasses by the bridge- “I wasn’t aware there was a tour going on.”

“Does that matter?” You ask, grabbing at a cup of peeled mandarins.

“Scientists are usually the one to lead groups,” he says quietly, "due to the fact that it is our projects we are showcasing. We all take turns with it given that leading groups take time away from our projects. This should have been a group that I would have led. Dr. Octavius must have seen your name on the roster and decided to lead it for the day.” He gives you a look. “I’m surprised that she let you in.”

“I paid,” you shrug. “She isn’t happy about it or anything, but-” you end it with a shrug. “Anyways, I won’t bother your lunch or anything. I’m simply here to see the building and enjoy lunch.” You give him a smile as you lift up your tray. “Have a good day Dr. Ohnn.” You nod your head, ready to walk away before he stops you.

“Do you have to sit down with the others?” You turn to him, and look at him quizzically. “We um- We never finished our conversation from the other day.”

You tighten your grip on the tray. “Yeah,” you breathe out. “You kinda left without exchanging numbers. But I don’t think I’m allowed to sit elsewhere.” You look back at your group. “I’d invite you to sit with me, but I’m not sure if I could give you quite a riveting conversation as your work buddies.”

“You can. You have,” he says so, without any hesitation. “Our last conversation was entertaining.”

"You think so?"

He opens his mouth, before being interrupted by someone calling his name. "Jonathan," calls someone far too cheery from the door. A few heads turn to watch as another scientist- you think that they look familiar- and turn back around once the scientist enters the cafeteria. They turn on their heel to wave at another and it clicks- it's the scientist that touched his back.

You look back to the doctor, giving him a raised look. He has a sort of flush that colors in his face, and you purse your lips together.

The scientist walks toward the both of you, but their attention is solely on Jonathan. "Jonathan-" they say his name with a sickly sweet tone- "I thought you were going to wait for me so we can have lunch together." They smile brightly at the other and you watch as they reach over to squeeze at his bicep. "You hadn't forgotten, had you?"

"My apologies, Dr. Owens." You don't miss the way that he refers to the scientist by their last name while they refer to him by his first. A frown tugs at corner of your lips- they refer to him by his first name. You glance between the two and a pit settles in your stomach. "I hadn't forgotten, but I got distracted. It must have slipped my mind."

"You don't normally get distracted," they note, and their eyes dart at you. With the consequence of being acknowledged, you smile at them. "Ah. Part of the tour group, huh? No wonder you bothered our precious doctor." They're far too sweet with their words, it makes you uncomfortable. You open your mouth to apologize, but they continue on. “I was wondering if we could get the chance to go over our notes?” You feel as if you're in the middle of something. Standing besides Dr. Owens, you feel unsure of yourself. You clear your throat. They turn to you, and their smile is beaming. “Ah, I didn't mean to interrupt. While I’m sure Dr. Ohnn would love to engage with others about theories and his work, I do have to steal him away from you.” Their smile turns gentle, and you feel silly standing between them. “Sorry,” they apologize with a smile.

"Uh, yeah." You grit your teeth- that came out less eloquently than you would liked. "Sorry, Dr. Ohnn." You tap your heel against the ground. “I’ll leave you to it.”

"Oh- Um-” he looks at you, and you smile at him, shrugging your shoulders. He returns his look towards the other scientist, and you let your gaze drift down. You walk away, catching only a glimpse of their conversation. “What would you like to discuss?”

Sitting down at a designated table, the other tour members greet you. You smile and pick at your bagel, taking small bites, regretting not getting some kind of topping. You bite at your muffin, nodding along as the other group members talk about the experiments going on at the building.

It would make sense for him to have a partner. He's attractive, and has a good job. With the one conversation that you've had with him, he was well spoken. You eat your mandarins, letting the citrus fill your mouth. Dr. Owens isn’t unattractive and they certainly seemed nice. You do your best not to look at the doctor and his partner, keeping your head down as you listen to the other people in your group.

You know why you feel so bothered by it all. It’s dumb. You only had one actual conversation with him, but it was nice. He was nice- much nicer than you had ever given him credit for. You feel silly over being jealous of a man you only knew for a minute.

"Fuckin' driver," you mutter under your breath, your lips curled in disgust. Fixing yourself, you cross your arms and decide to walk to the train station. It's incredibly late and something that you actively avoid doing, but you don't want to risk yourself with another driver. "Now I gotta walk."

A part of you pays with the idea of putting in your headphones and at least having a calming walk, but you shake your head at that idea. You will not be murdered just because you wanted to listen to music.

Headlights flash by and you bite the inside of your mouth every time. A car passes by, and you watch as the red tail lights blink on. You stop in your steps, taking a look around. No one else on the sidewalk acknowledges the car.

“Okay”, you think to yourself, “I can't get abducted in front of other people.” You take a step forward and pause. “That's dumb. Yes, I can.” You scowl and tap your foot against the pavement, holding tighter onto the strap of your bag.

However, no one else seems fazed by a car pulling over, and that gives you confidence to walk further. At the end of the car, you see the passenger window roll down. You hesitate again. Sucking in a breath, you roll your wrists, and as you walk past the car until you hear your name being called.

You turn, and through the windshield, you see a familiar doctor waving at you. Looking around, you clutch onto the trap of your bag before making your way towards him.

"Dr. Ohnn?"

He smiles nervously. He looks far too tense for someone in their own car. "Hello," he calls you by your name. "I was sure you would have left ages ago."

"Tour ran late- one of the kids explored without permission," you explain.

"I'm surprised it wasn't you." You weren't aware he could tease.

"I wasn't in the mood for any trespassing charges. Maybe tomorrow." You shrug, and send him a grin. “Who knows? Night’s still young and all.”

He turns his head, and you follow his gaze out onto the street before the both of you. "Why are you walking?"

“People had their own rides, and I didn't. I took the bus. After the whole fiasco, I missed it. I got into a taxi, but uh-" you roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest- "the driver was being too sleazy for my tastes so I decided to take my chances walking.”

“Oh- I’m sorry to hear about that.” He leans over the middle console of the car, with his hand pressed down on the passenger seat. “It’s quite late,” he tells you.

Your lips stretch into a thin grin. “Correct. It’s no wonder that you’re one of the top scientists at Alchemax.”

“You’re hilarious,” he deadpans.

“I try,” you tell him. The soft glow of the streetlamps casts him in a warm glow. “But I'd be more inclined to believe you if you were actually laughing.”

“Yes, well, I’ll try to laugh next time.” He rolls his eyes, and you smile sharply at him.

“Is that why you stopped? To hear my humor?” You tease, taking a step forward, and he tilts his head to look at you.

“No, actually. I thought it was you, and I wanted to know if you would like a ride?”

You’re taken aback. “Oh! Um- No, it’s okay. I’m okay,” you correct yourself. You turn looking down the street where the crowd of people slows. You look back at him. “I’m sure you have your own plans for the night. I wouldn’t want to intrude or interrupt or anything.” You twist the strap of your bag in your hand. “While I appreciate the offer, you don’t have to worry about me Dr. Ohnn.”

“You wouldn’t be interrupting anything. I don’t have any plans.”

You stay silent, weighing your options in your head. While you’d like to be in a car and taken to your home, you also can’t just enter his car. Even if he is the one offering. No. You can’t. There has to be a line. You have a crush on him- maybe. You’re attracted to him. Wait, that’s actually worse. You shake your head.

“I shouldn’t.” You bite your bottom lip and look at the air freshener that hangs down the rearview mirror. “I would want to get you into any sorts of trouble.”

“Trouble?” He says in a quiet voice, but alarm is still laced into his words.

“You know-” you wave your hand in front of you- “with Dr. Owens. Would they be okay with you giving me a ride?”

He gives you an incredulous look. “What does Dr. Owens have to do with this?”

Your chest begins to burn, and it travels upwards to your face. “Would they appreciate you giving a ride to a stranger?”

“You aren’t a stranger,” the way that he calls your name has your breath hitching, and heart racing. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable with you walking so far to a station at night.”

“Okay,” you shrug. “But you have to put in the directions on your phone. I’m easily distracted and won’t be able to give you any good directions.”

“Fine by me,” he pulls away and the door unlocks. You open the door, and the window slowly raises. “Between you and I, I’m not entirely great with navigation.” The noise from the outside mutes as you close the door, the lock clicking down on itself. You click the seatbelt as you give him a look. “I get lost easily,” he admits. He grabs his phone and sorts through his applications, finally passing it your way with the map function on display.

“Don’t you have a PhD?” You enter your address, and return the phone, watching as he places the phone on the holder stuck to the car.

“Doesn’t mean a thing if a shopping center has me turned all sorts of ways,” he admits, setting the car to ‘drive’ and pulling away from the sidewalk. You laugh, it starts as a snort, and forms into a chuckle and it has you hiding your smile behind your hand, trying to quell the laughter.

You turn to look at him, the corner of your lips tilting upwards and wrinkling at your eyes. “I don’t even think I could picture you getting lost in a mall.”

He sits up straighter, and casts a glance through the corner of his eye. “It isn’t a particularly good image of me,” he confesses.

Humming, you lean back into the seat, fixing your bag onto your lap, playing with the zipper. “No, I’m sure it is,” you hum. “A renowned scientist, lost at a mall.”

“It can be quite traumatizing.”

“I’m sure it can be,” you muse, trying to hide the smile that slowly grows. "Many children often fear the mall for that same reason."

He scoffs at your remark. “Did you learn anything interesting on the tour?” He asks, and you cross your ankles.

“I think we learned about atoms?” He chuckles at that, and you feel warm. “I gotta be honest, I was hoping for something a bit more, ya know?”

“Atoms aren't enough?”

"Not nearly,” you tell him softly. “Maybe if they brought out some secret project or like showed some sort of light show, then I’d be impressed.”

“Oh, of course,” he says with sarcasm laced into his words. “A secret project shown to the masses, especially where one child had gone missing.”

“Explored,” you correct, turning our head to look at him.

The GPS voice speaks, and he misses a turn. He mumbles an apology, the application already rerouting him. “If you join another one, I’ll make sure that there’s a light show.” He casts a glance, and misses another turn, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. “I’m thirsty,” he tells you.

You blink at him. “You can stop somewhere and get something. I don’t mind waiting in the car.” The metal zipper of your bag shines under the passing streetlamps.. “You’re already doing me a favor by driving me home.”

“The coffee shop is still open. Would you mind accompanying me for a drink?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah- sure. I’d be okay with that. I still owe you that cup of coffee. You know, from when we met at the shop?”

He shakes his head. “Consider it my treat. I am inviting you after all.”

“But you did win that little wager, and you are driving me home. I could at least buy you a cup of coffee or something.” He shakes his head. “Come on-” you slap the back of your hand lightly against his bicep- “don’t make it difficult.”

“I’m not making it difficult,” he frowns.

The GPS continues to tell Dr. Ohnn to make a right when he can, and he fumbles with turning it off, grumbling under his breath until you offer your hand out. The phone is placed down, and you shut down the application. The phone is held in your hand, the application minimizing to show his background- a picture of- the phone is pulled out of your grasp.

“I don’t even get to learn what your background is?” You give a faux pout, leaning back against the seat. “Come on, I didn’t even get a chance.”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” he tells you. “It isn’t all that exciting.” You stick your tongue out at him in response and he fails to suppress a smile.

Pulling to the side of the road, you place your bag on the floor, snagging your debit card before zipping the bag up. Getting out of the car, you’re careful not to slam the door. You rush to beat him from opening the door. “Okay,” you draw out the vowel, slipping to move in front of him, “how about this. You buy my cup, and I’ll buy yours. I’ll even let you get a pastry- you know as a thank you for driving me home.

“You don’t have to. I offered to drive you home, it was completely my own volition.”

You give an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever you say, but the offer is there.”

As he orders his drink, you press your card against the payment terminal, telling the barista that it’ll be two separate transactions. You can feel his eyes on you and you can only smile, nodding when the barista confirms. Lacking your energy, he pays when you order your own. You’re sure that the barista is annoyed with the two of you, but at this point, you had a win that he was owed.

With the lack of patrons, the two of you find a table placed beside the window. The two of you sit across from each other, and wait for your drinks to be called. Tapping your hands against the table, you look out the window, watching the people and the cars.

“I was more than happy paying for your drink,” he comments.

You look at him through the reflection, and he meets your gaze there. “I know. But you’re already doing me such a favor by taking me home and stuff-” shrugging, you turn to face him- “might as well buy you a drink.”

“You didn’t have to,” he mumbles.

“I wanted to.”

Looking at you, he opens his mouth to speak, but closes it when he can’t find the right words. You nod, letting him take his time and to continue with whatever he is going to say. Clearing his throat, he can only get a breath out when the two of your names are spoken. You turn just in time to see the drinks placed on the counter as the barista walks away.

“I’ll go get them for us.” He stands from the table and you watch him. He takes long strides, his head bent and arms close to himself, as if trying to make himself to the public. You hadn’t realized that he had such squared shoulders. He almost reminds you of a rectangle.

Placing your drink in front of you, he takes a seat. His teeth bite at his bottom lip and he brings the cup to his lips. Placing the drink down, he clears his throat. “Why did you ask about Dr. Owens?”

Ah. Maybe you should’ve kept quiet about that. “What do you mean?”

“You mentioned that I would get in trouble with them if I had driven you home.”

“Oh um, yeah. It’s whatever, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worrying, I’m asking.”

“Okay,” you whisper, your gaze focused on your drink. “They just seemed into you is all. I thought there was something you know-” you lift your head looking at him- “between you and them.”

“You thought they were into me?” You choose to ignore the wonder in his voice. Opting to stay silent, you nod. “I can assure you, Dr. Owens is not into me.”

“It sure seemed that way,” you mumble into the rim of your drink. He stares at you, and you shift in your seat, hiding behind your cup. “What?”

“What made you think they were into me?”

Your molars grind against each other. The rim of the cup is brought to your lips, but you don’t take a sip, you only press your lips against the opening, before lowering it back to the table. “Oh gosh, are you into them? Look, that's sweet and all, but I’d rather not play matchmaker to some scientists.” He stays silent, and you look outside the window, watching a couple walk past by. “You really wanna know?” He makes a noise of confirmation, and you let out a held breath. “In that little time that I saw the two of you, they had no trouble touching you. And they call you by your name, too.”

“My name?”

Nodding, you twist and untwist your legs. “Yeah.”

“Is that usually an indicator?”

Lifting your hand, you make a see-saw motion. “Sometimes, I guess. Depends on how it’s used and all. Context, ya know?”

“I call other people by their names,” he counters. You nod, letting him continue. “I call you by your name.”

“Oh yeah- I um, I guess so,” you mumble, taking another sip of your drink, desperate to keep yourself busy.

“You never call me by my name.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was allowed.”

“Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be allowed?”

“I always thought you found me annoying.”

“I did.” You frown, and he gives you an apologetic smile. His hand lifts up, grabbing at a strand of hair and twirling it around his finger. “That doesn’t mean that I disliked you. I have to admit-” he lets go of the strand and it falls back to place- “I always did find your drive admirable. You weren’t one to give up. You’re quite stubborn.” You stare at each for a few moments, heat blazing itself against your skin, making a chill over your body. He breaks eye contact and tilts the cup, making a circle with the bottom edge. “Do you really believe that Dr. Owens likes me because they call me by my name.” You nod, your mouth too dry despite the drink in your hand to even consider speaking. “Hm, okay,” he hums. His hand runs over his stubble, and you wonder if he’s growing out a beard. “You said that they touch me.”

“I um, saw the two of you in an office- while on the tour.” Your hand pulls up to scratch at your shoulder. You feel the need to hide from him.

His smile stretches even more. “I thought I was losing my marbles.” You take a sip of your drink. “I thought that after all my imagining about-” he clicks the last consonant, and you straighten yourself, leaning forward- “I thought that finally, after all of your incessant questioning, that I was beginning to imagine you.”

“Mhm,” you hum, taking another sip of your very diluted drink.

“You were saying.” He rolls his hand expectantly.

“When you turned around- when you saw me- they immediately turned you back around.”

“So? I believe we were discussing the recent project that we’ve both been assigned on”

Grabbing a napkin, you dab at the table where a ring of water from the condensation has formed on the table. “It was how they touched you. They touched your back and lingered their hand on you.”

“I’m not following.”

You make a noise of discomfort, and fist the wet napkin in your hand. “I can’t explain it in words. It’s- It’s in the details and stuff. The observer's point of view.”

“Can you show me?”

“Like?”

“Touch me.”

The napkin is clenched tightly in your hand, your nails ripping through the soft paper. Warmth flushes through your body, and you fear that he can notice the change in you. You know that he doesn’t mean it that way, but for him to say something so- so, intimate sounding, without meaning to, made your heart skip a beat. His eyes widen, and he stumbles over his words. “No- Not- Not like that. I hadn’t meant for it- I’m so terribly sorry-”

“It’s fine,” you reassure, waving your hand in front of you. “It’s cool,” you smile at him and he stops his ramble of words. There’s a rapid beat that bruises inside of your chest at his words- even if he did mean them innocently. “But you know, they touched you at the cafeteria too. They went up to you and touched your bicep.” You lift your hand, reaching over the table, letting it hover over his forearm. Glancing at him, he’s watching you, and you close your fist, pulling your hand back to you.

“And you believe that all of those actions are due to the fact that they like me?”

Shrugging, you suck in your bottom lip. “It’s just my theory,” you whisper, embarrassment laced into your words. “They wanted to eat lunch with you too.”

The two drinks remain untouched and outside, you can hear sirens. His hand lifts up to rub over his mouth, and he has this faraway look in his eyes. “Okay,” he mumbles.

“Okay?”

“Is there anything else that you want to add?”

You pout. “No.”

In the corner of your eye, you see a worker clean a table with a rag. You watch for a moment, and turn your head when chairs are fixed back into their positions, scraping along the floor. A part of you feels unsure about the conversation. While you wouldn’t believe that the scientist had a crush on you, you had at least humored the idea, but knowing that he isn’t interested in you, makes you want to go home.

You open your mouth to speak, and he beats you to it. “I’m hungry,” he states.

“I told you you could have gotten a pastry,” you point out.

“I want dinner. An actual dinner.” Sitting straight, it’s as if he has a new resolve. “Are you hungry?”

Blinking in surprise, you lift your shoulders. “Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I could eat something.”

“Good,” he nods to himself, and stands up, the chair squeaks against the floor. You follow his eyes, looking up at him as he adjusts the chair and stands by the table. “I’d like for you to accompany me to dinner.” Clearing his throat, his shoulders bunch together, and any confidence that he did have, is slowly evaporating. “That- That is if you want to, of course.”

You scoff with a smile. “Yeah, I’m game with that, Dr. Ohnn.”

“Jonathan. You can call me Jonathan. I don’t mind it if you call me that.” He twists his hands, interlocking them, and pulling on the back of his palm, his skin stretching thin over his knuckles.

Straightening yourself, you nod. “Okay. Jonathan it is. The same um, goes to you of course. You can call me by my name.”

“I already do,” and the way that he says your name, softly and tenderly, held with a smile, makes you turn your head and scratch at your neck in a desperate attempt to hide how wide your smile is.

“Mhm,” you squeak out. Standing up, you make sure to push the chair in and grab at the loose napkins and your drink.

Following behind you, he throws his drink into the trash. This time, he’s made sure that he stands in front of you, stretching his arm out to hold the door open for you. Mumbling, you thank him, standing beside the door as he goes to open the passenger side door.

None of what he’s doing is helping quell your attraction to the scientist.

Clicking his seatbelt, he starts the car, driving away from the coffee shop. “Do you have a preference?”

“On food?” He nods, fumbling with the radio that plays the song of the week. You tap your foot to the beat. “Um, I think I’m good with most stuff. Restaurants are pretty inclusive about diets and stuff most days.”

“There’s a burger place on the way to Alchemax, do you know the one I’m talking about?”

“With the really good burgers?”

“Yes. Would you like to go there?”

“Isn’t that too far?”

“They opened one relatively nearby.”

“Oh okay, yeah.” You nod. “I’m game with that.”

“Good. That’s good.”

The drive to the restaurant passes by quickly as you chat about miscellaneous things- the weather, work, different coffee shops. Uncomfortable with silences, you keep the conversation going, jumping from topic to topic, trying to make something stick. However, the driver seems to be content with silence, nodding and giving one-worded answers, only really contributing to the conversation when you give your opinion on something.

Pulling into the restaurant, he takes a glance at you, and you smile in response. He opens his door, and steps out, and you follow close behind. The door is held open for you, you order your own meal, and before you can pat your pockets to find your card, he’s already paying for the meal. You aren’t sure how to feel about the whole situation. You feel good- happy and flustered even- but you can’t kid yourself. It’s dinner. With a scientist who you have pestered for a good while about what exactly is going on within Alchemax. It’s dinner with a guy who you had coffee with- twice. That’s it.

When he sits in front of you, and smiles, you think you’re about to pass out.

Oh. He’s really cute.

No. Whatever feelings you’re having is a moment of weakness. Maybe you should download a dating app or something.

Your newfound emotions aren’t settled by the end of the meal where you tell him a story about an old job that you used to work. He’s an avid listener, expressive and laughing when you start to smile uncontrollably. He pushes his tray closer to yours, letting you snag what little left of fries that he has. Even with bags under his eyes, he remains attentive during your story.

“No, and like my supervisor tells me “Well whole milk is regular milk,” and I’m so adamant-” you laugh mid-sentence- “that two percent is regular milk. Or like can be qualified as regular milk.”

“Why were you so adamant about it?” He laughs softly, leaning forward.

“Honestly?” You lean forward, stealing a fry of his and plopping it in your mouth. “I just really hate being wrong. Anyways-” you wave your hand in the air- “we have this whole spiel about milk of all things. And I tell him that I like oat milk and he’s like-” you deepen your voice to portray your supervisor- “‘Oat milk isn’t even milk. How do you even milk an oat?’”

“How do you milk an oat?” He asks with knitted brows.

“I-” you pause and tap at the table. “I always thought you blended it. You know, like peanut butter?”

“Yeah, but people don’t drink peanut butter.”

“I bet you that there is at least one person in the world who does drink peanut butter.”

“Okay, you find me that person and I’ll buy you a coffee next time.”

“Yeah, yeah-” you wave your hand, trying not to let your competitive side leak out. “Anyways, I’m sure they make almond milk the same way. Blended.” You lift a hand and point with your index, swirling it in the air.

“I’m partial to oat,” he admits.

“I gotta be honest, I think all milk tastes the same,” you whisper out the confession, covering the side of your mouth with one hand.

“Oh, now you’re being difficult,” he says with a roll of his eyes, adjusting his glasses by the leg.

“I’m not, I swear! It just all tastes the same. Doesn’t stop me from asking for it at the coffee shops.”

“Even if it tastes the same?”

“I like feeling fancy,” you lilt, and he laughs.

“So you’re tricking your mind?”

“Oh totally.”

“With the fake milks?”

“Real, regular milk,” you counter. “Soy is fake- I think.”

“Oh, soy is fake, but the others aren’t.” He scoffs. “That’s where you draw the line.”

You laugh, taking the final sip of your drink. “Yeah, obviously.”

He joins your laughter, dipping his head down, and stray hairs fall in front of him. When he lifts his head, his smile is wide and open, and he has such a nice laugh- deep and the type that shakes his body. Pride makes your chest swell and heat burn over your cheeks at making him not only smile, but laugh. Fighting back the urge to move away the tray pieces of hair that have fallen, you clench your hand into a fist, your laughter slowly dying down.

A quiet moment befalls the two of you, and you both look at each other. You rub the bottom of your shoe over the top of the other, and check the time. With a click of your tongue, you gather your trash onto the tray.

“We should probably get going. It’s close to closing time for them,” you explain, nodding your head back to the register where two workers chat.

“Oh, should we?” Despite questioning you, he follows your example and gathers his own trash.

“As someone who used to work customer service jobs, yeah.” Tossing your trash into the designated area, you stack the tray overhead. “I’m pretty sure that the employees probably hate us by now.”

“Good point.” He holds the door open for you, and you follow him back across the mostly empty parking lot. Inside the car, he waits for the engine to heat, and he turns to you. “I apologize for keeping you so late.”

“No, this was,” you hesitate choosing your words, “fun.” You nod your head and pull your bag up onto your lap. “I had a good time.”

“I’m glad that you did,” he says softly, giving you a final look before he gives his attention to the road.

After a long day, you stand in front of your building, Jonathan joining you. You’ve always been much more comfortable with chatter than you have been with silence, but as you stand with him, you don’t feel as uncomfortable. You might even like the silence if it gives you reason to look at him. You stand on the steps leading to your home, finally looking him in the eye, and you hate the fact that he has such soft brown eyes.

“Thanks for driving me home. And getting me a drink.” You kick at the ground, scuffing up at the dirt that lays in a thin layer. “And paying for dinner.” A jitteriness falls over you, and you can only twist and grip onto the strap of your bag. “Thanks for all of that Dr.-” he gives you a narrowed look and you quickly correct yourself- “Jonathan.”

“You don’t have to add my title,” he tells you. Beside him, his hand twists at the hem of his shirt.

“Force of habit,” you say shrugging. Clearing your throat, you start. “Still, thanks. This was nice, Jonathan.” You like his name, and you hate the way that it makes you feel.

He nods, and raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Well, thank you for accompanying me to dinner. I had a good time.” He says your name delicately, rolling off his tongue, and you never thought that you would want to hear your name repeated over and over.

“No worries,” you answer breathlessly. You can’t think around him. Everything feels as if it’s too much- too hot, too close, too sweet.

It was one day- two technically- but it was a short amount of time. You wear your heart on your sleeve despite trying so desperately not to. All it took was one day with him, and you think that you might like him.

Oh, how you wish he was with someone else, then you could give yourself a reason to look away from him.

With cotton stuffed into your mouth, you don’t trust yourself any further. You think that you should go inside- that maybe you shouldn’t be taking up his time. A part of you wonders when you’ll see him again. Shifting your weight between each foot, you pat your hands on your thighs, drying off the clammy feeling. You wish he would start talking again. Or maybe you should. If you go inside, then this could all be over. You turn your foot, and wave your hand in a goodbye, when he starts to speak.

“Will you be joining another tour group?” There’s a hint of hope that’s weaved into his words. He’s looking at you, and you wonder if you look pretty.

“As much as I enjoyed it, no.” You think you imagine seeing his shoulders slump at your words. “It wasn’t really for me. It was nice, but much more kid-centered.” His glasses are slipping down his nose and you wonder if he’d get upset if you pushed them up. “Will you be going to the café tomorrow?”

“I work tomorrow,” he admits.

“Oh,” you clear your throat, and fighting away the burning feeling that is burning in your chest, you suck in a deep breath. It makes sense to do this now. You have to take a risk. It’s dumb and highly unprofessional, but you need to tell him something. He has to stick around, just for a moment longer, just so you could get whatever pink and sweet is in you, out. “Would-” he word comes out much softer than you would have liked- “Would you want to exchange numbers, maybe?” You hope he says no.

“Really?” He looks so shocked, and so happy. A grin tilts his lips upwards, and like seeing his smile.

Nodding, you rub the flat of your middle finger against your jawline. “Yeah. It would be a better alternative than meeting during lunch on a tour group or a random chance meeting at the café. Only if you’re okay with it.”

“I’m okay with it,” he says eagerly.

You nod eagerly, unable to fend off your smile. “Cool, cool.” You suck in a deep breath, and wait for a moment, before you start to pat your pockets, pulling out your phone and clicking at the ‘New Contact’ section. Holding the phone to him, he grabs the device and places his information.

Holding the phone tight in your hands, you tap your fingers against the back of the case. “I’ll message you later?”

“I’ll look forward to it.” He lifts his hand and waves at you. You watch his back as he steps into his car.

You can hardly believe that you even made it inside without dropping your keys from excitement and nerves. Behind your door, you clasp your hand over your mouth, pitifully trying to stop the smile that beams across your features. Oh, this isn’t fair. And oh, you can’t wait to message him.

377 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 6 months

Note

Oohhh I love the night gallery crew!! <3

Okay so- how would the art gallery harem react to the news that their precious night guard used to pose as a nude art model for one if their previous jobs? Bonus points if they end up digging around and finding old drawings/portfolio pics of them posted online lol

The Painter

Their muse - a model in the past? A nude one at that? They can't say they aren't jealous others have bared witness to their beauty, but they won't be so upset about it if their dearest is willing to come out of retirement and maybe send their older photos up to their study. They promise not to stare too much, but they pray their muse doesn't mind if their eyes linger. It's rare for them to be in the presence of such raw perfection. They are more of a hands on type of painter so their muse wouldn't mind a few touches, no? As they would say, it’s all just apart of the process.

Rosebud

Of course they are interested, but they won't press the matter unless Reader offers to share.... Please ignore the excitement of their roses - though they do reflect Rosebud's inner feelings they assure Reader it's just past their feeding time. Clearly more flustered than they let on. Refuses to look at the images because they would only make them more tempted to leave bites all over Reader to claim them as their own as they are when they see the Guard's exposed neck or wrists or pretty much any uncovered inch of skin.

The Scavenger

Hope staff gives the printer in the breakroom a nice funeral because if Scavenger gets its hands on those portfolio shots it's the end of the line for that poor machine. Anything relating to their precious treasure is the pinnacle of their collection. They must have more - even if it's the same picture a thousand times it's still not enough. If anyone comes across one of their copies it's best theu leave them their because even if they're trying to return them Scavenger will accuse them of stealing. There's not doubt I my mind they've eaten a copy or two because they're weird like that.

The Faceless Angel

Conflicted. On one hand they are interested in seeing their guard in all forms, but on the other it feels like an invasion of privacy. Unlike some, their intrigue comes from an artistic viewpoint rather than sexual. They'd give anything for the opportunity to touch Reader's warm flesh without clothing in the way. It feels like heaven on their stone skin.

The Lady in Red

It's the less images she's interested in and more the people who have seen them. Swiftly cuts down anyone who views Reader's pictures while in the gallery be they human or fellow exhibit. She can't do anything about the past, but does everything in the present to keep too many eyes off her love. Takes the photos Scavenger loses and while she keeps a few on hand - she burns the rest.

Julian

Slimy fuck is probably the first to come across them being the noisy little stalker he is. As an artist in his free time, he does use them for reference, but it's much more fun to use them for other things. Like teasing Reader about their past or taping copies to the breakroom fidge. He only does it when he knows they're the only two on shift because he'll have to hurt anyone who sees them nakee besides him. Like Lady, he's more likely to attack paintings who have gotten a hold of the scavengers copies.

Anri

Their favorite coworker was once a model? How fun! They aren't the best artist, but they can draw Reader too. A little bashful about seeing them naked so they stick to just about the shoulders. They want to at least waiting until their ten date with Reader before seeing them in such a state. Covers their eyes and runs off whenever someone tries to show them. Julian only allows Anri to see the photos because it's fun to chase them through the halls with them or point out various aspects of their features to make Anri flustered

The Director

Dislikes imagine of Reader because while they can be used to create copies of them, The Director wants the real thing. Still has one of Scavenger's photos tucked in his coat pocket.

#yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere blurb #yandere x you #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #Night gallery tag

349 notes · View notes

prettyoatmeal · 6 months

Note

pls pls pls pls pls

i need more FWB simon 😭😭

We're Just Friends (FWB!Simon x GN!Reader)

A/N: You need it anon, you got it!! I need to write more hurt/comfort because damn I loved writing this. Post anon is referring to.

GENRE: Hurt/Comfort

Synopsis: You and Simon have established a friends-with-benefits relationship. But the boundaries set in place keep getting overstepped. Your brain his confused, Simon's heartstrings are getting pulled back and fourth, and it isn't exactly your fault. Simon's in denial, and that barrier slowly starts to break.

Word Count: 770

Masterlist here!

***************

"You seemed awfully touchy with others tonight."

"Simon-"

"I don't like the way they were looking at you."

"Are you jealous?"

He grumbled against your skin, feeling his lips pressing small kisses along the crook of your neck through the fabric of his mask. Pushing you further into the countertop in front of you, his grip on your hips was becoming more possessive by the second.

No matter how many times you would tell him, it seemed like it didn't really matter. You two weren't a couple, you're allowed to do your own thing, even if you weren't really trying to. He had a bit of a habit of becoming too touchy or affectionate to your liking in regards to your arrangement, and now it was especially showing through after a little get-together at his flat.

"Relax, they weren't looking at me in any way. And I'm allowed to explore my options."

"I know.. jus' like you to myself sometimes. That's all."

This was becoming too confusing. For yourself, and for him. You'll push him away, remind him your situation isn't longterm, that you're doing this for him and that if someone comes along then you're allowed to pull out. But you couldn't help but think that maybe there was something more that he wasn't telling you. No matter how many times he'll deny it, it was getting a little obvious.

Too obvious.

The way you unintentionally tugged on his heartstrings over and over again, the effect you had placed on him was getting too much to ignore.

Pulling the infuriating fabric of his mask down and breathing in your scent with a long sigh, it was clear he wasn't going to let you go. Not yet at least. Placing the small porcelain dishes into the sink which you had been holding, you turned the tap on to start cleaning them. May as well make yourself useful if you weren't going to move, the clean smell of his dish washing liquid filling your senses.

But as his face nuzzled further into your soft skin, he couldn't get enough of you, his hands gripping at the flesh of your hips, squeezing your waist and pulling you as flush against him as he could. He didn't like the dish washing liquid drowning you out. He was becoming needy, mumbling a few words which only become muffled against you.

But you already got the feeling you knew what he said.

"Don't-" You warned. But he didn't want to listen, cutting you off.

"Please, lovie," he lifted his face from your neck just enough so you could hear him, "please stay. Just one night, just tonight."

He sounded upset almost, his pleading voice lingering with something more than just neediness.

Normally this would've gone no where, but something was telling you to stay. And you weren't sure if it was yourself, or the forces of nature. You knew that accepting will only play with his heart further. You were cruel for promising him you'll stay. But how could you say no to him sounding so sickeningly desperate.

This was getting unhealthy.

"Fine," you answered him reluctantly, "but just this once."

You were pulled away from the sink, and in a matter of minutes, the make-out session had ensued on his bed. A bed that smelled so comfortingly of him. You expected the usual -sloppy kisses followed by your guts getting rearranged by the behemoth of a man on top of you. But that wasn't his plan.

His lips moved slowly against yours, kissing you in the dimmed lights of his bedroom as if he loved you, and left your heart and head confused.

"Need you," he whispered against your plump lips, "I need you like.. like this." laying next to you, his arms wrapped around you with his head pressing against your chest, "please."

All you did sigh and hold him close. It felt wrong. You hoped this wouldn't also become a habit, burying himself closer to your warmth.

"This wasn't part of our agreement."

Silence. His arms around you tightened.

"You're playing with my head."

Silence again.. but this time it was followed by a muffled grumble into the fabric of the Nirvana shirt he gave you for pyjamas, which was considerably oversized on you. Throughout his protests, you could make out a small whine of 'I'm sorry'.

And with a sigh, you reach over to his bedside table to turn the lamp off, cradling his head closer to you as you placed a small kiss on the top of his head.

"Goodnight, Simon. Sweet dreams."

***************

<33 happy November 21st! <3

329 notes · View notes

queenshelby · 7 months

Text

Daddy Issues (Part Four)

Pairing: Dominant!Cillian Murphy & Shy!Reader (& Jamie Dornan)

Warning: Smut, BDSM, Daddy Kink, 4-Somes, 3-Somes, Sugar Baby Arrangements

Summary: Through your best friend, you meet actor Cillian Murphy and come to some kind of arrangement involving intimacy in exchange for being spoiled financially.

Written with: my beautiful wife @darkshelbyfiction

Your PoV

At around eight o'clock in the morning, you woke from your slumber feeling refreshed and pleasantly worn out. It appeared that the entire night's events had left quite an impression on you. In fact, just recalling the events brought forth surges of excitement which you had never felt before.

The memory of having heated intercourse with Cillian in particular induced goosebumps, sending shivers along your flesh, making you wonder what the day ahead might bring.

When you stumbled into the living room however, only Emma could be found while Jamie had already left in order to go for his usual morning run.

Meeting your eyes, Emma began speaking immediately. "So, did you sleep alright?" She asked kindly, showing genuine concern.

"Yeah, surprisingly enough," you admitted honestly, thinking back to the incredible experiences you had just undergone.

"Cillian did not stay. He never does," Emma explained quietly, running her hands through her messy curls, wondering whether you were upset by how things had ended last night, namely with him leaving.

"I don't blame him. I hate sleeping in the same bed with strangers anyway," you told Emma lightheartedly, immediately sensing her relief.

"Really? Because I absolutely love staying in the same bed with Jamie. He is surprisingly cuddly," Emma laughed before querying directly how you felt about last night's events.

"Do you have regrets? About last night?" Emma asked, searching your eyes earnestly. There was something unspoken lingering between you two, a bond formed amidst shared experience.

She needed to understand where you stood, emotionally and, much to her surprise, you smiled slightly and leaned closer to her, taking her hand into yours.

"Not really. If I regret anything, it's that our little tryst didn't happen sooner. It was fun and I feel surprisingly comfortable with what happened between the four of us," you confessed casually, raising your eyebrows playfully. "Maybe even too comfortable," you added and, immediately, Emma grinned widely as she stretched herself comfortably.

"I am so glad because I honestly thought I went too far. I never intended to push you into anything like this, knowing how reluctant you usually are when it comes to intimacy," Emma expressed sincerely, cupping your cheek affectionately. Her honesty touched you deeply, and it struck you that perhaps your friendship hadn't changed irreparably due to all the strange occurrences lately.

"No, I didn't feel pushed into anything, Em. We are all good, alright?" you said reassuringly, giving her a gentle smile. You then continued, "I am curious though, Jamie did not appear to be as dominant as I had expected. Is he usually this timid?"

Glancing away for a second, Emma responded hesitatingly, "He can be dominant, but most of the time, he prefers to let me lead..." She trailed off, seemingly unsure whether she should continue discussing this or not.

Feeling somewhat confused, you pressed further, asking "But why is he so generous then? What is his deal if control is not what he is after?" Your expression grew increasingly perplexed as you tried to piece together your understanding of Jamie's behavior.

Emma shrugged slightly, choosing her words carefully before answering. "Well, think about it like this - a man like him might get bored easily and there is always a risk, considering that he is somewhat famous. He wants security, but without any feelings or strings attached. He has a high libido that needs to be satisfied. He is really into adventurous sex, but he is not Christian Grey. He does not like to exercise dominance. All he wants is to have fun with someone he can trust," Emma explained.

Your brow furrowed in thought, processing the idea as you mulled it over. Then you contemplated, "But when he is done with that, doesn't that mean he may stop supporting you sometime, once he wants something more serious with someone else?" These questions seemed pertinent given the circumstances. But Emma, ever resourceful, had answers prepared.

"It's true, Jamie may not stick around forever. However, I believe it's more beneficial for me than harmful," she asserted firmly. "He gives me everything I need right now, and once I'm ready to leave him behind, I will. Until then, it works perfectly for both of us," Emma defended fervently, a stubborn glint in her eye. It occurred to you then that despite Jamie's apparent lack of commitment, his support provided stability and security for Emma during her financial struggle at university.

Perhaps Jamie saw something in Emma beyond mere sexual attraction; something deeper that kept him interested. Maybe it was trust and security that he was after, just like Emma had suggested. Or maybe, he simply enjoyed being able to provide such benefits to someone in return for the pleasure she gave him.

Regardless, your curiosity was piqued about this kind of arrangement, one based solely upon mutual satisfaction and desires. As you delved deeper into conversation with Emma, your initial confusion gradually dissipated, replaced instead by fascination.

"You know, Cillian might be looking for something similar to what Jamie and I have in place, some form of temporary companionship rather than romantic attachment. He just separated from his wife and with this new movie coming out, he is reluctant to continue his usual behavior," Emma pondered pensively, drawing you into the nuances of these unusual arrangements before suggesting that this may be an option for you.

Her proposal was unexpected but certainly interesting. While you initially dismissed the notion, deep down, a part of you couldn't help but entertain the possibility of exploring such an arrangement yourself, especially after witnessing firsthand the dynamic between Jamie and Emma. This type of setup, founded entirely on fulfilling needs and mutual desire, appealed to you tremendously.

But then again, Cillian was much older than you. He had experience and you could not match this experience. He also had a reputation of being a womanizer and you read about several cheating scandals in the past. He was clearly sleeping around and the last thing you wanted was to be one of many.

"I don't think so, Em. Cillian is extremely gorgeous, but he is not the kind of guy I should get myself involved with. Besides, he's way older than me," you replied, attempting to dispel the suggestion gently. Emma raised an eyebrow at your comment, acknowledging your reservations about age differences, although her gaze suggested a hint of intrigue.

"You are right. Maybe he isn't for you. He is into some kinky shit too. At least so I've heard," Emma murmured suggestively, flashing a devilish smile that made you raise an eyebrow in response.

You couldn't deny that you had always been curious about experimenting with different aspects of intimacy, pushing boundaries and exploring limits. Was it possible that this was just another opportunity presenting itself to indulge those curiosities?

"What kind of kinky shit are you talking about? I mean, we just had a foursome, and I don't think it can get any kinkier than that," you joked, feigning disinterest. But inside, you knew you weren't telling the truth. You secretly craved more intense thrills, more deviant experiences. Deep down, a small voice whispered seductively, tempting you to consider the possibilities that lay beyond vanilla. Yet, you remained hesitant – partly due to fear, partly due to uncertainty regarding the path laid before you.

"Well, apparently Cillian actually likes some elements of bondage and discipline", Emma divulged nonchalantly, smirking teasingly as she awaited your reaction. "Maybe he should have played Christian Grey instead," she then mused, referencing Fifty Shades of Grey again.

"How do you even know this stuff?" you asked Emma, clearly caught off guard by this revelation. Emma smiled mysteriously, crossing her legs provocatively as she spoke.

"It came up a few weeks ago when we had this threesome. Jamie mentioned it in passing," Emma giggled softly and your face flushed red instantly, unable to hide your embarrassment or curiosity. Clearly, this topic aroused you greatly, but you did not want to admit this to your friend.

"So, he likes to be the dominant then, I assume? Is that what you call it?" you ventured hesitantly, intrigued yet still apprehensive.

Emma nodded affirmatively, adding with mischievous excitement, "Yes! And trust me, there is no better feeling than knowing exactly what you want and getting it. He was being gentle with you. He was much more dominant when the three of us...you know...never mind...," Emma trailed off but you would not let loose.

"Well, I am not you, obviously. He was probably cautious, seeing that I was really nervous," you said with blushing cheeks, and Emma went on to explain that, in other aspects of life, Cillian was rather timid.

"He is a nice, caring and somewhat gentle guy, who seems to like rough sex," Emma said with a mix of admiration and amusement, as though recounting a personal experience. Your head spun with thoughts as you processed the information she had revealed. Intrigued by the prospect of engaging in a more liberating, uninhibited form of sexual encounter, you found yourself questioning whether you were truly capable of embracing such a radical shift in your usual approach to sex. You wanted to be more open to your needs, but could you?

"Interesting. Well, I am sure there are many suitable women for this kind of power exchange. But, I am not one of them," you determined in the end, finally voicing your inner concerns.

"Are you sure? Because, I could see how attracted you felt towards him, and you are clearly asking a lot of questions. That alone tells me that this might indeed be worth considering. Everyone starts somewhere Y/N," she encouraged gently, her tone persuasive and compelling.

As she spoke, images of your steamy encounters danced through your mind, leaving you yearning for more intensity and eroticism. How would you react in such a situation?

Would you dare take the leap? Your imagination raced ahead, visualising every detail of such a forbidden scenario vividly. You felt your heart race, pounding loudly within your chest. You looked towards Emma inquiringly, seeking confirmation and guidance. She studied your face closely, reading your thoughts accurately. With a sigh, she acknowledged your internal turmoil, saying quietly, "Of course, only you can decide what is right for you." Emma's calm demeanor served as a reminder that ultimately, the choice rested squarely upon your shoulders.

After all, it wasn't as if you hadn't fantasized about this kind of liaison before. The difference was merely the scale of risk associated with it, compared to the rewards it offered.

The thought sent waves of heat coursing through your body, causing goosebumps to rise along your skin and, yet, you declined the notion to engage in something like this.

You realized that perhaps you were not quite ready for this change just yet and, with that, you were determined not to take Cillian up on his offer on catching up with him again.

Cillian’s PoV

Meanwhile, after his morning run, Jamie caught up with Cillian at his hotel where, in the neat little coffee shop downstairs, they exchanged some lighthearted banter.

"So, did you have fun with Y/N last night?" Jamie asked casually, sipping his espresso.

"Yes. She is rather cute and we managed to find our rhythm pretty quickly," Cillian responded, equally casual in mannerisms, albeit with a touch of melancholy evident beneath his exterior composure. His fingers traced absentmindedly across the rim of his cup.

Jamie observed Cillian closely, picking up subtle cues which indicated that, perhaps, Cillian wanted to see you again after last night's encounter.

"Are you going to see her again? You seemed to get on quite well," Jamie probed further, raising a brow quizzically. Cillian considered the question for a moment while thinking about how shy and inexperienced you were.

"We did get on, but she is quite young and inexperienced so it might be a waste of time," Cillian mulled out loud, his gaze far away, likely contemplating memories of the sensuous encounter he shared with you earlier that evening.

Jamie noticed the introspective look on Cillian's face and decided to leave him with his thoughts. After a brief pause, he changed the subject abruptly, hoping to redirect the discussion.

"Hey, speaking of time, let's grab dinner tonight, shall we? It's been ages since we caught up properly, without women being involved," Jamie proposed cheerfully, breaking the heavy silence that hung thickly around them.

Cillian glanced at Jamie briefly, acknowledging the suggestion with a slight nod.

Despite the camaraderie among themselves, both men understood perfectly well why they sought solace in casual affairs and no-strings-attached hookups - it allowed them to temporarily escape the monotony of daily routines. They knew how fleeting pleasures could provide much needed respite amidst hectic schedules.

***

Over dinner, Jamie and Cillian discussed their respective lives, ranging from acting projects to failed romances. Their rapport was effortless, built on honesty and understanding.

Despite the surface conversation about work and women, Jamie picked up on undercurrents of dissatisfaction swirling beneath Cillian’s placid exterior that day.

Cillian was about to divorce his second wife, who was an actress as well but was tired of living in his shadow. He had grown weary of the superficiality that accompanied stardom while she indulged on it whenever she could. As he continued drinking, Jamie noted Cillian's solemn state and wondered what demons haunted him behind closed doors these days.

He appeared drained – not just physically, but emotionally too. There was an air of vulnerability about him that piqued Jamie's interest even more. It occurred to Jamie that Cillian was essentially similar to himself, searching for true fulfillment amidst an empty world full of deceiving facades.

Without warning, Cillian began discussing his marriage and its eventual end. As he narrated tales of his failing relationship, his hands moved nervously across the table, giving the impression that his thoughts were almost tangible.

“She’s so… demanding,” he uttered with a hint of bitterness in his voice. “Always wanting attention, accolades, and constant validation.”

"And just an hour ago, she sent me a text. She now does not want to go through with the divorce, claiming that 'we need to try harder'. What's left to try?!" exclaimed Cillian bitterly, slumping back into his chair. This latest development added fuel to his frustration, making the already volatile mixture inside him reach boiling point.

There was a palpable sense of despair and exhaustion hanging heavily in the room as Jamie listened intently, offering nothing more than comforting silence. He recognized these feelings well, having grappled with them countless times during his own tumultuous past relationship. Jamie too was divorced, and this is why this arrangement with Emma came as solace to him as he could be himself without judgment from her.

Having been in this situation himself, Jamie could relate to Cillian's predicament because he experienced it firsthand. It took him several months of therapy post his split with his wife, but eventually, he emerged stronger – wiser. Now, his priorities revolved mainly around his career and maintaining a healthy balance between his personal needs and work.

"You need to find a balance man," Jamie thus suggested earnestly, hoping his advice resonates with Cillian.

"And how will I do that?" Cillian questioned, genuine curiosity lacing his words.

"By focusing less on other people and instead turning inward, examining what brings you joy or contentment. You do not need to make everyone else happy. You just need to look after yourself for now. It may sound cliché, but discovering your own needs can sometimes be the most difficult task," Jamie advised earnestly, knowing that self-exploration isn't always easy.

Cillian mulled over Jamie's advice, reflecting deeply on it. He appreciated Jamie's sincerity, but the truth remained that achieving equilibrium required more than just insightful counsel. One must also possess courage to actively pursue personal happiness. Despite feeling exhausted, a spark of hope flickered within him as he grasped onto the potential of redefining his life.

Meanwhile, outside the restaurant, the streets bustled with people hurrying home from work. Neon signs advertised trendy bars, flashing enticing invitations to indulge in late-night escapades. Jamie stood up from the table, signaling the end of their evening, but suggesting a drink at a local bar named "Soho".

"Let's go and have a few pints before calling it a day," said Jamie gesturing towards the exit.

"Alright, where to?" Cillian enquired, his tone teetering between amusement and weariness.

"Just follow my lead," Jamie replied with a grin, taking charge. Leading the way towards Soho, he guided his mate through crowded streets filled with pubs, restaurants, and colorful storefronts. Everywhere, there was music blaring from clubs and pubs, adding to the vibrant atmosphere. People passed by them in a blur, seemingly lost in their own adventures.

***

With a familiar ease, they entered the dimly lit Soho bar. Dimmed lights cast warm, alluring shadows upon the walls, creating an ambiance perfect for anyone's mood.

Unbeknownst to Cillian, both you and Emma worked at Soho as part-time employees due to your close connections with the bar's owner, Michelle.

Michelle was a woman in her thirties who, just like you and Emma, attended law school during the day.

Unlike you, however, she was rather wealthy after having inherited a good fortune from her late father, allowing her to own and operate various establishments throughout London. This included "Soho", which was one of her favorite spots. The bar held sentimental value for her, serving as an oasis where she found solitude amidst the bustling city.

The pair settled into comfortable chairs near the bar counter, surveying the cozy yet lively interior decorated with exposed brick walls, antique mirrors, and tasteful light fixtures casting a soft glow on patrons.

"Couldn't stay away, could you?" Emma asked Jamie after she had spotted him while, all at the same time, you dropped your utensils when Cillian came into view. For some reason, you had not expected to see him again, but here he was, at your work, having a few drinks with Jamie.

"No, I couldn't," Jamie teased without showing her genuine affection in public. For what Michelle and the other waitresses knew, Emma was nothing but an acquaintance to Jamie Dornan and, ironically enough, most of them wanted her to introduce them to the famous actor.

Jamie and Cillian ordered a couple of bottles of beer, taking a seat against the wall. Tired from the evening's events, they sank deep into their seats, watching the crowd move restlessly around them.

Cillian occasionally glanced over towards you, unable to help stealing subtle peeks every once in a while. His gaze then drifted towards the bar, where rows of whiskey glasses gleamed seductively under the low lights.

"Stop starring at her. You are making her nervous, "Jamie joked as he noticed Cillian's frequent glances toward you.

"I am not starring!" Cillian defensively responded, sipping his beer and averting his eyes.

"You are. But that's okay. After all, you got to fuck her last night. Just calm down and let her work though, alright?" Jamie said, smirking playfully.

Cillian hesitated slightly, trying to suppress his growing desire. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding eye contact with you before realizing that hiding his attraction would only become increasingly challenging as the night wore on and the drinks kept flowing.

"Look, let's call it a night soon," Cillian finally spoke up, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen upon them. "These drinks are starting to get to us anyway," he pointed out just as Emma knocked off and walked over towards their table with a drink in her hand.

"True," agreed Jamie, nodding along, though a faint smile played on his lips. "Do you want to come to my place? I am sure Emma would like you to join us again," Jamie invited Cillian with a slight pause.

"Not tonight. I need to catch up on some sleep before my interviews tomorrow," Cillian declined, his eyes betraying a twinge of reluctance while Emma suggested that, at the very least, he should finish his last bottle of beer.

"Sounds like a plan," Cillian conceded, his focus returning to his half-empty bottle while you, too, finished up your shift and joined the trio.

"Hello strangers! How are we feeling tonight?" you asked casually, placing two extra bottles of beer on the table - much to the delight of Jamie who was not yet ready to leave.

Cillian, on the other hand, was yawning and you too were exhausted from your long shift.

After a while and some more conversation between the four of you, you decided to finally excuse yourself and head back to your flat since it was getting quite late.

"How are you getting home?" Cillian enquired as you made plans to depart, alone.

"I parked out the back. I don't like taking the tube at night on my own," you answered nonchalantly and, much to your surprise, he seemed relieved.

"That makes sense," acknowledged Cillian as he drained the remainder of his drink. "I will walk you to your car and then head off myself, alright?" he suggested to which you nodded agreeably.

***

As Cillian accompanied you to your car, the night air felt fresh despite the humid summer heat while his body itself was radiating warmth. There was something incredibly attractive about him which intrigued you and he was aware of your attraction too, evident in the way he looked at you — those intense blue eyes burning brightly even under the streetlights, the curve of his mouth hinting at something far beyond simple friendliness.

Yet, you didn't dare say anything. Instead, you chose to walk alongside him silently, cherishing these fleeting moments together, unsure if they would ever happen again after you had already made up your mind not to call him following last night's encounter.

As you approached your car, however, everything else came to a standstill.

"So, um..." you stammered. "How are you getting back to your hotel? Do you need a lift?" you offered politely, suddenly finding yourself wishing to prolong your unexpected reunion.

Cillian looked surprised but grateful as he accepted your offer without hesitation.

"That would be grand, thank you," he expressed, reaching for the door handle to open yours for you before walking towards the passenger side of the car and taking a seat next to you.

Your hands trembled slightly as you tried inserting the key into the ignition slot. This small gesture of kindness brought forth so many mixed feelings.

Embarrassment quickly flooded your face, turning redder than usual. Trying hard to regain composure, you attempted to start the engine of your car but your efforts were futile. The car would not start.

"God dammit," you cursed, hitting the dashboard lightly with frustration. Cillian simply watched, observing how your cheeks flushed deeper with embarrassment as you struggled with the malfunctioning engine before speaking up.

"Don't worry about it. Let me call roadside assistance. They are usually pretty quick in London," he said with a gentle tone while tears started forming in your eyes from pure exhaustion, relief, and vulnerability. It dawned on you – no matter how much you desired to forget your meeting with him, fate conspired otherwise in the most irritating way possible.

"No don't. I can't...." you began to say, panicking and desperately hoping that he wouldn't notice how utterly disheveled you truly were beneath your professional exterior. "But thanks. I appreciate it."

"Y/N, you can't just leave the car here. You will get fined if you do," Cillian stated firmly while watching you lose your mind. "It's alright. It's not a big deal. We will just make the call and they will come out and probably replace the battery. I will wait with you. It's all good," Cillian confidently declared, trying to calm you down but you kept shaking your head.

"I can't afford it. It will cost at least a few hundred pounds," you explained with a defeated voice, looking away as Cillian raised an eyebrow, sensing your less than fortunate situation.

He moved closer, offering a sympathetic grimace. "Don't stress, Y/N. I can pay for it," Cillian assured you gently, reaching for his phone and dialing the emergency number as you continued to argue with yourself mentally, debating whether accepting his generosity might compromise your independence.

"No, I can't accept this, really. Thank you, though. Seriously," you pleaded; however, your pleading fell on deaf ears as he put on his best persuasion tactics.

"Y/N, please. Let me take care of this. Trust me, you can't leave the car here. You will get fined more than the battery would cost, especially if you get towed overnight," he told you and, with little room left for refusal, you caved in, feeling torn apart inside. Despite wanting to maintain your distance from him, there was still something undeniable about the man. Perhaps it was his raw charm, captivating presence, or his sincerity.

"I will pay you back when I can," you whispered quietly, attempting to hide your shame at accepting such an act of kindness from someone you barely knew.

"There's no need," he replied firmly, holding your gaze intimately, but you insisted.

"No seriously Cillian. I will pay you back

when I can," you repeated resolutely, determined to hold onto what remained of your dignity. Yet, even through the dim street lamps, you could see the intensity in his eyes, burning right through your resolve. He took your hand gently in his, rubbing comfortingly with his thumb.

"Y/N, stop. It's fine," he whispered softly before, finally, roadside assistance picked up the phone.

After providing the necessary information, Cillian handed it over to you. With his guidance, you navigated through the automated system until a service provider confirmed the arrival time. Relief surfaced across your face.

Cillian smiled, recognizing your gratitude. "Thank you," you breathed deeply, feeling calmed momentarily, allowing yourself to relax against the cold leather seat, your heart racing as you realized how close you now stood to him due to the limited space within the confines of the car.

"Do you want to go back inside while we wait?" you asked, but Cillian shook his head head decisively. "No, let's stay out here. I prefer it outside," he stated firmly, pulling out a cigarette packet from his pocket and lighting one up. His eyes turned glassy as smoke swirled around him, creating an ethereal aura surrounding him. Your eyes followed his every move.

"You know you don't actually have to wait around with me. You can go with Jamie and Emma," you said sheepishly, glancing at Cillian briefly, trying to gauge his reaction. He only chuckled softly, shaking his head playfully, clearly unbothered by your suggestion.

"No, I had enough excitement last night and, to tell you the truth, these things are a lot of work," he admitted candidly, blowing out a cloud of smoke before continuing.

"So, you are saying that threesome are hard work, huh?" you questioned curiously, raising an eyebrow while secretly admiring his frank honesty. He smirked wryly, tossing the cigarette stub away into the darkened street below.

"Yes, don't you think?" Cillian asked before continuing this conversation. "I mean, they are fun, occasionally, but not regularly," he admitted candidly, making eye contact with you once more. You couldn't help but feel drawn to him as he spoke with such openness, his words resonating deep within your core. You found yourself unable to resist probing further.

"So, you prefer one on one encounters then?", you queried curiously, amused yet somewhat confused by his admission. "Well, mostly," he responded candidly, blowing out another puff of smoke. "Though sometimes it depends on who I'm with and the chemistry." Cillian added thoughtfully just as, finally, roadside assistance

arrived to change your dead battery. Their appearance provided temporary reprieve from the escalating sexual tension between both of you.

The mechanic worked efficiently on your car, carefully replacing the old battery with a new one. While they completed their task, Cillian and you stood outside and you were getting visibly cold.

He noticed your shivering and pulled off his jacket to drape it over your shoulders, engulfing you warmly. You felt like a bird trapped in a cage - caught up in the magnetic pull that seemed to exist between you two. Unconsciously, your body shifted slightly closer to his, seeking some form of heat from his frame. But, instead of reacting, he merely stared straight ahead, appearing unfazed by your proximity.

When the mechanics were finally

done fixing your car, you silently wondered why he bothered helping you tonight. Hadn’t it been too much trouble for him? Nonetheless, you refused to express any signs of indebtedness or sentimentality and, after he paid the mechanic's bill, you both jumped into your car.

Despite the late hour, traffic was relatively smooth and quiet, allowing you to navigate the streets together seamlessly. As you cruised along, the mood became increasingly awkward.

You exchanged polite, neutral conversation which did nothing to alleviate the palpable tension. Despite sharing laughter over trivial matters, you couldn't shake the feeling that the air was charged, electric even. You attributed it to the circumstances under which you met – a combination of intense desire and circumstance, but you also couldn't deny that something else lay hidden beneath it all. Something far more potent than simple attraction.

Unphased by this however, you dropped off Cillian at his hotel. After thanking him profusely again for everything, he said goodbye, kissing you on the forehead tenderly before stepping out of the car and heading back inside.

"It was good to see you again, Y/N. Call me know if you ever want to catch up," he said and, with that, the door closed behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sat there for a moment, taking in the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with your own musky pheromones. The memories of your passionate encounter played vividly in your mind, consuming you completely. Your fingers traced light patterns upon your skin where his hands had held you so tightly. Unable to escape the power he held over you, you drove back home, haunted by his touch, knowing deep down inside that you should not be getting involved with this man. It was something you should not pursue and, with that, you remained resolute to avoid him from that point forward.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy fanfic #cillianmurphy #cillian murphy fanfiction

171 notes · View notes

cuubism · 2 years

Text

fem!dream has me by the THROAT

----

This is… a revelation.

Hob really thought he'd passed his "learning about his sexuality" phase a good six hundred years ago. But he just might be having another sexual awakening right now.

It's because it's Dream. This kind of thing always happens with Dream. Hob supposes it's the inevitable result of being with someone whose form doesn't follow the bounds of material reality.

"Do you like what you see, Hob Gadling?" Dream asks, a smirk dancing on his lips. Same smirk as always, slightly different lips.

"I always like when I see you," Hob says. Dream props his– her?-- ah fuck it doesn't matter– arm on the back of the couch, head in her hand. Clearly pleased. Flattery always works in these situations, always. Bloody vain creature.

There's none of the hesitation Hob had seen when Dream had revealed her more… nightmarish, her more otherworldly forms. There's only confidence here, utter assurance of her glory. As well she should.

"You're gorgeous," Hob tells her. "You're glorious. You always are."

She's different like this. Subtly. Hob would have still been able to pick her out of a crowd at a hundred meters, but she's… fluid. Her angles are softened. Her legs seem even longer than usual where they're pulled up on the couch, delicate ankles crossed. Thin, familiar fingers press against a plusher lower lip. Cheekbones that cut even sharper. Strong jaw that pulls more narrow. Glinting galaxy eyes with long, fine lashes.

Hob is getting lost in the details. The point is that Dream is a vision, the bodily equivalent of draped silk, and Hob has never in his life been more grateful to be bisexual.

"This is very distracting to you," Dream murmurs, and Hob realizes Dream had said something else to him before and he hadn't even heard it.

"Are you surprised?" Hob asks, leaning his head on his arm against the back of the couch so their eyes meet. "Wasn't that your intention?"

"I was curious," says Dream.

Famous last words for Hob’s sanity. "By which you mean you wanted to knock me on my ass, metaphorically speaking."

"I did wish to have you on your back," Dream agrees. Her voice is higher, like this, more alto than baritone, but still with that hazy, hypnotic melody to it.

Fucking hell.

"You know you'll get what you want, you always do." Hob brushes his ankle against Dream's. It's the only place they're touching, which is agony but Hob can't say he's not enjoying the tension. Or the view.

Dream runs a hand through her hair, twisting the long strands around her fingers. Her hair is a mess, sex-mussed and chaotic even though they’ve done nothing more than sit opposite each other here on the couch while Hob drinks Dream in with his eyes. It's… upsetting, in the daydreams it creates.

“You know, it’s still mental to me that you can do this sort of thing in the real–” Hob cuts himself off and holds up an appeasing hand before Dream can object– “the waking world. Like, dreams, sure, anything can happen in dreams, right? But then you show up here one day and you have actual flesh-and-blood honest to God tits, you can’t just do that to me.”

Hob half-expects Dream to automatically rejoin with my tits are also real in the Dreaming, so used is she to correcting Hob on the nature of dreams and their reality. The fact that she restrains herself is a tragedy, as that would possibly have been the funniest line Hob had ever heard come out of her mouth.

“I can choose how I wish my physical form to manifest,” Dream says, heavy-lidded gaze locked on Hob’s, “as you well know.”

“Do I ever,” Hob mutters.

“I have grown used to one shape but that does not mean that it is fixed.”

“Can you manifest yourself as anything?” Hob asks.

“Anything that dreams,” Dream says.

“So you aren’t going to show up in my flat as a neutron star or something.”

“Do you think that stars dream, Hob?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never asked one.”

Dream just keeps looking at him with the slightest raise of her eyebrow, and Hob leans forward.

“Wait, can they–?”

“Hob Gadling,” Dream interrupts, “I am here before you, scarcely clothed, wearing a form that I know you are pleased by, and what you want to discuss is the finer points of my personal metaphysics?”

“Your personal metaphysics are very important to me, actually,” Hob teases, and gets a frustrated huff in return.

“We have plenty of time,” Hob continues. “And you know I like learning about you.” He winks. “Like looking at you, too.”

Dream rolls her eyes and says, sounding put out, “You can look from closer up.”

Hob holds out a hand. “Alright, come here, then.”

Dream unfolds herself from the corner of the couch, so very like fabric indeed, and drapes herself onto Hob’s lap, settling on him weightless as always. Hob holds her by her waist, feels the familiar sharp bones of her hips.

She’s wearing some sort of robe of soft velvet, fur lining the collar. It looks simultaneously two hundred years old and like it could have walked off the rack of a boutique lingerie shop yesterday evening. Is she wearing anything under it? No, Hob thinks, of course not.

Hob rubs his fingers over the hem. “Where did you even get this? Pull it from someone’s dream?”

“Of course.” Dream lays her arms over his shoulders. The velvet brushes his skin; it’s ridiculously soft. “They were dreaming of an old film, I believe.”

This sort of luxurious, revealing garment is something Hob would not have batted an eye at her wearing in the Dreaming, but to see it here, in the waking world, where Dream is usually so buttoned up… it makes him feel some kind of way, and that way is mostly sad.

“So, what, you stick with your usual body most of the time because you like it best, or you��re just used to it, or what?” he asks. Hob has found that if he wants to ask Dream about something touchy, it is best to ease in and do so in a roundabout way. Dream operates in dreams, fantasy, story, metaphor and allusion – she will find her way to what he’s really asking if she so wishes.

And once again, Hob’s decision to turn the doorknob but not force open the door is rewarded.

“It is comfortable to me,” Dream says. “To the extent that any physical form is. However I confess that I…” she hesitates, and Dream rarely struggles to find words so it must be something she isn’t sure she wants to say. “I am finding… relief… in this form that has not been brutalized so by this world.”

Hob kisses the corner of her mouth, heart aching, and Dream leans her cheek against his. Her wild hair brushes his nose. Dream’s hair is always sticking up all over the place, but it strikes Hob suddenly that that wasn’t the case across all of their meetings – not until recently. He has seen Dream’s hair long and short, tied back and left loose, hardly controlled, always dramatic, but this level of utter dishevelment, that’s new.

He doesn’t know how much he should read into that; Dream is simultaneously the most intentional person he knows and also the literal personification of unconscious decision-making, so. Who’s to say, really.

“It is, of course, still I who has suffered,” Dream continues, “but this skin has not touched glass.”

Hob hurts for her, always, always hurts for her, but he’s relieved, also, to see her finding even momentary peace. And if he can provide it, even better.

“I understand, love.” He thumbs over her lower lip, then holds her face in his hand. “The self is more than skin deep, but the skin is still part of it.”

Dream tilts her head. “Unusually poetic, Hob.”

“Unusually?” Hob protests. “Hey, I can manage it sometimes!”

A familiar smile touches Dream’s lips. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps. I see you are as usually rude as always.”

“Did you think this form would temper me?” Dream raises an eyebrow, haughty glimmer in her eyes.

“Nothing could temper you.” Hob fits his hands under the sharp angles of her jaw. “You are the hard edges and brilliance and artistry of stained glass and don’t you know I love it?”

Dream kisses him, just a press of her lips against his, and hums, “Poetic. You do manage it. But I shall not ascribe to you an adjective; you have held too many to be so easily defined.”

“By which–” Hob runs his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck; God, it’s nice when it's long “--you mean I am really old and have seen too much shit.”

“You have lived many lives,” Dream agrees. “Sculpted and resculpted again.”

“And we’re back to the art metaphors. Dream, did it hurt when you were thrown out the window of the National Gallery?”

For all the teasing, though, Hob is touched, always, by Dream’s regard for him.

“They did not want me at the gallery?” Dream asks. It’s always so easy to rope her into this weird sort of banter; Hob thinks it’s her natural language more so than direct communication is.

She asks this while kissing him, though, so it takes a moment for Hob to respond. He considers not responding at all in favor of drinking in her lips for longer. “They wanted your beauty, they just couldn’t manage you.”

“And you can, Hob Gadling?” Challenging now, eyebrow raised, fingertips pressing into the back of Hob’s neck.

Hob laughs. “God, no. How dare I.”

Dream’s mouth cuts into a sharp, satisfied smile. Hob hadn’t thought she could possibly be a sharper-edged person than she already is in her usual, masculine body, but somehow, despite the softer curves of her here, she’s managing it. It’s devastating.

Hob has never claimed to be a strong man where Dream is concerned, which is fortunate, because that notion would have been decimated so thoroughly by now as to be embarrassing.

“I do like to try to hold you, though,” he says. “If one can hold a dream.”

“You’ve held on to life when you weren’t supposed to,” Dream points out. “That seems to have worked out well.”

“Hmmm.” Hob pulls her close, wraps his arms around the warm vibrancy of her. “So I’ll be rewarded for my hubris, again?”

“Perhaps.” Again, that crafty smile.

“I’m not going to keep you,” Hob tells her. There’s no keeping Dream; hell, Dream can’t even be kept in one body. Dream isn’t simple, and Hob wouldn’t want her to be. “But I’m not letting you go, either.”

“No.” Dream kisses the corner of his eye, right over the smile lines that have settled there, deeper, Hob thinks, in the year since their reunion than in all the centuries before. “I shouldn’t think so.”

#and then they explored each other's bodies #content warning extremely weird flirting #fem dream #fem dreamling #dreamling #this is literally just. no thoughts just dream #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing

620 notes · View notes

hanayori89 · 5 months

Text

The Healed Hand

You still didn't know who he was.

You had given him, at least what you deemed, a suitable sobriquet, calling him 'Blupee Boy' after the mythical glowing creatures you read about in books.

He took great humor in it.

"Have you ever seen a Blupee?" He asked curiously.

You shook your head. There was so much of the surface you hadn't seen. Maybe someday you will see one when you return, after you are healed, of course.

Your strange visitor with the shiny, green arm spoke of many unimaginable things. He told you there were islands in the sky. Here you were, so pathetic in your pursuit of wanting to see all of Hyrule's depths and surface, and now there were islands in the sky? What's more, he also spoke of a lost civilization, the Zonai, who were technologically advanced well beyond their time. He held his arm up, crediting the Zonai for his enchanted prosthetic appendage.

Every time he would come to visit, he would be armed with a gastronomical gift to savor, such as curried pilaf or fruit cake, which he would serve with a piping hot and wild fable.

Your favorite of them all was the one he told you over a comforting bowl of tomato stew. You watched his lips move, the rest of his face remaining inconspicuous, like his identity. He told you that the princess was actually a dragon who protected Hyrule from the sky.

You slurped a spoonful of your stew. "Sure, Blupee Boy, what's next? Ganondorf is a dragon too, and they are going to duke it out over Hyrule?"

He didn't seem to find this funny.

Over time, you both grew into comrades, bonding over your secrets that were safe in the cloaked darkness. But the scales of knowledge seemed tipped in his favor. Your insides tickled with mounting curiosity the more he spent time with you. You wanted to see the color of the lips that told you such vibrant stories. You wanted to know what the eyes looked like that seemed to regard you so highly.

What color were the eyes of the person that seemed to care for you so much, and would that change once you found out?

But he insisted on sitting, never too close to you, but in the shadows, as if he were more comfortable enrobed in them than the incandescent flames of your campfire.

One day, in a restless fit, you decided to try and coax him out of the darkness's womb. "I showed you what I look like; are you so superficial that you need to hide?"

He roared with laughter in response. "Superficial? Coming from a woman who won't show her face on the surface because of a little bit of gloom infection? Please."

Your reverse psychology had backfired. The smug and knowing way he reflected your question back onto you left you wounded. "I'm a woman; we are worth nothing if not for our looks. Do you think Zelda would receive all the praise she gets if not for the fact she's beautiful?"

He snapped a twig in between his fingers. "Zelda is incredibly smart; her soul exists to care for this land and its people. Her people. She would read a book before she would worry about something vapid like makeup." He pressed on, eager to defend her. "In fact, if she had to, she would sacrifice her looks in a heartbeat if it meant it protected her people."

"You are very close to her."

"You have no idea." He stood, dusting off his tunic, the fringe on the bottom rustled against the muscles of his thighs beneath it. He plucked a glowing flower. He threw it down before you as if he were throwing it onto a coffin being lowered in the ground. You knew you had upset him.

"This flower does not possess the beauty of the lush and colorful ones we know of. But here, beneath Hyrule, can you deny the beauty each petal holds as it brings light into a place where it is nonexistent? Perhaps on the surface, it would not be considered for beauty, but it's reason for existing, it's purpose is quite beautiful."

You twirled the flower beneath your chin; the light radiating from it captured some of the gloom's lesions that now inhabited your flesh. You could feel his eyes scouring your face and the vibration of his desire to touch you again.

He whispered. "I'm sorry if the only value you've been taught is that of your appearance."

You both sat in reflective silence. Your vanity; a poe propped on your shoulder, laughed at you.

~*🐉~*🐉~*🐉*~

As time droned on, you wondered if he was really going to heal you, but after your squabble, you decided not to bring it up.

He accepted you as you were. So why couldn't you show yourself the same acceptance?

You heard the familiar, heavy footsteps of him approaching your camp. As light as his silhouette appeared, he seemed to walk with weighted feet.

You looked up, and a necklace of blood dripped down his chest.

"Hylia! What's happened to you?" You took your shirt off in a panic, dabbing it into a pail of water you kept at your campsite. "Here, you're hurt, please let me."

Despite his extensive injury, he still preferred to hide from you.

"Please," you begged. "You've done so much for me; let me do something for you."

"Zelda has returned."

"What?" You covered your mouth in shock. "You found Zelda? Is that where you've been?"

He fell to his knees. "Please let me help you." As you ran toward him, you saw his emerald hand begin to glisten; he eclipsed his face beneath his palm, hiding it. You kneeled beside him, dabbing his chest and cleaning it. "You saved the princess. What on earth are you doing down here? Look at all this blood; you should seek treatment on the surface."

His face remained sheathed beneath his hand as you wrung your shirt out, watching some of the water that had been dyed crimson fall from it.

You tried to lighten the mood. "What about her knight?"

"What about him?"

"Did they find him? If you found Zelda and not her knight, he may have-"

"Have what?"

"Perished. And Hylia, what a shame; he was certainly my eye candy."

You heard him laugh beneath his hand. "Really? You find him attractive?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

He lowered his hand gently. "I'm not asking about everyone. I'm asking about you."

Your eyes were met with a dazzling blue orb, and you felt as though a vine of thorns was strangling your heart. Deciding he had revealed too much, he began to lift his hand once again. You nabbed it and stopped him.

"I want to see you." He remained beneath the curtain of his enclosed fingers. "Please, I've shown you the version of myself even I cannot accept."

"If you cannot accept yourself, then how will you accept me? His blue iris peaked through a crack in his fingers.

"I don't even care if you heal me. I don't care if I am to live like this for the rest of my days; I just want to see you." Your voice sounded unlike itself. A humbleness had grown inside of you thanks to this boy. You just wanted to be with him and his wisdom, which gave you a new sense of meaning. One that had evolved beyond merely occupying flesh.

"Y/N, Come with me." He mumbled. "Let's heal each other."

"What? You're in no condition to-"

He stood, facing away from you, as he yanked your hand and led you through the darkness. The only light you could see was coming from his arm. The artificial part of him had somehow become just as genuine as the lips that had been whispering kind tidings to you all this time.

You walked in silence, his hand quivering as it held onto yours. In the distance, you saw a giant bulb erupting downward from the ceiling of the depths. Roots scattered around it, plugging into the ground and fastening into the area. The light emanating from it was a ferocious presence that could never be absorbed by the gloom of the depths.

All of this time, you could have camped by it instead of being in the dark.

Your stomach churned as you faced the stark realization your healer had been trying to show you all along. You had cast yourself in your own darkness.

You chose exile. You chose to see yourself as a product of the gloom.

This ugliness, this darkness- it was never real.

You had created it.

And you had imprisoned yourself within it.

The closer you got to the monumental bulb and its uncompromising light, the more your enigmatic savior was revealed to you. Dull golden locks swept over his shoulders, gliding behind him as he walked forward swiftly with you secure beneath his grip. His tunic, evergreen, if you had to guess, was marred by splotches of dirt and dried blood. His back held scars and lacerations that told you grand stories in the same way he would. You saw his arm. There was a boundary where flesh ended, and metal invaded.

The glimmering green of his arm remained resplendent beneath the light, not competing to shine brighter but simply existing in the same pulse of vibrancy.

You arrived beneath the source of the light. He kept his back facing you. Your heart squeezed as it had earlier, and the longing to see his face threatened to consume you.

"This is a lightroot. This is what heals gloom. I need you to wrap your arms around me."

"What's going to happen? Will it hurt?"

"Don't be afraid." He put his hand on yours, his thumb stroking your hand, soothing you. How odd that you almost wished he were holding you with his other arm, which was just as much a part of him as his natural one.

"By the way-" His voice betrayed his nerves as it rattled slightly. "My name...is Link."

~*🐉~*🐉~*🐉*~

The whistling of clouds whirling overhead jolted you awake.

You had never seen light like this. Where light could be manipulated within the eternal glum of the depths, darkness could never be replicated here. You saw trees, crisp and unapologetically amber, following the rhythm of the clouds that danced by. You thrust your hand upward, closing your palm, pretending to capture a cloud within its grasp.

Your hand, your delicate digits, were now undressed of gloom. You jolted upright, capturing your face in between your palms. Your skin was so sleek, your hands slid off it, expecting to snag on a pock mock or abrasion. For good measure, you did it again. Your skin was as velvety as the encompassing clouds.

You ran toward a small pond lined with lily pads. You looked into the transparency of the lapping waves, touching your face for the final time.

You had been reborn. Back into the light, before the gloom, before the darkness. But this light wasn't the same as the one you knew, and the person peering back wasn't the same either. Her eyes were wider, as if they were now meant to see more than just her narrow-minded existence.

Your lips began to tremble. You had been returned to who you were, but that wasn't you anymore. Next to you, a handsome face appeared on the surface of the pond. A lily pad covered his reflection until it floated off, revealing the familiar outline of lips you'd grown accustomed to. Only now, these lips had a color, as did everything in this radiant land. The pale carnation mouth was pressed together, and a sharp nose sat above it with the same luminescent blue eyes that not even the cruel dusky depths could hide.

You turned, meeting Link's grinning face for the first time. The sight of his slightly crooked teeth bunched upward in a smile that made your belly quake.

Seeing the recognition flicker in your eyes, he cocked his head to the side in amusement. "So, it seems you've found the missing knight. You know, your healing was never about the gloom. I wanted to heal the way you saw the world. The way you saw yourself."

He reached his arm forward, touching your face as he had when he first met you, and it was encrusted with gloom. The loving feeling behind his fingertips was no different. He traced an area of your jaw where a spot of gloom used to reside.

He then grabbed his prosthetic arm, gently pulling it off and letting it fall to the grass with a thud.

"And maybe I agreed to heal you because I wanted to heal myself too."

You reached your hand up to feel the suctioned and severed flesh that had formed a mound where his arm used to be. He used his other hand to grab your waist and pull you into his body. "So, tell me, who is more magical, me or a Blupee?"

You looked up at him with a smirk.

"Neither. That most magical award goes to the bogus tale of Zelda being a dragon."

A breeze softly rolled past, and an elongated shadow appeared on the ground around you both, swallowing you.

🐉FIN🐉

Edited:12./29/23

80 notes · View notes

anarchy-and-piglins · 6 months

Text

"It's a full moon tonight."

Phil's voice is casual enough, saying it as easily as somebody else might comment on the weather.

But Techno knows what he is really asking. Wilbur's fingers stop while still halfway entwined in Techno's hair, holding onto the strands that are starting to form a braid. There's hesitation there. There's worry.

There's so much in the face of the fear that he thinks Techno is lacking.

"I'm staying," he says.

"Techno-" Wilbur starts but he's stopped by a growl, low in Phil's throat. Wilbur goes quiet again. Techno can feel his muscles tense. And it's still not fear, it never is. Not with them. No matter how much it should be.

He swallows it away to continue speaking. "Breaking up the pack this close to the full moon will just cause more issues, right."

"Probably," Phil admits. "Control becomes... tenuous at best. A missing packmate would worsen that."

"Yeah," Techno says. "I don't want you guys to get upset."

"And we don't want you to get hurt," Wilbur snaps. Techno jumps a bit, an action that instantly makes him feel guilty. Especially when it has Wilbur breathe out an apology, pulling him closer again. Nuzzling against the back of his shoulder in a silent show of affection that comes so naturally to him even in human form. Techno smiles, petting his brother's head.

"It's okay, you would never hurt me." As he says it, he can feel the skin over the scar on his other shoulder pull tight. "Not on purpose. It was my fault last time. I messed up."

He knows Wilbur wants to answer, to deny. But he doesn't, because then Phil is reaching out his hand and he strokes a thumb along Techno's cheek with a vague smile.

"But you learned. Stick to the rules, right? Then you can continue to belong with us."

Techno nods.

He wants to belong so badly it makes his chest ache.

And when he's pressed against the ground again, with the entire weight of an animal twice his size bearing down on his sternum and teeth sharper than knives teasing his flesh to draw blood, Techno does not fear. He closes his eyes. Phil exhales warm air through his maw before chuffing and licking Techno's face once. It makes him laugh.

Because in that moment, he belongs.

#technoblade #philza #wilbur soot #dark sbi #shara writes #it's the human techno + werewolf SBI au

135 notes · View notes

eyesxxyou · 7 months

Note

hey!! i just realized i messaged you in the wrong way lol!!

but it would be so cute if you did hobie brown x plus size!f reader. reader struggling with body issues and hobie just being the best boyfriend and just comforts reader by giving them many kisses and cuddles!! and uhh it can go the other way direction lol

*ೃ˚ :💿 hobie x plus size!reader

❝ warnings ❞ self deprecating talk, self-image issues, Hobie being a loving boyfriend

You never understood why Hobie chose you of all people. He was tall, lean, skinny, and undeniably handsome. He had a smirk that could make panties drop, his mannerisms attracted everyone, make them feel as though he's known them for years. Being seen by Hobie meant feeling like the most special person in the world and if he passed you over, there must be something wrong with you because he could see something great about anyone.

But why did he choose you? When he could have his choice of anyone in the world, he chose the biggest person in the room, with your rolls, your pudge, your excess flesh that made stretch marks appear in your skin. The wrong angle could show off your double chin. You felt like a pig in a pearl necklace every time you got ready in the morning. There was nothing attractive about you in your eyes.

But Hobie was always there in the morning with an arm wrapped around your large frame and his body pressed to yours like it wasn't disgusting. He grabbed at your flesh when kissing you and pulled you closer like you weren't twice his size and weight. He wanted you on top of him all the time despite all your protests.

"Come sit on ma lap, luv." Hobie slapped his thigh before opening his arms to accept you. You'd think after all this time, you'd stop worrying about crushing him, but when you weighed as much as you do compared to him, it was always a worry to you.

You shook your head, brushing it off with a smile even though all you wanted to do was to fall into his lap and cuddle with him. You even shuffle away from him on the couch. "I'm okay, Hobes."

Hobie grabs you anyway, dragging you onto his lap with a grunt that makes your heart squeeze. He adjusts himself to better hold you, arms wrapped around you and squeeze you tight to keep you on top of him so you don't run away. He placed his head on your chest and sighed with something of peace.

But you can't help but to think you're crushing him, that the sigh was more of one of strain. You lips purse and your bottom lip trembles, before you know it, you're crying and you don't even really know why.

Hobie doesn't notice until he hears you sniffle from above and looks up to see tears streaking your round cheeks. He reachs up with one of his large hands and begins to wipe you tears. "Lovie, wha's wrong?"

"This, Hobie!" You motion to the two of you, "this is what's wrong! You're obviously struggling to hold me and I can't for the life of me understand why you keep putting up with this!" You let out something of a choked sob. "Why do you want me? I'm a pig." You muttered, sniffling some more while Hobie caresses your cheeks with his hands and wipes your tears with his thumbs.

He pulls you in close and peppers kisses to your wet face, still wiping tears as they fall. "Aww, dove," he cooed softly. "Ya no' a pig, you gotta stop puttin' yaself down like tha'. 'N so wha' if I struggle t' hold'ja sometimes? I wan'cha 'cause you deserve love too. I wan'cha cuz I think you're beautiful. I wan'cha cuz every inch of ya is just more of ya to love on. Stop sayin' stuff like tha'. It gets ya nowhere but upset and frustrated. Now…lemme hold ya, dove." He pulls you in more and places a kiss on your full lips.

"So you don't think I'm ugly?" You asked between sniffles and you laid your head on his shoulder and looked up at him.

Hobie chuckled softly, still kissing your cheeks. "No, lovie, I think you're beautiful 'n if I have to start tellin' ya every second of the day, I will. Nothing could make me stop lovin' ya. If ya lost weight, gained weight, stayed jus' the same. You're so so gorgeous, my love." His lips were so tender against your cheeks.

You closed your eyes and felt his love.

#across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman atsv #hobie brown #spiderman #spider punk #hobie brown fic #hobie brown drabble #hobie brown x plus size!reader #hobie brown x gn!reader #drabble

112 notes · View notes

jamiesfootball · 9 months

Note

What are your thoughts on Ted? Is it good he went home?

These are two separate answers but I'm gonna try to combine them into one thought bubble (bear with me).

My short answer regarding Ted's ending is that you can't create a fully fleshed out character for 2-3 seasons and then in the final hour decide he was Mary Poppins all along. The Mary Poppins is meant to be strange, not-quite of normal ilk. She's the static character who leads the change in others, the one who inspires. You don't usually see the inner thoughts and workings of a static character.

From the very first time the audience meets Ted, we understand that this is not a static character because he is literally one of our starting POVs. We see his uncertainty about flying across the globe to go teach a sport he doesn't understand. We see him turning to Beard for reassurance. We see him stick his hand out where it isn't wanted while he tries to find common ground with people in a new country. We see the beginnings of a panic attack at the press conference.

That is is episode one. He is not a static character. He is not a strange and unusual person impossible to understand. He is inspiring, yes, but that is because of his humanity- his kindness.

He is not a Mary Poppins.

Ted is at his most interesting when he is a complicated, struggling, but ultimately kind man who tries his best to show genuine empathy and compassion towards others. The fact that this same trait doubles as a flaw is equally intriguing.

Ted can reassure Sam that Jamie won't be coming back, or Ted can reach out to Jamie when he's struggling and ask him to come back. Both are acts of kindness. He can not do both.

Ted can show Rebecca empathy and understanding for her trying to sabotage Richmond, but it ties his hands on being honest to Jamie about why he was sent away in the first place.

In trying to balance kindness, Ted struggles to be direct. He struggles to come right out and tell people how he's feeling about situations. Despite encouraging other people to talk about their feelings, he dances around his own and avoids awkward confrontations. I think that is the flaw that Ted most needed to explore. At the same time, I hesitate to say he could have learned too much given how he was struggling to process his own trauma with his dad and how it effected his relationships with those around him. (Put a pin here, I'll be back for it in a later.)

Pivoting back to Ted's purpose in the narrative, unfortunately as the show ran through season three, it became too near-sighted on The Message and in turn lost sight of making sure the characters had fulfilling interactions with each other. This especially becomes apparent when it comes to Ted, whose motto in season one is 'be curious not judgemental.' I maintain that season three was a low point for Ted emotionally, and if I were to assign a reason in-universe as to why Ted seemed so off from his usual self, it would be that in his depression, he no longer had the energy to realize he wasn't being curious. One indication of this would be how many times Ted casts assumptions on people in season three, compared to his hey-do-you-think conversational openers from earlier seasons. Some examples would include:

-never trying to figure out what makes Zava tick (this is a big one to me. I think season one Ted would have been all over trying to crack Zava like a nut)

-assuming he already knows why Jamie is upset about Zava joining the team and brushing it off

-assuming that Dr Jacob would propose + assuming that Michelle would say yes instead of trying to ferret out whether

-his assumptions about Henry being bullied (the knee-jerk reaction as a parent to protect your kid is understandable, the lack of delving into the situation and why it happened are more what I mean here)

-his whole conversation with Jamie about his dad. Other people in more succinct words have pointed out how it feels like he fully projected what he needed to hear onto Jamie's situation, and I think that's fairly accurate. This was not a 'talk to me and tell me what's going on so I can better understand how i need to help you' conversation. This was a 'oh that's whats going on? how about you do this? that work? alright then' talk.

So the finale struts back around and Ted has made a decision. He's going home. And it's meant to feel like closure. They play the Cat Stevens song and it's supposed to feel like Ted has finally made a step in the right direction (which is certainly one take on those lyrics but I digress). He's going back home. He's going to be with his son. He's letting go of the damage his father leaving did to him. He's giving up on something and he's finally okay with that. He left Richmond better than he found it and that's what matters.

Everyone else can cry but he's not crying. He's finally with Henry again.

So here's my two cents. And this is definitely just my opinion but-

THAT'S FUCKING STUPID.

Because the only way that Henry OR Richmond exists is in a false dichotomy wherein the two cannot possibly coincide, despite the fact that there are MANY KIDS' SHOWS ABOUT CHILDREN MOVING TO NEW LOCATIONS EVEN NEW COUNTRIES because that is a NORMAL THING THAT HAPPENS IN THE NORMAL WORLD ALL THE TIME.

Like holy shit that is. That is just the plot of a Disney channel show. 'My dad the football coach moved to england to coach the other football.' That is just the plot of a Disney channel original movie with a $300 budget that magically gets a sequel. Is that what I'm supposed to say 'oh no, that could never happen' over? Because I"m already watching a TV show. You can put a show in another show- I'm fine with that.

Remember that pin above? Time to pull it out. Because you know what would have been a more narratively satisfying conclusion?

If Ted had actually asked Henry and Michelle if they'd liked to move to London to be closer to him. If he had actually expressed his fucking need to have both his Kansas family and his Richmond family close to him. Maybe they would have said no, maybe they would have said yes, but you know what? It would have at least opened the door to the discussion about what Ted might need as a person moving forward, whichever way the chips fell. At least he would have done the one thing we didn't see him do all show:

Ask for something for himself. Because he wants it. Not for the good of his family, or the team, or anyone else. Just for Ted.

I am not saying his son isn't the most important thing in his life. I am saying as a goddamn adult person, you can NOT mold your life around your kids. You can't. Full stop. It is not healthy. You put your kid's needs above your own, but as a parent your needs have to come second. You have to take care of your own emotional health so that you have the bandwidth to give them support. You have to set the example of what healthy boundaries and taking care of yourself looks like.

Could Ted make new social connections back in Kansas? Well that's the thing isn't it- season one Ted could have. Easily. Season three Ted? The one who's checked out and looks tired all the time and isn't even following his own motto anymore and didn't even cry like he'd miss his friends when he was leaving? I'm not sure about that Ted. I'm worried about that Ted. I'm worried he's going to put himself in a situation where for the next 9 years of his life his only priority is going to be keeping Henry happy by giving Henry the attention he never got from his own father. And after that? Henry's an adult. Henry has to go live his own life.

And Henry's going to be able to tell, by the way, if his dad is struggling. Whatever Ted's emotional health is like, Henry is going to pick up on it. This isn't a one way road. Kids notice.

Ted untangled himself enough to admit that what he wants is to be close to Henry. I commend that. But then he decided that there was only one way to do that, and he didn't look any further than that. The narrative didn't look any further than that. For a show that itself raises the topic of mental health, it feels tone-deaf to pretend that Ted moving away from his entire support group is a happy ending. He doesn't even have Beard!

So to summarize: what do I think about Ted? I think he's a fascinating character. I think he has a genuine kindness to him that is rare. I think he is flawed, and a little bent up on the inside, and he's got a lot of issues to work through. And I think the show did him a disservice by painting him going back to Kansas as a sign that everything was going to be okay.

#that's my very long take!#sorry!#and yes i am a 'how dare the found family break up at the end' type of person #but I can usually give props to canon if they at least made the reasons satisfying #lotr for example gets a pass on this #here tho? not satisfied #love ted; not satisfied with where we left him #would've preferred to run him through the washer a few times and see what happens #ted lasso #ted lasso meta #complaining about the finale #adding this to my 'i guess i'll fix it myself' pile #i am so sorry anon i just looked back at your ask and it was just two innocuous questions #and i busted out the capslock #mea culpa

124 notes · View notes